Beneath the splendor of Arenal

The road cut through the mountain side like a machete revealing a path swing-by-swing in the jungle. Our van rumbled with the friction of each blade stroke against wood. Above us, the jungle tried swallowing the mound of earth rising toward the heavens while down the slope below us the rainforest lapped gentle against the side of the road. 

Beneath the volcano, we drove on in silence.  No birds danced under the glowing sun nor were the monkeys willing to converse with us as they had at Arena Del Mar. It was a silence only disturbed by the whispering wind of bated breath as we took in the view from the van window.  Would the volcano awake? It was a question that we soon found the answer too.

The sleeping three year old in the backseat erupted, splitting the silence with a melodic “Holy crap!” The entire vehicle jumped, startled by physical and verbal life our awe had taken on. We laughed unaware that this was the dress rehersal for when the volcano danced and lit his pipe the next day. We would be laying in the pool so while his hips couldn’t shake us, his pipe put on a memorable show. 

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