I’ve got these back problems, you see. When I was working as a tour guide in Mexico I broke my back. It never gets better, but I got some advice from a local directing me to a “real chiropractor” out on the barren road to Langosta Beach. And, this local said she was cheap. We all have different standards.
My wife and I got lost, finding ourselves on a side road. I asked a fisherman about a doctor for backs, and he pointed to a walled compound where a sign warned of dangerous dogs. Walking around to the front of the chiropractor’s office I came across the dangerous dogs, asleep in the heat.
A metal pad at the side of the doorway had an “Empuje” sign above it, so I impujed. An elderly woman appeared, told me she was with a client for the next hour, and to come back later. One dangerous dog opened an eye, the other raised his head, looked me over, then let his head loll back against the iron fence. What to do? The Tamarindo Municipal Park was across the street.
I loved the name of the park…in gringo…Mangler Park. The park was a desolate, dry, dead place, as every place is during the dry season. The sign advertised a Fitness Course, and I’m always in need of some more fitnessing. We wanders in to find the only two creatures in the park other than ourselves were two full-grown Turkey Buzzards. They weren’t leaving, no matter how close we got to them, and I urged my wife forward with her camera…telling her they must have some carcass they were working over or they would have flown. She got within ten feet of the pair before she started complaining of the smell.
The male had been standing guard…the female was busy mangling what was left of an Iguana. The male flew up into a tree, but the female was not going to leave her small, smelly piece of the food chain. She kept to her mangling. We decided to wait outside on the dead, dusty road to Langosta and the Ghost Hotel.
Yes, the remnants of a long-dead culture. The ruins of the first building boom brought on by the gringo invasion of the 1970s, gone bust when the colonists abandoned their dreams, deciding that dry seasons, rainy seasons, high season for tourists, and low season for tourists were not the extreme variations they were looking for in their search for Paradise. The strong – Los Brovos, survive here…the weak go home, if they have one to go to. I don’t. I’m thinking of changing addresses from the Ghost Hotel to the Ancient Ruins by the Beach.