Oh Whale

My waterlogged shoes squished against the mildew-covered pavement, hydroplaning precariously, both baling and taking on water with every step.

We walked up to the lawyer’s office, and, for the second time that afternoon, read the dreaded “Se Aquila” sign in the window, the empty, abandoned offices in the background.

As we walked back out into the barrage of precipitation, I watched my spongy shoes and thought about the ridiculous set of circumstances that led us here.

10 Days Earlier

A staff member at UPeace organized a Sunday whale watching trip down in Uvita, the whale-tail beach we went to with my family in March. (Read all about that here)

So, a large group of students decided to make a weekend out of it by renting a party bus down to Manuel Antonio (an hour north of Uvita) on Friday, relax on the beautiful beaches/party on Saturday, and then get picked up by the school’s buses headed to Uvita on Sunday morning.

Thus, our weekend began with a 3.5-hour bus ride to Manuel Antonio consisting of unofficial group karaoke sessions and lots of pregaming.

We spent our Friday night at the taco bar attached to our hostel and out at the local bars.

Saturday, we decided to visit the National Park for the third time. It’s one of our favorite places in all of Costa Rica; it never disappoints.

After a day of sand, sun, hiking, and animal sightings, we revisited the taco bar, went out for reggae night, and capped off an exceptionally fun, relaxing 48 hours in Manuel Antonio.

Sunday morning, we were set to meet the buses headed to Uvita for whale-watching. I was every bit as excited to see some Humpbacks as I was to go turtle watching in Tortuguero. We were ready: we woke up early to pack up our things, eat breakfast, and ensure we were completely ready to roll. We taxied to the meeting spot with 15 minutes to spare, so Landyn and I headed to a nearby ATM in order to get the cash needed to pay for the whale-watching tour.

There were three ATM’s in the small, air-conditioned space. A young man was at the middle one, so Landyn took the left-hand stall and I the right. After we did our thang, I turned to Landyn who, looking puzzled, said “I don’t know where my card is.”

“. . . What do you mean you don’t know where your card is? You either took it out of the machine or you didn’t.”

“I don’t remember it giving me my card back.”

“Well did it give you the cash?”

“Yeah I got the cash just fine, I just have no idea where my card is.”

We both looked at the machine, utterly confused. It didn’t make sense.

“Cari, I think it just ate my card.”

Equally perplexed and horrified, we shoved an old, used gift card into the slot, and sure enough, we could feel Landyn’s debit card lodged in the back. What the hell do we do now?

I ran outside, flagged down a taxi driver, and frantically tried to explain the situation to him, hoping maybe this was a common occurrence and a local would know how to help us. Maybe there was some secret trick to coaxing it back out.

As we tried to speak Spanglish with a taxi driver and an additional bank patron who had arrived on the scene in the aftermath, them explaining our only shot at recovering the card was to come back to the bank when the actual branch was open the following day, our friends called to tell us that the buses had arrived. There were upwards of 40 people waiting on us, we had no choice but to leave.

There was no magic button. No recouping our loss. It was time to call it. Time of death: 09:22. RIP little debit card.

As we hauled ass back to the bus stop, Landyn got his bank on the phone and canceled the card. We would deal with getting him a new one when we were back home. For now, we brushed it off and set our sights on the day’s adventure: whale watching.

I was crawling out of my skin with nerves and excitement when the tour company brought us out onto the beach. They split us up into two groups, and we boarded the boat right on the sand since the building of docks is not allowed inside national parks.

Landyn and I sat in the very front of the boat, and as we waited for our boatmates to file in, I was suddenly consumed with a feeling of restlessness, of anticipation. I wanted to see whales in the ocean for my entire life. What if we didn’t see any? What if we did? What if they swam right underneath our boat and flipped it and then carried me off under the water to find Atlantis?

After what felt like forever, we pushed off the beach and roared out into the surf. We were promised a smooth ride but that is not what we got. As someone who has to take Dramamine before these types of excursions, I would’ve guessed this would have made me mentally and physically uneasy. But something about sitting in the front of the speedboat brought me back to being a kid.

Growing up, we had a speedboat we took all over the midwest, camping and tubing and skiing our way through family vacations. We consistently brought it up to a cottage in northern Wisconsin at least every other weekend in my younger years, so boating is a staple of my childhood memories.

Things were not always smooth sailing as a kid, especially during some of these boating memories and cottage visits in the Northwoods, and I have strangely vivid recollections of using the time in the boat to decompress. I would turn my head into the wind, allowing it to blow my hair back, close my eyes, and breathe from somewhere deep down in my diaphragm. I let the sound of the motor relax me, lull me, even, as I enjoyed the feeling of flying on water. I remember looking around at the world on land passing me by, wondering what kind of lives all those people in all those other cottages lived.

Boating and everything it encompasses––the sounds, the feel of the spray, the motion of the waves, the wind––resonates with me on a spiritual level. I love it.

And I sort of forgot how much I love it since the massive waves in Utila freaked me out so much, but this was different: this was OG boating. Just me in a speedboat, living my best life.

The first few minutes of us getting out of the rough, breaking waves were turbulent; we were splashed by spray, tossed up and down, and, instinctively, I tilted my head up, closed my eyes, and let the experience draw me in. It’s like the ultimate feeling of being present, living in the present. My mind cleared, and I smiled as I was taken back to those early memories, slipping back into my element.

As we pushed past the wave-break-point, they cut the engine and we bobbed in the significantly calmer waves. Complete silence engulfed the boat as 24 pairs of eyes fiercely searched the aquamarine waters, willing a whale to surface.

And it did.

We saw the unmistakable dorsal fin of a Humpback whale. As we maneuvered closer, we realized it was a mother-daughter duo. It was every bit as majestic as I imagined it would be.

Thus began the process of us searching for whales, driving nearby once they were spotted, and watching them swim around the ocean. Adult humpback whales can spend about an hour underwater between surfacing stops, but calves can only stay underwater for 5-10 minutes before needing to surface again. So, the fact that they’re in birthing season right now and therefore many of the whales in the area were mother-daughter pairings, was great for us since it meant they would be surfacing more frequently.

I cannot express how much I was loving my life during this affair––the guide and I became fast friends, and upon seeing my camera and genuine interest in the whales, he invited me to sit on the front bow of the boat to get the best pictures possible. So there I sat: perched on the very front of the boat, watching whales in the ocean.

After about an hour of this, we drove to the nearby “Whale Island,” and the guide told us this is where we would be swimming. They cut the engine, and everyone looked at him incredulously because we had ~just~ spotted whales in this area only 15 minutes beforehand. They told us we’d have a chance to go swimming prior to getting on the boat, however, all of us assumed it would be at the end, by the pristine beach. Nobody pictured them plopping us in the middle of the ocean, on top of the whales.

So then I hit a dilemma: another key part of my childhood boating experiences was my fear of marine life. I had this ridiculously potent, irrational fear that while floating in the water, a huge fish would come up and either take some of my toes for a midday snack, latch onto my foot and pull me under to their evil lair between the weeds, or swallow me up in one gulp. It caused me to never stray too far from the boat. I never, ever, ever, EVER would have gone into the water knowing there were huge creatures lurking in its depths in our exact location.

But the guide said it was safe. And as I watched other begin to cautiously jump into the water, I knew what I had to do. I quickly slipped into my swimsuit behind the coverage of a towel and a good friend (fail on my part for not changing ahead of time like everyone else) and stood up on the bow, feet on the edge.

It had started to pour. Before I could talk myself out of it, I was tossing my orange life jacket into the ocean and jumping into the water. I went for a float in the ocean, in the pouring rain, amongst my friends and the whales. And it was so much fun.

At some point, you’ve got to let go of your fears. If I was destined to be swallowed up by a whale that day, I wasn’t gonna fight fate.

After we each jumped off the boat a few times, Landyn’s reckless ass even front-flipping off the boat, we concluded our Whale Island swim and headed towards our next stop: Playa Ventanas down at the start of the Osa Peninsula, which we had also visited with my family in March. Seeing it from the water was very cool, though, because we had a much better view of the various arched rock formations that gave the beach its namesake––”ventanas” means “windows” in Spanish.

One small problem: the area is notorious for its powerful waves and strong riptide currents, and as they backed the boat into the midst of these cavernous tunnels, we got stuck in a spot with massive waves competing against each other, resounding off the rock walls, making our boat lurch quite a bit. And then, we had even bigger waves ahead of us that we needed to make it through.

The guide told us to put our lifejackets back on, slide towards the back of the boat, and hold on. If I hadn’t been very used to boating, and experienced what it’s like to be a smaller boat stuck in big water, fighting to get free of the massive waves, this would have probably sent me into a panic, as it did for many of our boatmates.

I was airborne, a lot. Butt fully lifted off the seat, I truly felt like I was on a roller coaster.

When we finally made it back towards the beach where we began the tour, we spent some extra time searching for our last whales.

We were waiting patiently, learning some Humpback facts in the meantime, when a momma and a baby suddenly appeared extremely close to our boat. Through their own relaxed meandering and the waves pushing us adrift, they ended up being no more than six feet from our side of the boat.

This was one of those moments where I put down the camera. As much as I try to get as many great pictures as possible, especially to share with all of you, I also firmly believe that there are certain moments that don’t need documentation, they need you to be fully present. When they were right next to us, I simply watched. The calf was nearest to us, and I could see every detail of her from the tip of her nose to her eyes, to the tip of her tail. It was wild. Maybe one of the coolest things I have ever seen.

Heading back to shore was bittersweet––I was so grateful for the unbelievable experience we had that I wanted it to last longer. I wanted to stay out there until sunset.

Alas, we headed back to the buses and hit the road, homeward bound, with full hearts and memory cards treasuring the weekend’s events.

About That Card…

We spent the entire next week trying to figure out a way to get Landyn a new debit card. His bank wouldn’t allow him to authorize someone to pick up a new card, it would have taken too long to ship him a new one down here, and they refused to ship one to an address in Wisconsin since he wasn’t actually living there.

After a slew of phone calls and investigating all options, I decided to add him onto my bank account.

Why am I going into detail about our banking situation?

Because creating a joint-checking account feels like I might as well be married. That is trust and commitment right there. It’s a huge deal!!!

And we’re excited about it, and we’re happy about it, and I would trust Landyn with anything and everything, but it makes me think about how opportunities are presented to us.

When we first heard about whale-watching, Landyn didn’t even want to go. It was me who was most excited. When our friends wanted to go to Manuel Antonio beforehand, I was unconvinced for a couple days. It was Landyn who really wanted to go. If either of us had gotten our way, we never would’ve created the Lari banking account. A whole set of specific circumstances and deliberate decisions led us to that ATM.

Maybe there’s nothing more to it, maybe it’s just dumb luck that the stupid machine ate his card.

Or maybe the universe is constantly conspiring to put you in situations that scare you a little bit, that put you at a crossroads.

I could have easily said no to jumping in the water where we had just spotted whales. In fact, that would have been the easier of the two. But there’s something so refreshing and exhilarating about taking leaps of faith that you know you’re ready for yet still frighten you a bit. It’s what makes you feel most alive. It’s what makes me feel most alive.

Sometimes those are literal leaps that land you in the ocean in a thunderstorm with your friends. Sometimes they’re figurative leaps that land you on a sidewalk in Ciudad Colon in a thunderstorm, trudging through the downpour searching for a lawyer to notarize your paperwork.

Sometimes shit hits the fan and all you can say is “Oh whale.”

Until next time, friends.