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January 19, 2002 Costa Rica
We've had several Christmases on this
trip-most of them more or less downers-and the one we just had, in
southern Costa Rican Punta Leona, was one of the more interesting ones.
We arrived on the evening of Christmas Eve, finding
our friends Hoptoad and Gypsy already there. Over the radio they had told
us that Punta Leona was equipped with a swimming pool, ping-pong tables,
tennis, and a minimarket, all of which were open for use to the common
cruiser, which is very generous, as we spent most of our time there
monopolizing the ping-pong tables and playing noisy and violent games of
Marco Polo in the swimming pool.
After hastily getting our rowing dinghy, Emily, in
the water, we rowed in to shore, slightly cautious of the multitudes of
baby manta rays that supposedly live in the shallows during December and
January-although in fact we never did see a single one, much less be stung
by one, though the number of sarcastic allusions we made to watching out
for all the manta rays certainly would have tempted every one to sting us
repeatedly had they been there.
At the large swimming pool we reunited with the
Hoptoads and Kit on Gypsy, and met Kit's younger sister Leslie, who is
married and just graduated with majors in nursing and fine arts-she
focused on pottery. That evening we had too much to say to indulge in any
loud games of Marco Polo, and broke up after we'd introduced ourselves to
Leslie by telling her all about our cockroach infestation. (Now, that was
discreet of us, wasn't it?) We parted with promises to meet at the beach
the next afternoon to eat Christmas dinner at some barbecue-equipped
picnic tables.
Back on the boat we prepared for Christmas. The
Hoptoads had informed us that we were doing a "gag" gift swap, and we had
to scrape together five gifts. Dad made some chocolate chip cookies for
part of it, Douglas contributed an old digital Battleship game, and the
rest was made up by a Globe magazine and a jar of pickled papaya, the last
of two that we'd been given in exchange for the Spanish version of
Microsoft Word from some San Blas locals (this definitely fell under the
category of "gag"). We also were doing a proper gift swap, where we chose
which gift should go to whom, so we had our work cut out for us wrapping
the lot of them.
The next morning, after we had completed our own
personal boat traditions, we went around to Gypsy and Hoptoad, rousing
them from the bowels of their boats with a hearty rendition of "Deck the
Halls." We gave them their "real" gifts, which they said they'd open
later.
Back on Margarita we began the traditional, if
somewhat twisted by circumstance, rites of preparing our part of the
Christmas dinner. We had turkey and ham-although the ham's first
ingredient was beef, followed by several other kinds of meat before pork
entered on the scene, and it looked more like luncheon meat than anything
else-which is more than we could boast for some of our other boating
Christmases; and, what was more, we cooked it with real gravy and roast
potatoes.
Sonny had told us irritably that we were to
assemble on the beach at two o'clock, and, with unnatural punctuality,
there we were at two o'clock; but as soon as we got there the Hoptoad and
Gypsy contingents dispersed to their separate boats to bring in their
food. By the time they were back with us and the barbecue was lit, we were
seriously concerned about the temperature of our gravy, brought to shore
in the plastic jug usually reserved for UHT milk. But by dint of keeping
it next to the barbecue it was still reasonably warm by the time the
barbecued part of the meal was ready.
We gathered around the circular picnic tables,
draped with remains of Hoptoad's cushion-covers fabric, and sat down to a
more-or-less traditional meal, our part of it supplemented by rather good
sausages and Cajun chicken, stuffed potatoes and coleslaw. The ham turned
out to be a dead loss, but with the wealth of other food we didn't go
hungry for it.
After the meal we made the "gag" gift swap. We all
drew numbers from a hat-a patriotic U.S. hat, as a matter of fact,
versions of which the Toads had all been given by Jeff and Shawn's
grandmother-and chose presents in order according to what number we got. A
gift could change hands only three times, which gave the person in last
place less of an advantage than usual. My original gift was some men's
underwear (credit of the Toads, who took the "gag" thing very seriously),
but Leslie took these for her husband as his one souvenir of her trip. The
Toads also contributed a bead necklace Margie made, which fell to Bronwen;
a charming box of dried cuttlefish, coupled with a bag of Skittles, which
ended up in Dad's hands; and a clay souvenir whistle that looked like a
toucan, but tripled as a fox and a bird with a bizarre crest that looked
more like the double crown of Egypt than anything I've seen on a bird,
which I opened when Leslie bereft me of my men's underwear. Our cookies
landed in Mum's and Douglas's hands; Sonny was not exactly enamored with
the papaya; Margie got the Battleship game; and Kit got the Globe
magazine, not exactly as planned. The Gypsies became instant favorites,
and probably felt rather short-changed, with their gifts of a hand-carved
wooden box, which fell to Shawn, and a high-quality hammock-Jeff 's
property.
After this we played ping-pong, the less
coordinated of us sending balls flying in all directions, and then had the
aforementioned noisy and violent game of Marco Polo, Leslie and Kit
juggling the position of Marco between them. One time Kit streaked after
Leslie so quickly and forcefully that she was coughing up water for about
twenty seconds.
We grouped on Hoptoad for pie and the "real"
present exchange. We exchanged books and souvenirs for the most part. The
Hoptoads also gave Gypsy a potted basil plant, like the one they had
themselves and one they had given us earlier on. After eating Margie's
delicious apple and pumpkin pies, Kit and Leslie sang a version of "Jingle
Bells" with lyrics that made fun of cruising, incorporating both the
Hoptoads' diesel fumes and troublesome engine and our cockroaches and
chaotic surf beach entrances. We Margaritas brought over our recorders and
Douglas's harmonica, and the others sang along to our Christmas carols as
an enjoyable conclusion to a Christmas Leslie later termed as one of her
best ever. -Emma
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