Don't fix the roads! & don't tell everyone about it or they all might come! What an astonishingly beautiful place, this private compound, perched on the crest of a ridge, the lush jungle falling away to the sea, is. Each private Cabana is a hand-hewn gem of tile and wavy grained wood, every table , door, counter, lintel & lamp, is an artful contrivance, so aesthetically pleasing you will never want to leave! And what splendid isolation! Every morning I would rise with the first light, ostensibly to paint the sunrise over the sea and distant mountains, but it soon would become to take in the show. It is so quiet there in the pre-dawn, you can hear the surf pounding a mile away. Then come the bird calls in three part harmony, the Laughing Cuarcuraca with its wistful dirge, the low buzzing rumble of the humming birds and bees, and the parade of exotica begins, manikens with trailing fan tails,& kiskadees with black masks and yellow bellies go waltzing through the trees. The Magpie jays arrive en masse with their Arabian night headress and great cacophonous clamor... bright shards of plummeting plumage, azure, gold, purple red and teals, flash by with such dazzling fanfare everywhere I look, I am afraid to blink. Should I mention the howler monkeys? Now there is a sound to churn the stomach and make the heart pound. You can follow their morning foraging traverse by their song... a cross between a foghorn and a death rattle. If you are lucky, they will visit a tree near you. What graceful antics they so off-handedly perform.( later in the day they may come close enough to feed) Meanwhile the sun has come up with an explosion of color so thrilling (akin to the sound of a woodwind orchestra with a saxophone solo) I think I will expire of pure joy. From there the days drift deliciously by. Clear water from the rivers flowing into the sea punctuate nearly every beach, and life is just popping.. Even the town, which is laid-back and full of old hippies and ex-patriots from all continents has a Fellini- like feel poetic feel on a Saturday night, when the street is given over to jugglers and hula-hoopers and macrame venders. Everyone is putting on a show, Gratis. And I think, why not me?! So here I sit in gray-land New Jersey, plotting my escape, next time maybe for a month, and encouraging you to do the same.