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Authors: Rochelle Alers
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slight smile softening her mouth. “If I’m a princess, then you are a prince, David Cole.” Picking up the tray, she left the room. She had to get some clothes for him. Despite the fact that she was used to naked bodies, there was something about David’s that bothered her. Not as a nurse, but as a woman.
Changing quickly from the red dress and mules into a pair of black linen slacks and a white linen, button-front, sleeveless top, she pushed her bare feet into a pair of black, patent leather thong sandals. She wanted to drive into the city and buy something for David to wear before it began raining again. Wherein the rest of CostaRica experienced two seasons—wet and dry—Limón’s Caribbean coastal region was usually wet all the year round. It sometimes experienced less rain in the dry season, which was generally from December to April, when Ticos referred to the dry season as
verano
. The rest of the year was their
invierno
, or winter.
Before she left for her trip she informed Luz Maria that she had invited a guest for dinner. She did not encounter anyone from the permanent household staff as she made her way through a wide hallway running along the rear of the house. However, she did notice several men working diligently on several new trees that had been added to the existing ones surrounding the property.
Other than his family and his country, her stepfather’s passion was plants. He was educated as a botanist, and added an enormous greenhouse to
La Montaña
ten years after the house was constructed. It contained every plant, flower, and tree indigenous only to Costa Rica. An aviary was built years later, housing quetzals, macaws, toucans, and tiny pygmy parrots.
Her parents’ late-model Mercedes-Benz was not in the four-car garage, and she assumed that Rodrigo had taken it when he drove them to the airport for their flight to San José.
Her first and only car, a bright yellow, 1974 Volkswagen “Bug,” was parked in its assigned bay. Raul made certain it was serviced and ready to start up even though it was only driven when she returned to Costa Rica. Gabriel’s rugged Jeep was parked in its usual spot, next to a brand new pickup truck. The pickup was used by anyone who needed to navigate the local roads whenevertorrential rains made vehicular travel virtually impossible.
The Volkswagen’s engine roared to life as soon as she turned the ignition. Shifting into reverse, she backed out of the garage and maneuvered down the paved road leading away from
La Montaña.
She drove with the windows down, and the muggy stillness descended on her exposed flesh like a heated wet blanket. Dark clouds hovered overhead, foretelling another downpour within the hour. Reaching up, she picked at the damp curls clinging to her moist forehead. For the duration of her stay in Costa Rica she knew she would often have to affect a single braid to keep her hair off her face.
Serena was always astounded by how much the spirit and culture of the Limón region resembled the Caribbean islands. However, Costa Rican history told the story of how the province of Limón had been geographically and culturally isolated for centuries, its Afro-Caribbean population even banned from traveling into the Central Valley until after the 1948 civil war. Communications improved after a major highway was completed in the late eighties, but the region’s population was still sparse because of the extreme climatic conditions—constant high humidity and rain interspersed with brilliant sun and clear light.
Tourists found the region fascinating, because it was a naturalist’s fantasyland. The Whitewater rapids of Río Pacuare, the nesting grounds, marshes and lagoons around Barra del Colorado, Río Estrella, and Manzanillo for turtles and birds, and the string of seductive, white beaches edged with coral reefs all made it a favorite of thousands who came to Costa Rica for sybaritic vacations.
Parking her car in an area close to the
Mercado
Changing quickly from the red dress and mules into a pair of black linen slacks and a white linen, button-front, sleeveless top, she pushed her bare feet into a pair of black, patent leather thong sandals. She wanted to drive into the city and buy something for David to wear before it began raining again. Wherein the rest of CostaRica experienced two seasons—wet and dry—Limón’s Caribbean coastal region was usually wet all the year round. It sometimes experienced less rain in the dry season, which was generally from December to April, when Ticos referred to the dry season as
verano
. The rest of the year was their
invierno
, or winter.
Before she left for her trip she informed Luz Maria that she had invited a guest for dinner. She did not encounter anyone from the permanent household staff as she made her way through a wide hallway running along the rear of the house. However, she did notice several men working diligently on several new trees that had been added to the existing ones surrounding the property.
Other than his family and his country, her stepfather’s passion was plants. He was educated as a botanist, and added an enormous greenhouse to
La Montaña
ten years after the house was constructed. It contained every plant, flower, and tree indigenous only to Costa Rica. An aviary was built years later, housing quetzals, macaws, toucans, and tiny pygmy parrots.
Her parents’ late-model Mercedes-Benz was not in the four-car garage, and she assumed that Rodrigo had taken it when he drove them to the airport for their flight to San José.
Her first and only car, a bright yellow, 1974 Volkswagen “Bug,” was parked in its assigned bay. Raul made certain it was serviced and ready to start up even though it was only driven when she returned to Costa Rica. Gabriel’s rugged Jeep was parked in its usual spot, next to a brand new pickup truck. The pickup was used by anyone who needed to navigate the local roads whenevertorrential rains made vehicular travel virtually impossible.
The Volkswagen’s engine roared to life as soon as she turned the ignition. Shifting into reverse, she backed out of the garage and maneuvered down the paved road leading away from
La Montaña.
She drove with the windows down, and the muggy stillness descended on her exposed flesh like a heated wet blanket. Dark clouds hovered overhead, foretelling another downpour within the hour. Reaching up, she picked at the damp curls clinging to her moist forehead. For the duration of her stay in Costa Rica she knew she would often have to affect a single braid to keep her hair off her face.
Serena was always astounded by how much the spirit and culture of the Limón region resembled the Caribbean islands. However, Costa Rican history told the story of how the province of Limón had been geographically and culturally isolated for centuries, its Afro-Caribbean population even banned from traveling into the Central Valley until after the 1948 civil war. Communications improved after a major highway was completed in the late eighties, but the region’s population was still sparse because of the extreme climatic conditions—constant high humidity and rain interspersed with brilliant sun and clear light.
Tourists found the region fascinating, because it was a naturalist’s fantasyland. The Whitewater rapids of Río Pacuare, the nesting grounds, marshes and lagoons around Barra del Colorado, Río Estrella, and Manzanillo for turtles and birds, and the string of seductive, white beaches edged with coral reefs all made it a favorite of thousands who came to Costa Rica for sybaritic vacations.
Parking her car in an area close to the
Mercado
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