The rain had been hammering on the roof all night and showed no sign of letting up. The dog and I were in no hurry to get out in the wetness, so we slept in and enjoyed the pattering. It eased off mid morning and I talked to Andrew who was getting his dirty laundry ready to take into Santa Cruz to drop off at the lavanderia. I gathered my pile then Alan, Andrew and I walked the beach into town to get it done.

We left our bags with the smiling lady who seemed a bit bemused by us three soggy gringos then we went into town to find some breakfast. We ended up at a little corner cafe on the main street. The town was slowly coming out from hiding from the rain and we had a front row view of the locals going about their business.

After breakfast, we took a walk out to the point to have a look at the baby waves reeling down the rocks. As we wandered the cobblestones in that direction we heard the sizzling sparking of bad electricity. We looked up and a transformer on the line was throwing flames and frying the wires. The town was pretty quiet otherwise and the few people that were out sat mostly on porches or benches in relaxed conversation. Except for the guy across from the square with karaoke machine and an eleven a.m. buzz who was crooning the latest Latin hits.

Roof dogs defending their turf

The waves at the point were tiny but you could see their potential. Lefts were rolling into the bay while a few locals threw hand lines into the waves while their family looked on from hammocks under a palapa. We decided to walk back along the rocky shore which may or may not have been our greatest choice while toting bicycles. We wandered into the swamp for a while to escape the rising tide but soon were back at the main beach with its line of mariscos restaurants and fishermen tending their boats.

A pretty laid back day at camp. I hung around out on the patio with the dog. It would rain off and on but nothing hard. In the afternoon, Alan and I hiked back up to town to pick up our laundry and see if could find some tacos. Tacos seem to be hard to come by in the coastal towns. Pollo asado and tacos are a weekend’s only thing. We toted our bags of clean clothes back over to the seaside shacks and ordered a couple of plates while watching the sunset. For a Monday, they were doing a fair bit of business. Andrew joined us for a while then we marched back down the beach trying not to get our feet wet while traversing the river on Andrew’s makeshift bridge. He’s still trying to get a 20 peso toll out of us for the crossing.

20 Pesos Please

I wrestled with the internet for a while then went over to the restaurant and got a good connection to make a late in the day post. Definitely in the jungle now.