A SAFE PLACE…

We slept on the beach that night. There were five of us. Esther and Lev were from North Carolina and had just arrived in country. James and John, two brothers from California, were on a surf safari along the shores of Central America. Being the only Americans on a cross-country bus trip, we all got acquainted during a six hour, layover somewhere in western Costa Rica. With that delay the bus arrived at the seaside village of Playa Tamarindo at 2:30 in the morning. The town was buttoned up tight. 

Esther had been there before and she led the rest of us through a jungle path to a broad, white sand beach illuminated by moonlight. It was a warm, balmy night and we all made ourselves comfortable on the sand. Lev pointed to something in the distance. Then two riderless horses, one black and one white, galloped along the shore line passing us at a distance of 30 yards. 

Soon enough everyone drifted into slumber. Lying there, looking up at the stars and listening to the surf, I thought this is all so beautiful I believe I’ll just stay awake. It only seemed like a few moments had passed when I opened my eyes to see the first light of dawn. The others were still asleep. 

Feeling a bit antsy, I got up, shouldered my pack and walked into town where I found a cup of coffee and then a room to rent at a hotel called Cabinas Marielas. My room came with a private bath, a writing table, a three-speed fan and a wall safe. I unpacked and put my valuables in the safe. Then I went to a local market to buy drinking water. It was there on a television behind the counter that I first saw those terrible images. It was September 11, 2001.

I found Esther and Lev at an open-air restaurant where a large screen TV was tuned to CNN. The restaurant owner was American. James and John showed up. For much of the day a few of us sat there, dazed by the horrors we were witnessing. At times I would look away at the surrounding jungle paradise, but it didn’t register. 

By mid-afternoon I thought it might help to go for a swim in the ocean. The water was warm and the waves were good for bodysurfing. Still, I couldn’t get my thoughts off the horrific events in America. After an hour or so I returned to my hotel room, showered, dressed, and opened the wall safe to get some cash for dinner. 

I’d been robbed. My passport and bank cards were still there but $300 dollars in cash was gone. There was no sign of forced entry and since I had tied the room and safe keys to the drawstring of my swim trunks, I knew it had to be an inside job. I went to the hotel owner and reported the theft. At first, she denied it could have happened. But I kept explaining how it did happen and at length she said she would call the local police chief to investigate the matter. In fact, she called him only to confirm that the hotel had no liability toward me. It was such a bad day. 

After a rough night I decided to book a premium shuttle back to San Jose and the Amistad Inn where I had previously stayed. I believed I would be safe there. With myself and four other passengers, the van left Playa Tamarindo at noon for the seven hour trip. It was a somber journey. There was little or no conversation between the riders in the van.

Sometime in the afternoon, the shuttle stopped at a roadside restaurant for a break. The other passengers went inside to get a meal. Having no appetite, I wandered around the building and grounds. It was a well appointed cafeteria with high ceilings, a lot of natural wood, and a large rear patio. I bought a soft drink and walked outside to view the scene. The patio looked out over a wide, deep-running stream surrounded by a forest of tropical trees and undergrowth. As I walked toward the patio railing I noticed three people sitting at a table. We all recognized each other in the same moment. I’m sure my face lit up as brightly as did theirs. 

It was an Englishwoman named Yvonne and her two Italian sons, Ricky, 16 and David, 10. They had stayed at the Amistad Inn in San Jose the week before. There, we’d all struck up a warm acquaintance around the breakfast table. Now they were returning from a tour through the central highlands of the country. 

We were all glad to see each other. We traded stories about what we’d each been doing over the previous days. They had been in the cloud forests of Costa Rica, seeing exotic wildlife and live volcanos. I mentioned the beach and the robbery. They were genuinely sympathetic. We talked about the events in America and how badly we felt for the families of the victims. 

For the next half hour we did what travelers often do, sharing our most essential selves with each other. I learned that Yvonne, a native of England, lives with her Italian husband and sons in a small resort town on the Italian Riviera. Ricky is into reptiles and spoke of the coral snake he had seen in the forest the day before. David showed me a page from his diary that listed all the species of creatures he had seen so far in Costa Rica. It was a long list. Yvonne said this was the third year in a row that she and her sons had gone off on a far-flung adventure. Last year they went to Nepal, and the year before to Thailand. 

I talked about my experiences, long ago in Alaska, and recommended it for their next adventure. As we spoke of these things I noticed brightly colored parrots roosting in the nearby trees. The stream flowing past us had a calming effect. I had a sense of being connected to something other than the horrors of the past two days. But now it was time to go. Our buses would be headed toward different destinations that day, and for all we knew, this was our final encounter. 

We said our farewells and boarded our respective vans. Theirs pulled away first and I saw smiling faces as they waved goodbye. Back on the highway, I felt somehow re-connected to the human race. A sense of purpose was reviving within me. It began to rain. Riding down that country road in Costa Rica I understood that as bad as things seemed, all was not lost. I realized that sometimes just the sight of a friendly face or the sound of a familiar voice is all we need to feel safe and hopeful.