Costa Rica: Domesticating The Jungle (cont.)

The sun had dropped completely at this point, and the first stars of the evening were beginning to dot the sky above the treetops.  This was a rare sight for me; living in a large city now, stars were a distant memory from my childhood.  I settled in to enjoy the show when a succession of high-pitched raps came from behind me.  I thought it must have been the door; but since I wasn’t expecting anyone until the next afternoon, I couldn’t imagine who would be dropping by.  It dawned on me then that Jan must have forgotten something and was forced to return; and being the gentleman that he is, he knocked rather than simply using his own key. 

“Coming,” I shouted as I hurried to the front door. 

I pulled open the heavy wooden door beaming, more than happy that my new friend Jan had returned and might be persuaded to share a beer with me; but as the door opened I found that no one was there.  There wasn’t even a knocker on the door.  Strange, I thought; and as I stuck my head through the doorway to have a look about, a rather large toad hopped across the threshold, between my legs and into the house.  I slapped my bare foot on the smooth concrete floor in front of the toad hoping that it would reverse its course and head back out the door, but it refused to move.  I tapped my foot again, more vigorously this time and nearer to the toad, but I only succeeded in chasing it further into the house.  I started to dance around the toad, slapping my feet loudly against the concrete floor, flailing my arms and uttering low, guttural grunts; but it had no effect whatsoever on the toad.  That’s when I heard the knocking sound again, coming from the opposite direction.  The toad took full advantage of my distraction and hopped off towards the stairs while my back was turned.  “I’ll deal with you later, Philip,” I told the toad as I closed the front door and returned to the back of the house to investigate the origin of the noise.

I walked back into the living room to find two very large, very black bugs sitting on the floor opposite one another about six feet apart.  They were nearly the size of my fist, and I had absolutely no idea what they were.  Beetles, I surmised; but as they seemed to be involved in a standoff of some sort, I didn’t wish to interrupt by investigating any further.  I gave them both names: “Edgar” and “Allen”, and I gave them both a very wide berth as I made my way back to the porch to close the shutters and stop the influx of unwanted creatures. 

It was then that I heard the knocking noise again; only this time very near to me.  In fact, right on top of me.  I looked up to find no less than ten small lizards undulating about the recessed lighting fixtures.  I remembered Jan mentioning something about geckos earlier that I must not have processed at time.  I suppose my travel-wary brain only registered that mosquito nets were unnecessary here, but not the reason why they were unnecessary.  A gecko directly above me produced the familiar knocking sound, and it was immediately answered by one of its companions on the kitchen wall.  I wasn’t certain how comfortable I was being surrounded by quite so many reptiles, but I did appreciate the lack of mosquitoes.  I didn’t have names enough for all of them, so I pronounced them “George” collectively; and thanking them for their healthy appetites, I quickly retired up the stairs to the master bedroom.

Easily as large as the living room and kitchen combined, the sprawling master bedroom and master bath occupied the entire upper floor of the main house.  The vaulted, wooden plank ceilings were stained a warm, rich brown; and combined with the floor-to-ceiling shutters and the neutral-toned bed and bath fixtures, which seemed to fade into the room’s walls and floors, the space opened up almost infinitely.  I felt as though I was outdoors again, and regretfully, the creatures of the night felt the same way.  A butterfly as large and as blue-black as a crow shared the floor of the bathroom with a moth of nearly the same size and a “leaf-like” insect that I can only compare to an enormous grasshopper.  I eyed them all suspiciously, “Ophelia”, “Luna” and “Bob” as I washed away the day’s turmoil under the cascading downpour of the bath’s two rain-head showers.  The cool, gentle waters combined with the salty night air refreshed and relaxed me and put me in the perfect temperament to drift off to sleep.  I would have liked to have had a soak in the titanic, bowl-shaped tub, which was perfectly poised against the window so that one could enjoy the freedom and openness of the jungle, but I’d have to wait until tomorrow when “Stanley”, the hairy, black spider wasn’t using it.

I stood by the window for a moment to drink in all of the magnificent noises of the night.  The breaking waves, the gentle breeze, and the calls of the diverse wildlife all combined to create the perfect soundtrack for falling asleep; and I fully intended to keep those noises outside by shutting the large, louvered shutters until I noticed two bats playfully chasing each other around the lights high above me.  “Bud” and “Lou” seemed to be enjoying themselves, and who was I to tell them where they could and could not fly?  Maybe the shower had relaxed me so much that I had no objection left in me, or maybe I was just exhausted, but I was coming to the realization that living in Costa Rica meant living amongst the wildlife. 

The insects and animals had a better grasp of the situation than I did.  Without the big brain to overanalyze and under appreciate the minutiae of the jungle, they were free to live and enjoy this paradise for what it was.  They were free to eat, drink, and be merry: three concepts I was going to give serious consideration to while I slept.  I left the shutters open and made my way to the bed.  I found it to be very soft and inviting, if not a bit crowded, but with my new philosophy in mind I gently shooed the little critters off of my pillow and settled down for a peaceful night’s rest.  A gecko clucked somewhere above me as I turned out the lights.  “Goodnight George”, I said.  Thankfully, I didn’t find the scorpion until the morning.

I sat bolt upright around four in the morning at the most ghastly noise I had ever heard.  I thought I had dreamt the noise at first, the events of my first evening in Costa Rica still fresh in my mind, but it sounded again.  Something was roaring outside my bathroom window, something very close.  Spiders didn’t roar, to my knowledge; but this place was foreign to me; what did I know?  Earlier a tiny lizard had sounded like a knock on the door, so I supposed anything was possible.  I crept into the bathroom, holding my bug-covered pillow in front of me like a shield.  I doubt it would have been any defense against a panther, but if it was the spider in the bathtub making the noise, maybe my new little sleeping companions could put in a good word for me.  I approached the tub cautiously and slowly peered over the rim, but Stanley the spider was nowhere to be seen. 

The roar rang out again from the tree right outside the window, and I took cover in the bathtub, under my pillow.  I heard a faint roar off in the distance and came to the realization that all of the big cats in the area were being called to a feast, and I was the main course.  I raised my head slowly and peeked over the rim of the tub, determined at least to learn the identity of my would-be assailant.  As my eyes cleared the windowpane I found myself face to face, albeit several feet away, with a lanky, little monkey, no larger than a newborn child.  It fixed its eyes on me, contorting its leathery little mouth into an “OH” shape and let out the most god-awful roar I could have possibly imagined.  I fell back into the tub and instantly recalled a bit of sage advice from Jan: “Don’t mind the howler monkeys, they’re harmless.”  I would have never expected such a small thing to make such a horrendous noise.  Somehow “howler” just didn’t do it justice.

With sleep out of the question I made my way downstairs and brewed a fresh pot of coffee.  The sun was just beginning its rise, and a faint blue light was glowing through the louvered shutters.  I unlocked all of the bolts and began sliding the large accordion-like panels open, half expecting all of the jungle’s inhabitants to be waiting for me on the back porch.  I was wrong; there was only a dog.  I bent down and patted the dog on the head.  He was covered with dust and smelled faintly of garbage, but he was a dog, and dogs I understood.  He brushed past me and ambled into the house like it was the most natural thing in the world, and who was I to say it wasn’t?  “Stay out of trouble, Pete”, I told him as I stretched out on one of the doublewide chaise lounges and sipped my coffee.

The sun crested the roof of the house, and the leaves of the palm trees burst into fiery tones of orange and red.  Pete returned and sat by my side, and we watched the jungle become illuminated together.  I was looking forward to my friends’ arrival later that day, to being a liaison between them and the jungle.  I would present them each with a glass of cold water and help to ease their minds when the noises began and their imaginations got the better of them.  I would tell them that we all coexist here in the jungle, the animals, the insects, and us; and it’s that balance that keeps the jungle alive.  The howler monkeys, though, I’ll let them figure that out on their own.

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