Pretty Little Birds

What makes a "good" vacation?

Today I rested. Looked at some pretty little birds, walked in the forest, hung out at the pool. Except for the bugs (no-see-ums, aka viciously biting sand flies), it was a pretty idyllic interlude.

And how long had that lasted? For the six days previous, I practiced yoga under the guidance of Suzie Hurley, a popular teacher of the Iyengar and Anusara yoga traditions. Stretched and strained, worked out kinks and instigated some new ones.

Suzie's students, many of whom had practiced together for decades, welcomed me into their community. We meditated, dined, hiked, and did Trikonasana (triangle pose) together.

The yoga venue was an outdoor pavilion at Iguana Lodge, a beach resort on the Osa Peninsula, on the Pacific side of Costa Rica. Temperature: 89F. Humidity: 77%, though it felt like 99%. Sweat saturated my clothes and dripped from my chin. Hot yoga? You bet. Come to Costa Rica.

Lessons were accompanied by the shrieks of macaws and barks of howler monkeys in the tall trees. An occasional black frigatebird dropped by our class.

Colorful macaws travel in pairs

The surroundings were bucolic, the physical work challenging. My torn knee shrieked as loud as the macaws, at least in my head. Arthritis in my cuneiforms (forefoot) forced me to try Adho Mukha Svanasana (downward-facing dog, an inverted V) on one foot. 

So it was sort of a working vacation. Another one of the yoga practitioners was "working" on her doctoral thesis after class. Relaxing? Hmm. Balanced, maybe.

After morning and afternoon yoga, I swam in the ocean. Especially exciting was floating on my back under pink-hued clouds as the sun dropped behind the trees. One morning, I swam toward a rainbow. I kept my body parts underwater to defeat the bugs (though the "golden threads" jellyfish got me).

We had plenty of time for field trips. Guide fees, taxis, tips, commissions added up. Why? Because--oh my goodness--the options were endless! Dolphin watching, kayaking in search of bioluminescence, bird-watching, zip-lining, rappelling from a tall tree. I hired guides three times to explore the rain forest and find toucans and tanagers, crocodiles and troops of spider monkeys. I spent a morning (5:30 am) among the tangled vines of Corcovado National Park and another morning (5:30 am) on jungle paths near my resort.

The guides carried scopes with powerful zoom lenses. The best guides spotted wildlife instantly and frequently, even when as far away as treetops. Within four or five seconds, they set up their scopes on tripods and invited us to see close-ups of ostentatiously decorated birds, lazy hanging sloths, and elusive iguanas. I saw my first tapir, my first agouti, my first caiman.

Mama spider monkey hanging upside down with baby clinging to her back

Another guide shepherded two of us to a Pacific beach in the Matapalo area and then along precarious cliffside trails to a refreshing swimming hole beneath King Luis waterfall.

Bountiful and beautiful. Strenuous, nevertheless. After six days of sweat and exertion, I needed a massage and a leisurely stroll in nature, with nothing to distract me but the occasional goddess or butterfly.

A languorous day of leisurely strolls and bright woven hammocks did wonders for winding down from the energetic week. A sun hat, some DEET to ward off no-see-ums, and a good nonfiction book (appropriately, "Hold the Enlightenment" by adventure writer Tim Cahill). Tonight, I pack up my damp t-shirts and prepare for departure.

Just another day in "paradise," surrounded by pretty little birds.

Paradise Found

Here I am with another tale of a "paradise" -- or what most people would consider a paradise -- that for me has ups and downs, ins and outs, and pesky little things that perforate my pleasure.

Pros: Costa Rica is beautiful. I am here for yoga and meditation, which is blissful. The food is scrumptious, all fish and mimosas, mangoes and scones. Swimming in the warm, peaceful ocean uplifts my soul and offers the comforting illusion that I'm toning my thighs.

Cons: The tropics are hot and humid. Hot yoga? No other choice if you're doing it outside like we are. The sand on the beach is hot enough to fry an egg and turn your tender toes into hot tamales. There are mosquito nets over the beds (think large holes) but it's the no-see-ums that bite (requires smaller holes). Allergy-prone? Fuggedaboutit.

We arrived on the Osa Peninsula by 12-passenger plane. (Fun.) And 4-wheel-drive vans over sandy roads.

Villas at the Iguana Lodge are spaced out in the verdant jungle among giant coconut palms and dirt paths. Most rooms are open verandas with insect nets over the beds. My roommate Ann and I snagged one of the two air-conditioned villas ($100 per night MORE than the other rooms). All rooms have views of the sandy beach on Osa Bay, which flows into the Pacific Ocean.

Bathrooms are open to the jungle's beetles, butterflies and bees. It's hot and steamy in the bathrooms. (Did I mention they are open to the jungle?)

Flora: what you might expect. Abundant and colorful. (Who can resist pictures of pretty flowers?) Overgrown. Tarzan-and-the-Apes vines for swinging.

Fauna: howler monkeys and macaws are restless and noisy from 4 am until sunrise at 6 am. Or so I hear. I remain ensconced in my air-conditioned berth until 6:45 am, and pop out just in time for 7:00 meditation. The sun has warmed things up by then. 

Maybe by the end of the week I'll get up in time for the early-morning sound and light show. Meanwhile, there are geckos and butterflies flitting around all day.

The kitchen staff at Iguana Lodge pleases the senses with mahi mahi and ginger sauce, coconut rice, cheese tortillas, grilled pineapple, and sumptuous brunches. Not to mention cocktails with green lemon slices and red hibiscus blossoms on top. The placemats are cut from very big palm leaves.

So what's not to like, I hear you asking.

Sweat, sweat, sweat. Everything sticky with humidity (e.g., slippery wood floors and never-dry towels). Washing clothes in the sink every day, because no one outside of Downton Abbey can carry enough luggage to change into fresh dry clothes three times a day. Red hot sand. Itchy skin from salt-water swims. Itchy, blotchy thighs and ankles from pesky little biting sand flies, also known as no-see-ums. (THIS is the reason why all those gorgeous deserted beaches on gorgeous deserted islands continue to be deserted, in my opinion.) Stuffy noses and sneezes for several yoga students (including me) from the many assaults on the senses.

Also: there's nothing to do in the heat of the day. (Unless you're a staunchly sun-loving Floridian.) From 11 am-3 pm, the options are limited. It's best to just have a lemonade on the veranda, peruse a book in the shade, or nap in a hammock under a coconut tree. In my case, nap in my room. (Did I mention I paid for the air conditioning option?) 

And catch up on my neglected blog.

Well, all right. I'll admit that those naps are pretty nice. And that maybe this "paradise" is not such a terribly annoying place, after all. Not perfect, no. But as long as I can practice yoga, swim in the ocean, eat well, and retire into a cool, dry room now and then, well... guess I'll take it.

Pretty Pictures, Part 2: The Struggle Behind the Smiles

Those of you who followed my blog, The Reluctant Sailor, during our cruising years may appreciate the backstory of last week's sunny adventure in Belize. 

Amid the swimming, snorkeling, island-hopping, and dining, I was struggling. 

I briefly mentioned the reason in one of my otherwise-sunny Facebook posts.

I was on a 6-day cruise with Pope, three friends, and a hired boat captain. By Day 3, I was in agony from a shoulder injury. I don't know how I got hurt. Maybe hauling luggage, carrying heavy bags of boat provisions, or peering beyond my snorkel mask to avoid swimming into a prickly coral. 

The pain was debilitating. I was miserable, unable to get comfortable, rest, or sleep.

We were snorkeling at Glover's Reef, a coral-laced atoll 50 miles east of the mainland. By Day 5, my stoicism had collapsed. I asked our captain to help me arrange a medical evacuation by speedboat, to someplace where I could get a plane or bus to the hospital in Belize City. 

We were discussing it calmly and coolly (just kidding; actually, I was moaning and sobbing) when the whole group agreed to interrupt the cruise and take me to a doctor in our own boat--a huge, inefficient catamaran with diesel engine, four bunks, and four heads (bathrooms).

The nearest doctor (perhaps the only one outside of Belize City...) was in Placencia, where we had boarded the boat. This was a 6-hour round trip at the top speed of our boat (about 6 knots). This cost us less than $100 in extra diesel fuel -- much cheaper than using a medical evacuation company. But it eliminated a full day of swimming and snorkeling for everyone else. 

The other passengers said they wouldn't enjoy themselves knowing I was suffering. Actually, I think they were grateful it wasn't them. Another passenger had serious health concerns; it just as easily could have been him that needed emergency medical attention. In fact, he later went straight to the hospital on the way home from the airport, and is still there.

Our captain raced us to Placencia in our big boat, anchored, and sped me to shore in the dinghy. The doctor's office was outside of town in a primitive-looking, rustic shack with a tin roof that appeared abandoned, in the middle of a bleak field of dirt and weeds. No other buildings, homes, or even cars around. I wish I had a photo. 

To be honest, I was filled with dread, thinking: this can't be a real doctor. Surely I'm in the wrong place! A shot of cortisone in a place like this could be deadly!

However, inside, the office was clean and decent. The doctor is a Cuban who serves the expat community. Lots of Americans, Canadians, and Brits apparently live there or have winter homes. He did some manipulations, diagnosed a pinched nerve. His fee was $45, cash only. He called a taxi and sent me down the road to the pharmacist.

While I taxied to the pharmacy, the captain returned to the boat and motored to Placencia's city harbor.

I returned to the boat there, with $135 worth of painkillers and other medical products, and a case of beer for the captain and passengers. No poisons, though, despite the pharmacist's offerings.

This was all accomplished without any cell phone service! People along the way were happy to help me figure things out.

We spent the night on the boat in Placencia harbor, then motored back to the reef and another tiny isle.

I spent the remaining days laying around, moaning gently. The pills took the edge off but the discomfort continued.

After three flights, we got home by midnight Tuesday. I visited my chiropractor Wednesday and again Thursday, and on Friday got an ultrasound and more accurate diagnosis: torn tendon inside the rotator cuff. 

My trips seem to include a lot of adventures--sometimes unpleasant ones. In fact, that's what my blog was all about when we cruised up and down the coast in our own boat from 2013 to 2020.

I look at the photos of other people's "normal" trips -- a souk in Morocco, the Eiffel Tower, a tour guide with a striped umbrella -- with envy. My trips are rarely "normal." They're soaked in adrenaline! 

The shoulder incident is shaping up to be an extended struggle. However, it came with a big dose of sun and fun and magical isles. So, in between spasms, I'm smiling.

Pretty Pictures, Part 1: The Real Story

My younger friends keep asking me, “What’s it like to be retired?” “Isn’t it wonderful?” “I can’t wait.”

I know what they’re thinking: the same thing I used to think. Whenever I picked up a magazine or travel catalog, I’d see pictures of retirees enjoying the good life. 

Beautiful people. A woman in a straw hat, lounging around a pool. Couples with gray hair and white shorts, watching dolphins swim alongside their boat. Cocktails and banquets on a cruise ship.

When I used to see those pictures, I was full of zeal! I couldn’t wait!

I wish I could tell you retirement is like that. But no. Those pictures are a hoax! For the first couple of years after I stopped working, I traveled a bit. I even lived on a sailboat for a while. I set out to live the fantasy of sipping cocktails on the deck, gazing at the sunset.

But it wasn’t like that. It was hard work to maintain a boat. The leaks. The mold. The breakdowns. I certainly never wore white shorts! 

In fact, it turns out that a lot of retirement has been hard work. In particular, I've struggled with three obstacles to enjoying those glamorous activities in the photos.

1) First, the longer I’m retired, the longer the list gets of people I have to go visit regularly. An opportunity to socialize and have fun? No. Here’s the list of people I visit:

-physical therapist

-ophthalmologist

-dermatologist

-cardiologist

-epidemiologist

-bill collector

Does that sound like fun? No. But that’s what aging is like!

Most people who are retired will confirm that in the golden years, body building gives way to body deteriorating. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking: what about Jane Fonda? She looks great at age 84. 

Well, I think those photos are a hoax, too. Or she had a lot of plastic surgery. I sure don’t look like Jane Fonda. I don’t feel like Jane Fonda. 

I feel like more Methuselah. Ready for a long, long nap.

2) Second, the older I get, the older my house gets. Just like me, the plumbing has developed leaks. The floor is sticky. The refrigerator is overdue for replacement. It’s a constant battle to keep up with cleaning and repairs.

This winter, we had contractors replace the mortar on a brick wall. They hammered and drilled for days. Charged us $12,000. And the plumber came by to fixing a leaky pipe. For six hours of work, he charged $1,200! 

That’s where the money goes. Not to Hilton or Marriott or Club Med.

3) Third, now that I’m staying home more, I've been noticing the critters that share the house. Every evening while I’m sitting in the living room, a little mouse, sometimes accompanied by his brother or sister, wanders in, looking for a handout.

Maybe they find my house attractive because I don’t keep it as clean as I used to. I admit I’m too tired to kneel down and mop the floor. And too stiff to get back up.

I spend hours filling holes in the corners, scrubbing kitchen counters, and repackaging food into glass jars. And now, there’s ANOTHER person I see regularly: the exterminator.

This is where the time goes in retirement.

I’m still looking for that glamorous retirement that I expected--the ones my younger friends fantasize about.

I scan the catalogs with the pictures of beautiful people, laughing and smiling, and I wonder, where did I go wrong? Why I am still only fantasizing about lounging around the pool in a straw hat? 

Then I remember – those pictures are a hoax. Very few people actually get to visit castles on the Rhine on a $10,000 Viking River Cruise.

Most of us are at home, cleaning and repairing, or waiting in line at the doctor’s office.

So when my friends ask me, “What’s it like to be retired?” I’m honest. I tell them, it’s not like those beautiful pictures! Believe me, you can wait!