Slowly getting into the groove of this temporary life at Equilibio. In New York this pace would slowly drive me crazy, this idle passing of time and things happening happenstance or not at all. That’s no way to live if you live in New York. I sit on the shady patio by the river when I write and count the geckos as they scurry past, eager like me for some escape from the heat. Every once in a while an oreka will land in a nearby tree so I will stop what I’m doing to admire her until she flies off.
Yesterday afternoon Natalie and I decided to break up the time with a walk to the beach - yes again. Only this time we decide to take the mangrove route. The tide here is crazy - more extreme this month than usual because of the moon - so this route is not just a long walk past the salt flats, through the mangroves and finally the lagoon but also a matter of careful timing. Our flip flops keep getting stuck in the hot mud so we finally just remove them. In the mangroves, Natalie proves a trusty guide full of confidence and knowledge about the best way to maneuver past the river and through the lagoon to the other side. I follow her sure surfer girl stride gratefully.
Once there we quickly go in search of the surf shop Natalie wants to visit for their boards then practice our hand stands on the sand. The tide has started coming in and by the time we begin our return the sandbar in the lagoon has completely disappeared. So we tie our clothes with our money to our heads and start to swim instead. It is an effort to swim against the current to reach the mangroves on the other side but fortunately the water is not too deep. Natalie comes to the rescue again with a helping hand that saves me from getting whisked up river.
This time around we are wading our way through the mangroves. For some inexplicable reason - that Natalie does not entirely believe - there are no crocodiles here. Other than that, the mangroves remind me entirely of the Everglades. The bridge of fallen branches that enabled us to pass on our way out is now entirely submerged by the tide but we make our way across it anyway, feeling for the branches step-by-slow-step with our feet.
At precisely this moment I consider where else I could - maybe should? - be on a late Wednesday afternoon. Probably back with my friends and family in New York, planning or doing something important - or that is at least making me money. Instead I am wading through mangroves, walking barefoot in hot mud, counting geckos, watching orekas, and having an unexpected, fine time waiting for another day to quietly pass in Las Salinas.
Yesterday afternoon Natalie and I decided to break up the time with a walk to the beach - yes again. Only this time we decide to take the mangrove route. The tide here is crazy - more extreme this month than usual because of the moon - so this route is not just a long walk past the salt flats, through the mangroves and finally the lagoon but also a matter of careful timing. Our flip flops keep getting stuck in the hot mud so we finally just remove them. In the mangroves, Natalie proves a trusty guide full of confidence and knowledge about the best way to maneuver past the river and through the lagoon to the other side. I follow her sure surfer girl stride gratefully.
Once there we quickly go in search of the surf shop Natalie wants to visit for their boards then practice our hand stands on the sand. The tide has started coming in and by the time we begin our return the sandbar in the lagoon has completely disappeared. So we tie our clothes with our money to our heads and start to swim instead. It is an effort to swim against the current to reach the mangroves on the other side but fortunately the water is not too deep. Natalie comes to the rescue again with a helping hand that saves me from getting whisked up river.
This time around we are wading our way through the mangroves. For some inexplicable reason - that Natalie does not entirely believe - there are no crocodiles here. Other than that, the mangroves remind me entirely of the Everglades. The bridge of fallen branches that enabled us to pass on our way out is now entirely submerged by the tide but we make our way across it anyway, feeling for the branches step-by-slow-step with our feet.
At precisely this moment I consider where else I could - maybe should? - be on a late Wednesday afternoon. Probably back with my friends and family in New York, planning or doing something important - or that is at least making me money. Instead I am wading through mangroves, walking barefoot in hot mud, counting geckos, watching orekas, and having an unexpected, fine time waiting for another day to quietly pass in Las Salinas.
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