After a two hour hike the Rio Claro interrupts the beach-jungle routine with a torrent of standing waves tearing down the middle of a beach. The thigh-high waves look hungry for fresh digital cameras so I decide not to attempt a hero's crossing. I whistle for Ricardo.
Ricardo paddles his teal canoe across a slow pool behind the beach. He drops off one passenger and picks me up. Four strokes later we've crossed the Rio Claro. I sit at Ricardo's picnic table as he makes beaded necklaces. I buy one. He does not talk much. He paddles me back across and I return from whence I came.
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