Duality

by Hannah Stubbs (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

A leap into the unknown Costa Rica

The sea was warm. No. Hot. I’d experienced warm oceans less than a half-dozen times in my life. But I’d never been anywhere like this. It was the middle of winter in Costa Rica. The sea was hot. I couldn’t believe it. Before I arrived, I knew that the rainy season wasn’t exactly cold in Central America, at least not compared to England. It’s why I’d packed a bikini. And the pair of sunglasses shielding my eyes. But there were also jeans and a raincoat in my backpack that had come in useful that same day when it rained heavy tepid pellets. From the beach, the water looked the bright turquoise tourist brochures liked to show off. Up close it was an opaque grey. I couldn’t see the bottom even though the sand-thick water was only up to my cousin and I’s shoulders and our feet were flat on the ground. Further out the waves were huge and toppled over themselves. Someone was surfing in them. I glanced over to our bags, wondering if there was anything in there the raccoons would find worth stealing. We’d seen them at it before we got into the sea. They’d thieved a bag of sweets from a backpack belonging to another tourist. We’d laughed, taken photos, and watched in amazement as the bandits went about their antics. Though we hoped they wouldn’t swallow any of the plastic. The sweets shouldn’t have been there – human food was not allowed and rangers searched bags before people entered the National Park. But somehow the sweets had sneaked through. The more I thought about it, the more I resented the sweets getting anywhere near the raccoons. Why so many tourists think themselves above the rules of a place baffles me. Food was banned for a reason in the sanctuary. I’d seen that reason when the raccoons had nicked the sweets. The raccoons had become too used to humans, it might get them killed one day. Where we stood in the ocean, the waves were calm and gentle. For the most part at least. We stayed there for a while, splashing, swimming, imagining what sea creatures shared the beach with us. Then, deeper we swam. Until we could no longer touch the bottom. The waves were big. They covered us. We dived through them. Sand and salt got in my eyes, my mouth. I couldn’t breathe. I drifted. The Costa Rican government cared a lot about their wildlife. They were determined to be plastic-free by the year 2021. It’s why there was hardly any litter – even in the capital. Not a single bit of plastic packaging on the beach. They understood that nature was so important. That without it the country would become like San José: urban, concrete, poor, and dangerous. If I hadn’t stayed in San José before I arrived at the Manuel Antonio National park, I’d have assumed Costa Rica was paradise. But I quickly came to realise it was a place of two extremes. Human poverty and natural wealth. Close to a quarter of the human population live in poverty under roofs made from tin, wood, and whatever scrap materials they can find. There are shortages of food, water, power, and proper waste disposal in these tin villages clinging to the outskirts of cities. None of this has really improved over the past two decades, yet the gap between rich and poor in Costa Rica grows every year. But then so much of the country is covered in thick lush rainforest where – like Manuel Antonio – there are racoons on the beach; squirrel monkeys leaping between thin branches of coconut trees; sloths hiding in the canopy; the cricketing of the allusive Cicadas; the yellow- black flash of the Toucan. Costa Rica seemed a different world to anywhere I’d seen before. Another wave. This one bigger than the last. For several seconds I couldn’t find my way to the air. When I came above, my sunglasses were gone. There was no way I’d find them. Without the sunglasses, the sun’s reflection blinded me. In losing the sunglasses, I’d marked the world. Ruined it. It was time to get out of the sea.