Pipa- The Wild(ish) Side

For our last full day in Pipa, Mark and I decided to spend the morning exploring Pipa's Ecological Sanctuary. Since it was located above the cliffs of Madeira Beach, he reasoned we could enjoy a potential bonus of finding backdoor access to the ocean below and adding one more beach to our list.  We heard it could be tricky, some friends tried hiking earlier in the week with their 5 year old and didn't have luck.  I already felt like a cross between an old salted shoe and poorly cured beef jerky so I wouldn't have minded too much if we couldn't find it. Yet, we dressed for the occasion anyway and headed out.

The sanctuary's sandy hiking path was meticulously raked and beautiful. The kids could freely lead the way as they followed the animal coded trail signs on the lookout for wildlife. Did we see anything? Not really, because my children likely scared them off with their whooping and stamping around. We did enjoy a family of fenced off turtles, but the tour was totally worth it because we had shade. Of course about to call it a day, one of the employees helpfully directed us to the Pirate Trail, leading straight to Madeira Beach. Peeking through the trees and over the cliff, we could already see the dolphins. I couldn't possibly say no to that. The trail was by far the steepest terrain we encountered but gripping Margo in one arm and the well-used guide rope in the other, down we went. 

I can't say this beach visit was my greatest victory: Margo was insufferable and exhausted, Deets was oblivious and distracted, and Mark was his usual affable self, seemingly impermeable to my rapidly depleting tolerance to sun exposure. Alas, I rallied. We played, swam, kayaked, and hiked straight back up from whence we came. Thirty minutes later with one less shoe (darn it Margo!) we sat in our own dusty, sandy filth and cruised home for another fully clothed shower and a nap.

At some point during the afternoon while we wandered about and visited a local brewery, the electricity went out for the entire town. Everyone stood outside in the shade, conversing and relaxing as they waited for the juice to kick back on. Tiny sagui monkeys took advantage of the situation, climbing and swinging along the black cabled jungle. The monkeys drew even more crowds to the street, blocking traffic and irritating drivers. I loved the spectacle they created thought this totally completed my vacation experience.

Until the next day.

Having slept poorly and up early again, all of us were very excited to go home.  Mark corralled the children in the back patio while I enjoyed the relative peace of stuffing organizing unwashed clothes into our bags and moving them to the doorway. Walking into our room, I laid my eyes upon a spider crawling casually along the edge of the bed. Now when I say spider, I really mean to say: TARANTULA. A Brazilian Bird-Eating Tarantula. Bigger than my hand and hairier than Jim-dog, the tarantula took no notice of my shrieking and knee-high prancing. It just kept on crawling as I ran away to make Mark 'do something' about the biggest f*king spider I had ever seen. At the time I lacked the mental capacity to come up with the word tarantula. (Earlier this week I made him 'do something' about a cockroach that I thought died on the kitchen floor. I didn't realize that cockroaches also play dead sometimes as a form of self-preservation. So when Mark resigned himself to picking up the carcass and found it was still alive, he was fairly displeased with his newfound task of killing it too.)

Anyway, seeing as how I have a dramatic flair for creepy bugs, Mark thought I was totally exaggerating until he saw it himself. He kept asking me specifically where it was, and all I could say was "you can't miss it!"  Well what did he do? Took pictures of the damn thing! He reasoned it would not be nice to kill it, and that it would probably break his flip flop. I had to agree with him there. I don't even know how one would get tarantula-gut stains out of the sheets anyway. The kids were fascinated, eager to watch him crawl along the shadows of our unmade bed. As Mark took photos, Deets reminded him to not let the spider eat his lens cap. I squirmed, feeling nauseated and horrified- but unable to look away. 

Mark dumped out all of our bags and repacked, reassuring me no that other uninvited guests would come home with us. Exhilarated, yet calm and sensible, Mark spent a considerable amount of time convincing me the tarantula's debut was only a one time thing, and that it didn't sleep with us all week; that it likely crawled into our open window just that morning. However, if there was ever a sign that it was time to go home, this had to be it.