Molasses, Mackarel and Muchagawa

The dark sticky pools at the bottom of the crater sized potholes are molasses, spread by the shops and inn-keepers who pay out of their own pocket for the sticky stuff. When the rains are over sometime in December, the Nicoya Peninsula becomes dry and dusty. The community of locals and ex-pats here all acquire sinus infections and a dry rasp to their voices from travelling the dusty roads.
The thick smell of molasses is still somewhat incongruous, and unexpected here. I can smell it as I limp "home" to the Gilded Iguana from the beach, leaving small splashes of blood in the dust and getting curious looks from other walkers on this early evening just before the sun goes down. Everyone is going the other direction- to the beach where the only scheduled event for most of us revelers on any regular basis is to meet at one of the many haphazard palapas sprinkled around the beach and watch the huge burning sun drop into the ocean.
I was surfing with Dan when I took a wave in to the beach. Amy was out on a borrowed longboard, although the combination of high tide and increased swell caused the waves to be more powerful closer to shore.
I was riding in to check on her and see how she was doing, so I rode as far as I could, and when I was within a few feet of the shoreline and the gathering sunset watchers I jumped off into the shallow water. That's when I felt a sudden sharp stabbing pain in the heel of my left foot. For the past few days Amy and I had felt little "nibbles" on our toes from the crabs on the sandy bottom. This felt a bit more serious. I limped the last few feet to the shore and took a look at the sole of my left foot- blood, lots of blood and a pencil sized hole just at the edge of the bottom of the heel. Already the pain was building and my heel started to swell. I'd always wondered ever since I first heard about stingrays what it actually felt like to be "stung"- I can tell you now it's absolutely no fun, but as a Feldenkrais teacher I was also interested to see how things would progress.
Amy came over to help me up the beach, and we made our way over to one of the palapas where I'd stashed my things. The attendant of this palapa (the only attendent of any of them- this hut happened to be the somewhat "exclusive" domain of one of the fancier hotel/resorts here, where we happen to be currently, poaching their wireless connection and eating a delicious tropical fruit salad). The attendant took one look at my foot and quickly started talking in Spanish as he led me over to the dune. Grabbing handfuls of a small-leafed sandy, viny plant he handed it to me and described how I should boil this "muchagawa" in hot water, and then cool it minimally and soak my foot in it to take the poison out.
So back to the molasses- I'm carrying my left sandal, limping along the road, with my surfboard under one arm with my sandal held in a few fingers, and a stout bunch of muchagawa in my other hand, alternately smiling and wincing at the passersby, and trying to avoid stepping in the puddles of molasses with the toes of my left foot. Strange, I can feel some sensation now all the way up in my left groin- I'm not sure if it's from the limping I'm doing, or from the poison.
Back at the iguana, I walk over to Carlos, one of their many excellent combo bartenders, waiters and general do-it-all types. He throws the muchagawa in hot water in I spend the next couple of hours with Amy, drinking rum and soaking my foot.
The next night Amy and I join Dan for an authentic cookout and fish bake at some new friends house, but right now we're getting the stinkeye from the staff at this hotel and I need to sign off.

Till next time,
Burke and Amy