I walk down the beach, take a swim, pull out the box of tapes, stick it back, and do an inventory of food supplies. There is: 4 Nature Valley chocolate and oat bars, one big bag of Cafe Britt, (Costa Rica’s finest), one big bag of rice, one big bag of spaghetti, 2 tubs of dulce de leech, 7 tins of tuna, 2 tins of sardines, 6 tins of cuttlefish, 13 individual sachets of tomato sauce with various stuff, 6 jars of tomato and basil sauce, plus honey, jam, mayonnaise, camomile tea, lemongrass tea, soda biscuits, and the potatoes and onions in the tub. Elsewhere I find a gazillion tins of coke and beer, some whisky and a half bottle of rum. I will survive.
The gas bottle for the fridge is empty, and there’s no hot water. And there’s a rogue puma. Or giant rat. On the other hand, one of the bathrooms is marble, and the other is mighty impressive, if eccentric. The house is built from glowing hardwoods, filled with lofty palms, body-length sofas, quality books, lamps, and is designed for long, convivial dinners and nights of cards. Reckon it would be pretty hard for an artist to carry off even the view from the kitchen sink without it looking cliched or corny. Old notions of luxury don’t really hold up here. Everything’s on a different scale, an Osa scale.
Dinner of soda crackers and tuna with rum and coke . Tomorrow I must ask the hotel for a couple of bags of ice. Dave’s given me his iPod – the ultimate gift. I plug it into the speakers and listen to Buffalo Springfield For What It’s Worth, which we last heard in Las Vegas.