And I got to do it twice! We departed Tamarindo with a van and driver, named Johnny. The drive takes about five hours from Tamarindo to the Manuel Antonio area. About an hour later, I realized that my treacherous gut was betraying me again. Johnny stopped at a McDonald’s which had the advantage of being super clean and a bit private.

But it was too late. I tossed the underwear as irredeemable. There was a sink in the bathroom cubicle, so I texted Tom to bring me clean undies and shorts. I washed out my shorts. Then, with nothing covering me but a longish shirt, I went to the bathroom entrance and got the clean clothes from Tom. I laid out the wet shorts to dry in the back of the van and dug out the Imodium, hoping it would work fast.

We stopped to pick up Johnny’s wife, Juanita, at a large bus depot. I urgently sped into the huge, brightly lit, tiled women’s bathroom—and slipped on the slick tiles and fell. I need not tell you what a hard fall produced in my nether regions. I should have brought my walking sticks, but—you know—I was in a hurry.

A number of small, concerned Tico (Costa Rican) ladies helped haul me to my feet, and I limped off, muttering “Muchos gracias, muchos, muchos gracias.” Another pair of undies gone. I’m down three now, and I only brought enough for one week, thinking to launder as we went.

This time, there was no private sink. I ventured into the glaring light of the public bathroom with nothing on below the waist, and washed my shorts. I texted Tom, who appeared at the entrance—at this point, I was visible to the public at large—with my wet shorts from my earlier adventure and no underwear. I was just grateful to cover my ass and didn’t care if the shorts were wet. I congratulated myself on wearing a long shirt that covered most of my problems.

And to top it off, I threw a rib out. I hope you will forgive me if I don’t have much to say about this day. It was not a good day. I am confronting my physical limitations, and not very happy about them. I took more Imodium, which seemed to solve the immediate problem. (BTW, Tom has not suffered any gastric problems at all. I believe the food and water here are safe—I just have a gut that resists any change to its biome.)

I did manage to wish Juanita a happy birthday in Spanish (Johnny told us it was her birthday), and I am proud of my presence of mind, which was more than a little discombobulated by this time. Johnny and Juanita were very cute together in the front of the van, holding hands and giggling. They seemed very fond of each other.

And we made it to this beautiful hotel, Si, Como No. It meets all of Tom’s expectations—tiers of rooms spilling down a jungle-clad hillside with exotic flowers, scarlet macaws, and phlegmatic lizards. Our room overlooks the ocean and is absolutely gorgeous. Tom kindly brought me a double scotch, which was so extremely helpful.

We had a very nice dinner in the hotel restaurant. I had fish tacos, which came on homemade corn tortillas. I have noticed that they do not add much, if any, salt to food here—I sort of expect hot countries to add salt, but not here. With a little salt and sauce picante, the tacos were a delight.