A cold ocean breeze the next morning ruled out a swim, but driving beyond the town, we came to a thatched-roof stand smack in the middle of the road. We stopped to see what was for sale, and the vendor picked up what looked like a volleyball, placed it on the counter and removed one end with a heart-stopping swing of a machete, leaving his fingers miraculously intact. Grinning widely at my astonishment, he plopped in a couple of straws and held out a coconut, still in its outer husk. Then he waggled a thumb toward a bevy of boats tethered at the nearby river's edge and lifted an eyebrow. It didn't take a minute for us to accept his wordless invitation. After parking our car, we joined him at a boat in which a youth lay asleep, legs draped over the side. The man kicked the side of the vessel and the young man sprang up and immediately started the motor. After an exchange of pesos we got in and took off, having no idea where we were going.
The river widened and later divided. I expected the boatman to turn around, since we'd been gone an hour, but instead, he took the right channel into a jungle. Trees clasped branches overhead, forming a dim, lacy tunnel with sunlight seeping through in patches. Vines slithered snake-like up the complex trunks of Mangrove trees and hung down as if exhausted in the heavy air. Talk stopped, the only sounds, the steady beat of the motor and calling birds. A streak of green, and an iguana crashed through bamboo on the bank. Parrots and birds I'd never seen before flashed by in brilliant, phosphorescent streaks. "Look at that!" I burst out, delighted by the sight of birds with feet the size of dinner plates walking on the water. Thatched huts on stilts appeared, and women washing clothes in the shallows, their naked little children playing near, melting into the trees at our approach. The muddy river began to clear and had turned transparent by the time--to our surprise, we arrived at a resort full of people--and not an Anglo in sight. The boatman tied up at the dock and got out. "Uno hora," he said, and walked away.
People swimming or strolling by cast veiled glances at us Gringos, our clothing wilted and faces flushed by the tropical heat. We stole peeks at them in the reflections of the handful of shop windows. I longed for a swimsuit and considered plunging into the crystalline spring water fully clothed. The tantalizing smell of barbecue reminded me that we hadn't eaten since breakfast, but heeding previous warnings about food, we settled for bottled orange drinks and tiny, flavorless red bananas. At the end of the promised hour, the boatman returned and looked puzzled by how glad we were to see him.
