Blog Through The Jungle -- The Costa Rica Diaries, Volume 6

“Going places that I’ve never been
Seein’ things that I may never see again …”
~~ Willie Nelson, ‘On The Road Again’

We worked as hard as we partied. Manuel Antonio National Park recently annexed our beach, Playa Rey, to their property. People had illegally constructed small shacks on the beach, which they used as a weekend party pad during the summer. The shacks and a few small houses were torn down to allow for rainforest rehabilitation, and our job was to sort through debris so it could be cleared away. They drove us to our worksites in a hot red pickup truck. At first, they took us out by groups – six volunteers to a truck, plus guide.

Our guide, Jose, was quiet compared to the others. The other guides, even the taken ones, shamelessly flirted with the American girls. They joked, danced and even made “costumes” for the girls the night of the beach party: grass skirts and coconut bras.

But Jose was relatively shy. He didn’t flirt at all, as far as I know. He would talk to us, but usually only after we asked him a direct question. He didn’t volunteer much information on his own.

So when Jose told us he was the National Arm Wrestling Champion of Costa Rica, we believed him.

“Sweet!” we’d say. “He must be stronger than he looks. Do you think he arm wrestles other national champions? Is there a world championship arm wrestling tournament?”

Eventually, we began to suspect this story was bullshit. But it was a damn good story nevertheless, so we didn’t worry much about its validity.

Besides, Jose was a Hardass. He may not be the National Arm Wrestling Champion of Costa Rica, but that doesn’t mean I’d mess with him. Here’s why:

By the end of the week, they were piling as many people in the back of the pickup as they could in an effort to conserve fuel. Students were hanging off the tailgate, struggling to keep hold as they bounced along the rugged dirt road running the length of the beach. We sorted back into our groups near the work sites.

One day, a girl from our group ended up in the truck with Jose and no one else from Team Disco Flask. This was awkward, because she spoke no Spanish, and Jose spoke no English. But he beckoned for her to follow him to our work site. His mission: clear two enormous wasp nests out of an outhouse so we could tear it down.

Jose manufactured a torch out of a stick and some flammable materials he found lying around. He set it on fire, held the makeshift torch in one hand, and drew his machete with the other.

Our group member watched with helpless anticipation as Jose jabbed the torch at the first wasp nest.

It is important to note – at this moment of utter suspense -- that these wasps are not your normal run-of-the-mill hide-in-playground-niches-waiting-for-children garden-variety Midwest wasps. These fuckers are huge. They are Jungle Wasps, three times the size of the Flying Terror we are used to seeing, and proportionally angrier. I tried to find some comparative information but I can’t, so you’ll have to take my word for it.

The wasps were less than ecstatic when Jose thrust a flaming stick into their home. They attacked with Savage Anger.

But Jose was ready. With one hand, he waved the torch steadily through air, meticulously burning away the nest. With the other hand, he swung his machete in precise arcs, slicing a wasp cleanly in half. Then another, then another.

Ninjas have nothing on Jose. In fact, I remain confident that if zombies had attacked our campsite (and anything can happen in Costa Rica, pura vida), Jose and his machete would have dispensed of the whole lot of them before they reached the first tent.

He calmly burnt both nests out, all the while slashing at the wasps swarming at his face. He put the torch out, then casually began tearing the outhouse apart, still using one hand to fend off the swarm with his machete.

He’d rip off a piece of corrugated metal, hand it to our friend to stack in a pile, slice a few wasps, repeat.

Our group member, half horrified, half amused, was wondering if there was some way she could be of more service when the wasps finally overwhelmed Jose. A single wasp, one of the last, narrowly missed the slashing machete and stung Jose on the face.

Our group member panicked. She could not communicate with him, and thus could not tell how badly he was injured. Should she get help? First aid? Another guide?

Jose, meanwhile, walked over to a lime tree. He cut down a lime with the machete, removed a slice and put it on the sting. He offered a cheerful smile to our group member, who stared in stunned silence as he went back to work.

Like I said, Costa Ricans are faced with Nature every day, and their instincts and resourcefulness are far superior to our own. If there were a contest for wasting wasps, I’m sure Jose would be National Champion.

Pura Vida.

~ Sketch E.