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Published: December 24th 2007
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Day 9 - You make the earth move. About 2:30 am, the bed starts rolling. But I'm from L.A. I know the drill. I curl in a ball, put a pillow over my head. It’s not much protection if the roof comes crashing down, but it does provide some protection if things start flying across the room—nothing does. I wait for the rocking to cease. It does, but not before the power goes out. I feel around but can’t find my flashlight so I wait patiently. Someone will come. Sure enough, within a few minutes, along comes Kirk, who had known exactly where his flashlight was. It takes a second to feel for the lock and open the door and a few minutes more to find my flashlight and then some clothes. Kirk and I go out by the pool to join a group of our tour members who have gathered together for comfort. Many have never experienced an earthquake before. I sit there wondering—as I always do—if this is the precursor to a really big one. It isn’t. While we sit out in the warm Costa Rican night, we glance up to find the sky has finally unmasked her treasure
and the night is ablaze with stars. I can’t remember seeing anything like it.
Just then, I spot little flashes of light. All around us bits of luminescent blue-green light flicker on and off, fire flies flirting with each other. And, yes, you do find these in Kansas, but not blue-green ones. Even the earthquake becomes part of the Costa Rican experience.
Later in the day, we find out that it is a 6.2 point earthquake centered about 20 miles from where we stayed—about half-way between the hotel and the beach we’d visited the day before. It is serious. Six people have died—mostly from heart attacks, and one of the bridges we had crossed the day before has collapsed. I have since seen pictures of cemetery’s uprooted, streets cracked, construction collapsed, buildings damaged. When we leave Jaco, we have to take a detour to make it to our next stop, Sarchi, a village best known for making painted ox carts. We will have two hours of serious shopping. But not any longer. Virginia runs a tight ship—or bus, rather.
We notice police out in force, but think it’s just the earthquake. It isn’t. It seems on the very day our
group is stopping to shop, so is the Queen of Spain and three of the first ladies of Central America. Secret Service scurry around like flies on an iguana. I actually never saw flies on an iguana, but if there were any I’m sure they would look like little secret service men. Security, with really big guns, bustle around the shop, speaking into their thumbs on occasion. When the queen and entourage arrive, they are entertained by a calypso group. After the queen moves on, I go out and dance with the main singer. Too much fun.
After lunch, we stop to see a completely metallic church. I’m not sure what the benefit of a completely metallic church is, but it’s interesting none the less. I’m more interested in a bus that says “Bimbo” on it, but when I look for it to take a picture, it’s gone.
Time to load up the bus again and head for a final stop, a coffee plantation that turns out to be hosted by three actors who present a one-hour show about coffee production. And who volunteers to help? Our own shy little 10-year-old Kirk who hams it up, pretending to get a
coffee bean stuck in his nose, upstaging the seasoned star. The show is hysterical. You’ll have to take my word.
Our return to San Jose and our lovely hotel is bitter sweet. It is time to say goodbye to our beautiful, patient, enthusiastic, exuberant, angelic tour guide, Virginia, and of course, all our new friends. Kirk and I have a pre-dinner drink then stroll around the garden and sit on the bench we first sat on—what? Nine days before? Impossible. We have a final sit-down dinner and say our goodbyes. We have all exchanged addresses and e-mail addresses, but most of us will never see each other again.
I stay up most of the night. It can’t be over. It is too sad.
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