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The rainy season came late on the Placencia Peninsula, but then it made up for the delay with relentless effort, encroaching on the high season. Just when the first random tourists – paying top dollars for their dream vacation to the delight of the locals – were spotted, the rains moved in. Temperatures dropped to comfortable, and sky and water merged in the unimaginative color of lead. Yards and roads flooded with a mixture of rain water and sewage, and construction workers huddled on the trucks stone-faced, looking more hopeless and miserable than the rest of us.


Life goes on. People wade through the brownish puddles with stoic determination; the street dogs hang their ears and tail as they roam their territory; and cats walk funny, shaking water off their paws every step. Internet, power, and garbage pick-up are in and out more often than usually, but we all handle that. Tour guides take tourists out in less than desirable weather conditions; nobody can afford to lose a buck.

On the bright side, the cars that jam up the main road in Placencia village look shiny and new even when they are dented, like mine. Tropical flowers stand erect and bloom in profusion, their yellows, oranges, and reds shouting out of the muddy, bland background. The forests turn deep emerald and the palms stand like elegant ladies at a cocktail party: their waterlogged trunks are slim and black, and their fronds are bejeweled by the diamonds of raindrops.  The temperature is more than pleasant and accommodates  a good night’s sleep in homes where air conditioning is a luxury.

What more could anyone ask for?


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