The hacienda comprises of a series of terraced bungalow style rooms on three sides of a large grass area in which stand two enormous trees. 

A Swiss cheese plant of some form twists up one trunk to a height of around 20'; its leaves a mixture of deep bottle green and yellow streaks. It is dusk and a welcome coolness has descended after the fierce afternoon heat. A solitary palm tree with an impressive crop of yellow coconuts stands to one side, dwarfed by the two central trees. The evening air is still but alive with the sounds of crickets. The occasional dragonfly zooms by, hovering, darting back and forth.

 

The bungalows are white faced with a continual veranda that runs past all of them. Outside each room is a garden bench; ornate metal sides and wooden slats. Some have ornate scroll work seat backs. Comfy, not too ostentatious; classic. Across the veranda opposite each room are two wooden tree trunk pillars that support that part of the red corrugated to roof; and between each set of tree trunk supports is a hammock, one per room.

 

 

From my colourful net hammock I look out on a world that comprises well-tended garden and shrubs, two enormous trees and the stunning mountain scenery that is. Rincon de Vieja national park. The volcanic peaks and hills are hidden by dark grey ominous clouds but below them steeply wooded slopes with some patches of open grasslands descend dramatically to the foothills in which our hacienda is found. To the west, the sun has almost set, lighting up the clouds. From the ominous greys and blacks in the north, clouds become tinged with pinks, oranges and reds. There are even hints of purple and blue. It is a stunning sunset.

 

A breeze ripples across the trees and branches and palms sway to the whims of this invisible force. Up the path a Spanish couple sit out on their bench, the clink of saucer and cup and the metallic tinkle of teaspoon betraying their secret veranda coffee break. Porch lights flicker on and moths begin their nightly ball; a never ceasing dance in the limelight involving a demented tango that only results in scorched wings. Like so many creatures on this planet who attend balls, some insects choose to remain on the fringes, taking up positions on the periphery of the main event; the wall flowers! (I speak from experience, I am an outlier moth, attracted by bright lights but not bold enough to take a leading limelight role!!)

 

Gravel crunches in the  distance and the rumble of tyres on a hard packed gravel road increases in volume as the last car descends from the national park headquarters higher up in the hills. Headlights punctuate the ever darkening gloom. It is 6.30pm. Night is falling fast. The air is warm and filled with the scent of flowers and horses which, allowed to roam free, munch on the succulent grasses of the manicured lawns. It's time for a pre dinner aperitif. Its Costa Rica time.......and its down-right 'chill'in!' 'Pura vida!