...and my face... and my arms... and the seat next to me as I inch closer and closer to Marco (who's looking at me like "it's just water – you were just in the ocean you crazy American") to escape the full-scale deluge coming in horizontally through the bus window that just won't close. (Horizontal rain – just like Chicago!)

Such is daily life during rainy season in Costa Rica. Every day since I've arrived we've had 3-4 hours of torrential downpour, preceded or followed by beautiful dark blue skies filled with fluffy white clouds.

But the rain is warm (unlike Chicago), and I'm drinking an Imperial cerveza on the 20-minute ride from the beach back to Quepos, so life is just grand. The beach outside Quepos (I can't remember the name) on the Pacific side of Costa Rica is wide, and the sand has the appearance of mixed spices (think Mrs. Dash here). It sticks to you like a staticky skirt on a humid day. The entire expanse is covered with palm trees reaching toward the sea that pounds their roots each high tide. The waves are strong and big, but since I was brought up on Jersey shore waves – which smacked you down onto a pebbly ocean bottom, dragging you and filling your suit with bits of beach, sealife and Jimmy Hoffa – these waves are easily conquered.

I had just crossed the Equator into the start of rainy season and I didn't get it – it's just a little line; how could it have such a strong effect? In Ecuador people were glad the rain was stopping; in Costa Rica they were glad it wasn't too much yet.

I guess my first clue about what rainy season in the tropics is all about should have been the 2½ foot-deep curbs in Quepos. It's a strange sight, not to mention dangerous to drunks, to have to step down almost half my height and then climb back up to street level. In some villages it was the reverse: a very high street and low sidewalk. In either case, it seemed like overkill. I soon found out they didn't make the curbs deep enough

We arrived in Quepos during a storm. We managed to stay under canopies as we made our way to our hotel – which was closed because it was the off-season, which necessitated us crossing the street to another hotel. No wait; revise that: it necessitated us WADING across the street.

"You want me to cross this??!" I said to Marco as I eyed an empty water bottle bobbing down the street.

The water was over my knees – god I love my Tevas, and the girl in the hotel who loaned me her hair dryer so I could attempt to dry out my clothes. The rain stopped long enough to get dinner, but it started again before we woke up. Luckily we had a Cosmo sex survey and beer to stave off boredom while we waited for Nils to catch up with us.

I'm told the beach is beautiful and "fluffy," as Marco put it, and packed during season. It was rocky and abandoned when we were there, but still beautiful. Some of the volleyball locals were still hanging at the beach, and I managed to get in a game (I thought the Sneaky Rutter crowd was competitive). Oh, and for the girls reading this update – the locals were sizzlin'. Think a Michelangelo sculpture, in milk chocolate! Sorry, guys, not really any local chicas to assess...

The beach we were at abuts a national park that is reputed to be lush with great snorkeling – we cheaped out on the $6 admission. I also had no desire to run into the crocs that supposedly lurk about, watching for the errant tourist.

We stayed four days – it rained four days – it was sunny four days – I drank cerveza for four days. I ate rice and beans for four days (the Costa Rican staple). It was wonderfully relaxing since it was off-season – hangin' at the mostly deserted beach with my Chicago buddy Nils and his roommate Marco. Two handsome men all to myself, locals giving us free alcohol, free drinks at the local bar for ladies' night (I'm turning into quite the lush). What more could I ask for? Sigh. Perfect.

What I lost this week: my list of what I lost.

Questions?
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