Wish I was here (Part 2)

Well the Dutch couple introduce themselves, Steyne (incorrect spelling) is a surgeon and his beautiful girlfriend Sanne a product manager for a watch company. Sick of admiration, adoration and sympathy from Americans, Steyne now answers enquiries about what he does for a living by telling people he is a pet hair stylist. A conversation along these lines ensued and by the end of the night we were running a successful pet cosmetic surgery and holistic healthcare centre. Steyne was doing nose jobs on bulldogs that thought they were labradors born in the wrong body. I was offering counseling for cocker spaniels depressed about their weight and the weight of their owners, while my partner was offering lyposuction for fat dogs and boob jobs for cats. As you can imagine the alcohol flowed freely and all three of us had a riotous time. As the night drew to a close the sad realisation hit us that somewhere, they probably already have these things.

After a quick breakfast and a little shopping I drove to the volcano. Unfortunately it was still cloudy, so for the most part the top of the volcano was obscured. The trail meanders through seas of 3m tall pampas and tropical grasses that are split by dried river beds of volcanic ash; under the jungle canopy crammed with mangrove like trees growing from squelchy earth and filled with loud bird calls and the barking of monkeys; over great igneous rock flows borne down the fire mountain by rivers of magma in 1992.
Unlike the Barbary Apes of Gibraltar, the monkeys here make the ooh-ooh-ooh noises you hear in Tarzan movies as well as a variety of barks and grunts. They do not attempt to rob you of anything that sounds like a packet of crisps. But the noise in darkness of the jungle can be disconcerting (Scared, not me oh no!)

Unfortunately I didn't have the time to see everything as I wanted to get back before nightfall. Driving across mountains on foggy wet unlit roads at night concerns me somewhat. Before arriving in Costa Rica I had been playing a computer game, which I do about once every year or so. The game was called Boiling Point and is set in a Centro American country. One of the most frustrating things about the game is the car driving. The other drivers in the game seem to operate their vehicles randomly, completely oblivious to other cars and pedestrians, leading to constant repair bills and injuries. Frustrating and ridiculous! Or so I thought. Now I realise it is a faithful recreation of the Centro American driving experience. Only having had roads and cars a few short years, they seem to pilot motor vehicles as if they are donkey carts. The realisation that a vehicle to vehicle interface feels different with a combined speed of 50-150kmh,to what it does when your burro nudges the cart in front seems to have passed people by completely.

I was home shortly after sundown and went for dinner with Marie at Cerruti. Her company was, as ever, invigorating and fun, I hope that she misses me while I'm away.