by Jillian Dodd
Gabriel stands in front of the door and instructs, “So, there are a few rules. First, always watch where you walk. Many times butterflies will land on the ground, and you don’t want to step on them. Secondly, as we enter and exit the sanctuary, we will go through glass waiting rooms to make sure no butterflies accidentally get out. So just follow my lead and be careful where you step.”
Once he has finished speaking, we squish into a little room before the glass door is sealed. On the opposite side, another glass door opens up into the sanctuary.
It is breathtaking.
There are butterflies everywhere I look, some are on the flowers and palms but most are floating through the air. And the backdrop is stunning, featuring tropical plants and flowers. I walk on the stone path that leads us through the sanctuary, where we discover many beautiful birdbaths filled with water and fruit for the butterflies.
“Wow, look at that one,” I say to Adam, pointing at a butterfly sitting on an orange.
“Butterflies love fruit, like oranges and bananas,” he says, squatting down to take a photo.
As I continue looking around, I notice that Jimmy can barely contain himself. He is tugging at his mother’s arm, pointing in every direction all at the same time. He turns and gives me a smile, beaming from ear to ear.
Adam walks next to me. “I’d like you to hold your arm out and see if we can get a butterfly to land on you. It will make a great photo.”
As I hold up my arm, he grabs one of the oranges and squeezes a little juice onto it.
“Eww, that’s sticky,” I whine.
“Oh, relax,” Adam banters back while rolling his eyes.
Sure enough, a beautiful orange butterfly lands right where he put the juice.
“Ahh,” I squeal and giggle. “It tickles.”
“Alright, that’s great,” he says. “Now look at me and smile.”
I turn to him with a smile already plastered on my face, because it’s not every day a beautiful butterfly lands on you.
After a few moments the butterfly flies away, but Adam still has his face buried in his camera taking photos of all the other butterflies. I get my own camera out to take a quick photo of one that is perched on a birdbath.
As I slowly move closer to it, Adam grabs me from behind, stopping me in my tracks.
“What are you doing?” I whip around and ask, irritated because the butterfly I wanted to take a photo of just flew away. Plus, who knew Adam was so strong. He grabbed me like I was a rag doll.
“Be careful,” he barks. “You almost stepped on one.”
“I would never,” I yell back. “Don’t tell me what to do. I was totally watching where I was going,” I lie. Because, honestly, I was focused on the birdbath. Grr. Why does he have to be such a know-it-all? His comment irritates me, and I’m starting to sweat. It is so sticky here. Why does it have to be so hot? I’m taking a look around, calming myself down with the thought of finding another butterfly to photograph, when I spot it. “Look, Adam! There’s an owl butterfly. Over there, on that branch.”
His camera immediately moves in front of his face, but I can see that he’s grinning from ear to ear. And he has a really cute smile. Although it irritates me a little that the hotter it gets the cuter he seems to look, because I know that my hair is frizzing in the humidity and that the makeup I so carefully applied this morning has probably dripped right off my face. It’s just not fair. The sheen of sweat on Adam’s skin seems to make him glow, the smell of his deodorant gives him a musky sensual scent, and the more his hair curls on the ends, the more adorable it is.
When he finally finishes snapping away, he looks straight into my eyes. “Thank you. I’ve never gotten to see one in person, and they have been my favorite butterfly since I was a kid.”
He wraps his arm around me in a sort of awkward guy hug. Then he turns and follows the rest of the group out of the sanctuary.
I follow his baggy-shorted butt to the set of doors and watch as Gabriel checks in the room to make sure no butterflies followed and then allows us to exit.
“Thank you so much for joining us,” he says warmly. “I hope you learned some new things about butterflies and enjoyed your time in the sanctuary.”
“Thank you for the tour. It was so wonderful,” I gush. “I can’t believe the amount of different butterflies you have here. And they are all so unique and beautiful.”
Gabriel seems pleased with my comments, but I don’t get to talk to him further because Diego is shooing us back out to the bus.
I turn around and take one final photo of the place. The amount of love Gabriel has for his butterflies is pretty special, and it’s something I will never forget.
That and the look on Adam’s face when he saw his favorite kind.
Jimmy sits next to me on the bus, which means there won’t be room for Adam. I was looking forward to talking to him more. He’s kind of intriguing, like all the places he’s visited. He makes me feel like I’ve never been anywhere. I mean, I’ve traveled around the United States with my family when my dad had conferences, but Adam has been to the kind of exotic places I’ve only dreamed about.
“Those butterflies were so cool,” Jimmy yells, interrupting my thoughts. “Mom says we get to eat lunch soon. Can I sit next to you at lunch?” His big brown eyes plead with me.
“I wish you could, but Adam and I aren’t going to lunch with you. We have to visit a school. But you’ll have a great time exploring without us.”
“Maybe,” he whines. “As long as there’s no shopping. I hate to shop. But I am really hungry. Can you hear my stomach growling?” I can’t help but laugh.
“I think mine is growling—” I pause when I see Adam slowly emerge from the house. Even though the rest of us are all loaded onto the bus, he seems to be in no hurry as he bends down next to a flower to take a photo of it.
“Adam, let’s go,” Diego finally calls out.
Which still doesn’t seem to faze him. Adam backs away slowly from the plant, still hunched over and shooting. I’m not sure what about it caught his attention anyway, it’s just a plant. But now, I want to know.
When Adam finally gets on the bus and takes a seat up front, Diego announces that we will be dropping the Johnson family and Manuel off in a small town along the way to have lunch and shop, and that he will then drive Adam and me to the school.
Once we get into town and the Johnson family unloads, I decide to move closer to the front so I can talk with Diego and Adam.
I sit next to him. “Do you have any food? I’m starving,” I beg, making big, pitiful eyes.
He glances over at me, just seeming to realize I sat down next to him. “Seriously, can you not wait? We’re going to be there in twenty minutes, and the first thing we’re going to do is have lunch.”
I lean back dramatically, trying my best to look pathetic. “I’m famished. I don’t know how I will make it off the bus if I don’t get something to eat.” I bat my eyelashes at him. He’s so straitlaced. I’m guessing he would be the kind of person to keep snacks in his backpack for emergencies.
He stares at me for a long second. “Fine,” he says, reaching into his bag. “I always keep granola bars on me, just in case.”
“Yes,” I squeal, amazed by my psychic abilities. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. . .” I sing, ignoring the fact that he’s rolling his eyes at me.
I take a bite as Diego starts speaking, “I want to tell you a bit about Costa Rica’s school system.”
“Okay, one second,” I say back, holding the granola bar between my teeth while taking my notebook out of my bag. “Alright. I’m ready. Sorry, I need to take notes.”
“Okay, so Costa Rica is working hard to make sure all of its children are educated, and we have one of the best schooling systems in Central America. In 1869, education was made free and is required of all citizens. Since the 70s, nearly thirty percent of the nation’s budget has been dedicated to education. Most students will graduate high school being able to spea
k English. And as a result, we have more teachers than policemen in Costa Rica.”
Upon our arrival at the school, we see a woman and a swarm of children in front of the building. They all have on matching uniforms consisting of white polo shirts with navy blue pants or skirts.
“Welcome,” the woman says cheerfully. “My name is Maria. We are so excited to have you here and show you our school. We want to say thank you so much for the generous donation. Now come, come,” she says, ushering me inside. “Let’s get you some food and then we can show you around the school.”
“Thank you for having us. My name is Camille, and this is Adam and Diego,” I say, motioning toward them. Diego greets her, but Adam is already taking photos and simply gives her a wave.
“It is wonderful to meet you both,” she exclaims. “Follow me.”
But Adam says, “Camille. Turn around.” I turn and smile at him as he takes some pictures of me surrounded by children. Once he’s gotten what he wants, he gives me a thumbs up.
We make our way into the long, one-story building, and we follow Maria to an open table in the lunchroom.
“Sit, sit. Right now is the children’s lunch time. Let me grab your plates from the kitchen,” she says, scurrying off.
“She is so nice. I’m so excited to be here,” I say to Adam and Diego, who are seated on either side of me.
“It is wonderful,” Diego agrees. “But the magazine gave a generous donation, so Maria wants you to see it all.”
A wide smile forms across Adam’s face. “It’s great that they are helping the children,” he says.
Maria and another woman come rushing toward us with three plates full of food.
“We have for you a traditional dish of rice, beans, and a tomato salsa,” she says proudly, setting the food down.
“It looks delicious,” Diego and Adam say in unison as we all dig in.
After we finish our meal, Maria gives us a tour of the school. We first enter into a classroom that is fairly large and open. There are rows of brown desks and a large chalkboard hung prominently at the front of the room.
“The children are normally in school for half days, leaving a little after lunchtime. And they take English classes each day,” Maria explains. “The sad part is, many do not make it to high school because we are in a rural area. Normally around sixth grade, they are pulled out to help work on the family farm full time. We also lack textbooks, which is why we were so grateful for the donation,” she buzzes. “Let me take you to the supplies.”
As we enter another classroom, I am overwhelmed. In the corner there are stacks and stacks of textbooks ranging in all studies. There are also three piles of notebooks and boxes of pencils. Along the wall there are a few extra chalkboards as well.
“Wow,” I stutter a little. “I didn’t realize how much it would be.”
“Yes,” Maria says beaming. “Now when they are in school, each child will have their own textbook to use for the day as well as school supplies to use for studying. It is a wonderful gift.”
I look toward Adam, who is busy planning his next shot. “Maria, would you mind if I get some photos of you and Camille as well as some with the children with the school supplies?”
“Of course not, the children will love that. But we have to hurry, because we have a little surprise planned for you.”
Adam
As Maria leads us outside, I take in the pale green stucco walls of the school. One wall features a painting of a bee holding a paintbrush and bucket with the words Welcome to School painted next to it. I step back and focus my camera on the mural. Maria directs us toward an outdoor cement-floored courtyard with a tin roof.
“Sit on the bleachers, and the show will begin momentarily,” she instructs.
I look to Camille, who can barely contain herself. She has no clue and thinks this is all adorable. While it is wonderful that they were provided with supplies, nothing past that seems to cross her mind. What about the fact that many of these kids won’t make it to high school? Doesn’t she wish she could change that? Does she ever question anything in life? Like why is the magazine donating to a foreign country’s school when there are kids in her own hometown who don’t have adequate school supplies?
I watch her grin and know she would probably just say I’m being depressing. But I’m not. I’m a realist, while she seems to have her head in the clouds. Though, maybe that’s a good thing sometimes. It sure it would make my life easier if I wasn’t so cynical.
I’m pulled out of my thoughts by a parade of school children entering the covered area. Some take seats on the bleachers next to us and some on the floor in front of us. There are girls wearing traditional ethnic skirts that take their place on the makeshift stage. When music from an old cassette player is turned on, they put on a beautiful dance. I have my camera at the ready and get some great shots of their skirts swinging as they twirl across the stage.
“They are amazing. Look at them dance,” Camille whispers to me.
As I’m turning toward her to reply, a little girl runs up to Camille and pulls her onto the stage. They wrap Camille up in a skirt like theirs and start dancing around her. I don’t know what I expected, but Camille is a natural on stage, swinging her hips like she’s done it all her life.
I snap a few photos before some of the other children attempt to pull me on stage, but I go to the side getting more photos of the party occurring around me.
Pretty soon, pop music is playing and everyone dances around, even Diego.
I see Camille pull out her video camera and turn it toward herself saying, “Hey guys, it’s me Camille. I just wanted to share with you all what is going on right now,” she says, beaming into the camera. “These are local schoolchildren, and they just put on a wonderful show for us here in Costa Rica.” She pans the camera to show the kids. “I just wanted all my viewers to see a little part of my day while on this amazing trip. Alright, bye guys!” she says while smiling and waving at the camera.
Wow. I’m actually a little embarrassed. It seems like such a touristy thing to do. I’m half surprised she didn’t whip out a selfie stick. But no one else seems to be appalled. They seem to love her.
And now, she’s looking in my direction. I pull the camera up to my face, not wanting to make eye contact, because I know what’s—
“Come dance with us, Adam.” She pulls on my elbow, leading me to the stage as dancing children surround me.
As the little party dies down, Maria says, “Thank you so much for coming. We are so grateful, and it was fun for the children to plan their surprise dance. They were so excited to perform this for you.”
Camille can’t restrain herself and hugs the woman. “This was such an amazing day.” She beams. “Thank you for having us, Maria.”
Diego and I shake her hand politely and thank her for her hospitality, and then we head back to the bus. But Camille turns back, yelling Pura Vida to Maria and all the children, who shower her with shouts of glee and waves goodbye.
When we get loaded onto the bus, Diego says, “It’s about a two-and-a-half-hour drive to Limon, where we will be staying the next two nights. Once we arrive, we’ll get you checked into your beach cabanas and have dinner, then you two are free to explore the beach and relax.”
“Sounds good,” I hear Camille mumble as she starts to doze off in the seat next to me. I don’t know how she falls asleep so fast.
I start thinking ahead to spending time on the beach. I can’t wait to leave the windows open all night. I think that’s my favorite thing about the beach, being able to feel the breeze and hear the sound of it while you sleep.
I spend the time we are traveling scrolling through my photos. I pause, taking time to study a very good picture of Camille dancing with the children. She looks free and radiates happiness. I stare at it for far too long, finally becoming irritated with myself.
I shove my camera into my backpack and pull out a book, deciding it would be better to read for the remainder of the drive.<
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Camille
I wake up just as the bus stops. I check the time and see that it’s a little after seven. Wow. I must have been exhausted from the day’s festivities. I hop out, hard sand crackling under my feet as I go grab my bag.
Once we’re unloaded, Diego leads us toward a small beach shack surrounded by palm trees. There is a light breeze, and the blue sky is fading away as the sun sets for the day. We walk up the steps and into the building, discovering a very informal reception area.
“Welcome, my friends. Can I get you checked in?” the man behind the desk drawls slowly.
“Yes,” Diego says. “We have three rooms, under the name Diego.”
“Right on, my man. Here you guys are,” he says while looking down at a log book. “Well, welcome. My name is Richo and I am the owner of Palms of Paradise. If you’d like to follow me, I will take you to your cabanas and show you around the place.”
As he comes out from behind the counter, I take in his shaggy blond hair, board shorts, and bloodshot eyes. Richo is totally an older surfer dude.
He leads us back outside and takes us along a seashell pathway adjacent to the building.
“So, here we have the dining hall,” he says, pointing out a whitewashed wood building to our left. “Breakfast is at 7:30, lunch at noon, and dinner at 6:30, but since we knew you would be arriving late, we have food waiting for you.”
He keeps on walking, leading us around a corner to a breathtaking view. A line of palms strung up with hammocks edge the pathway. The water is only a short distance away, and the cool ocean breeze instantly relaxes me. And the smell! It’s so clean and fresh; it smells like a candle.
On the right, opposite the palms, is a row of individual little cabanas.
“These three will be yours,” Richo says, pointing to the closest ones. “You dudes get settled in and then head on over for dinner. Diego, come talk with me after so we can make sure everything is finalized for the snorkeling trip tomorrow. So unpack and come eat, but before you do, take a minute to soak up the last bits of sunlight and check out that rad view.” He waves at us as he heads back toward the office.
