30 YEARS!

Well bésame, bésame mucho baby . . .  

  BAHIA BALLENA is the first safe haven a yacht comes to when entering the Golfo de Nicoya from the west.  

We rounded Cabo Blanco that juts out into the Pacific Ocean like a wide clef chin. Entering the gulf reminded us of entering Cattle Pass, between Lopez and San Juan Islands of Washington State, during the radical high and low tides that a full moon causes which brings exor-bitant amounts of driftwood off  beaches to undulated in one’s path.

“Lookout,” I yelled, adding, “starboard, port, starboard, port.” Gene at Moody Blues’ helm played dodgeball, as we wove into the deep gulf.

 It wasn’t until the sun went to bed and moon and the stars rose that we noticed the subtle lights of all the casitas hidden in the lush jungle that tumbled down into the sea. And it wasn’t until the next dawn when the fisherman pulled in their nets and returned to the pier to finally go home and sleep  that we explored the village of Tambor.

(This post is dedicated to Bon~Bon Oldwyn who can untie any real or emotional knot!)

DO YOU KNOW that ten times more people die in one year from being hit on the head by a falling coconut, than from being attacked by a shark? (But this year might be the exception.) So remember, don’t stand under coconut trees!

(This post is dedicated to Frank Harrison Jensen who puts the lime in the coconut.)