Lluvia

Some of the best moments of my life have involved rain.

I remember my mom letting me wade through a huge parking-lot-lake without shoes on when I was little enough to feel like Pocahontas in a blonde wig. I remember standing on the porch with Dad watching storms in awe. I remember the August storm on College Avenue last year. And I remember the hitchhike rain of 5 days ago.

Four of my colleagues and I decided to spend the majority of our day off traveling up the mountains to Río Cangrejal, which happens to be one of the premier rafting rivers in Central America. Once there, I enjoyed some wonderful sitting, jumping, and swimming. Then my group spent a few hours at a restaurant feasting on quite the delectable vista (see below). Rather then spending an hour of waiting, and 2 and ½ dollars of money taking a taxi home, my experienced friends said that the only good way to get home is: to Hitchhike.

Parents: cue the scolding.

God: cue the raining.

We raised one thumb each (which I then learned is a universal symbol) to a passing truck. He said we could hop on in, and so we did.

If I were an experienced local and had a bunch of gringos in the back of my truck, I’d probably do the same as our driver. Because of my curious nature, I’d drive over as many craters in the dirt road as I could find to see how that infamous American badonkadonk really could cushion itself. Because of the pouring rain and my compassionate heart, I’d drive as quickly as possible so hot showers could be available to those cold-blooded North Americans ASAP. And because of grief over the loss of my pigs that used to accompany me in my truck, I’d continue at such a rapid pace just to hear those squeals once more…

After just 15 minutes passed, we were safely back in the city and pounded on the side of truck to have our driver stop. I moved my lips in a “gracias” sort of fashion, and  realized I hadn’t stopped smiling until that moment.