11th december

Dave returns to the farm and I’m happy to go back too, strangely enough. I have a couple of great ideas for stories and books but I could really use a word processor. I haven’t used my hands for handwriting for a very long time and I’m sure I’ll struggle to write long stories freehand.
For the first time really, I appreciate the countryside that we travel through from Alajuela to the farm. The first thing I notice as we leave Alajuela are the richly decorated gardens with hanging baskets and gaily painted shutters. And there are ox carts here and there – it’s a nationalist thing – some sort of source of nationalist pride. Then the road skirts right by the volcano of Poas and its huge crater, about a mile across. The road curls around it and the mist crowned the crater toady but it is spectacular on a clear day, by all accounts. Turning right to Varablanca, there are beautiful coffee fincas (farms/plantations) and further up strawberries and ornamental plant and cut flower nurseries and from certain views, you can look down and see the patchwork of different coloured fields. It even reminded me of England’s arable and pasture chequerboard, but I’m not sure it was supposed to. after all, this country prides itself on forest.
Down the other side of the volcano and across the spine of the mountains is the most stunning scenery though. The Rockies through the west coast of North America and the Andes on the west coast of South America are essentially part of one long mountain range formed by the destructive plate margin, with the spine of it continuing through Central America. The road winds up, across, along and down these mountains with many places lacking barriers so that at times, you are just feet, or a sneeze away from plunging several thousand feet in a vertical plunge. Add to that, in many places the rain forest gives way to cloud forest so that one is essentially driving these roads in foggy and damp conditions.
At the top of the mountains where some of the land is suitable for grazing, the trees are a little more scarce with the majority having been cleared. Perpetually blowing from the Caribbean Sea, the trees all lean over the same way, away from the wind as if trying to get way from the bad breath! I pointed it out to Dave Jr and he admitted he had never noticed the effect before. Further down, we pass the ‘la Paz’ falls which is one of the dozens of waterfalls in the country. Even by the roadside, it gushes pleasingly out of the rock wall and you can guarantee a handful of sightseers at virtually anytime during daylight hours.
And it’s free. No sharks have been able to charge you just to look at something that isn’t even theirs and then herding you into the gift shop where you’re compelled to purchase marmalade, which is refreshing. Being one of the more accessible and visually pleasing has however prompted developers to build a brand new hotel on the mountainside overlooking the view.
From here, the road winds down the mountainside and to flatter land and the return of plantations for sugar cane, pineapples and bananas. As we approach Puerto Viejo, tourism rears its frothy head with the riverside restaurants and the sheds housing rafts and canoes and their home made advertisement boards.
Dave checks the vanilla but I stay in the house, saying hello to the desk and radio and reacquainting myself with the termite tunnels now criss-crossing the walls by the sink. Dave leaves saying he will return on Tuesday.

I come down in the night to pee, clutching my torch as usual. I hadn’t used to ue it but I had an incident a few days ago when I think I trod on a mach two fishing rod thing in the dark. I’m not sure who was more alarmed - it or me - but I’d rather it didn’t happen again. A favourite place for them to hide is down the sink hole but I can’t really block it up so there isn’t much I can do other than continue pouring boiling water or insect repellent down there once a day.
Anyway, switching to caveman mode, I decide to take a more proactive role in finding these things, rather than just praying they don’t find me. I descend the stairs surreptitiously so as not to disturb any life forms I may find skulking the environs in my absence. I prowl the kitchen with my torch flashing around, the halogen fuelled beam stabbing through the inky black darkness, chasing away the shadows and gloom. Under the wooden table blazes the white light, across the red concrete worktops and around the sink and drains and patrolling the floor, doing a comprehensive sweep. Up and down the walls, behind pots and pans and the cooler boxes and trunks, and I saw another of these things.
I make for the bottle of insecticide that’s sitting on the shelf and spray it. It races off and after a moment tries to climb a wall, falling off feeling sick. It scurries away again, not getting far. It stops and wonders a bit, probably getting a headache. It seems that some of its legs have stopped working at this point. It spreads its wings, buzzes around, and takes off!!
“SHIT! I didn’t know these things flew!” This is a whole new kettle of fish! I’ve just gone down one rung on the food chain! They’re a formidable sight in the air, especially when there are flying around in ever expanding elliptical orbits at mach two like this one was now. I have to duck. Then I have to swerve, jump, sidestep and finally duck again before it crashes into the netting at the far end of the kitchen and plummets to terra firma. It seems to have had enough and is upside down and hardly moving.
It was the airborne version of the chicken with its head cut off. I don’t think it had a clue where it was going but it got there in double quick time and frenzied with it.
“Sorry mate.” I continue my journey to the WC.