On the Fly
"Good work Max." As I looked to my right to check on the location of the fixed based operation, I returned her smile.
A lad was waiting to wave us to a stop. It was not until I had done my shut down check that I allowed myself to breathe a sigh of relief.
"Let me do the talking," I said. "Remember, we are missionaries. We are taking some equipment to a settlement in the altoplano of Ecuador."
"Best I say nothing."
"You have business in Costa Rica, señor? The customs official was polite but direct.
"Overnight rest and refueling."
He examined our passports and stamped them without change of expression. I let the air out carefully and waited for my pulse to slow. I couldn't have held my breath for another second, although at the time, I didn't know that I was doing it.
"If you are going to be in the country for more than twenty four hours please inform us. Enjoy your stay."
"Thank you," I said. "We intend to."
I made arrangements with the FBO to have the aircraft serviced early the next morning under my supervision. Our taxi pulled up in front. We grabbed our overnight bags and handed them to the driver. I glanced up at a threatening sky. It couldn't be a more friendly sky, I thought. No one had asked any pertinent questions and that's what counted. We'll fly when the weather is right.
"Por donde señor?"
"Buena Vista."
"An excellent choice, señor. Above the hustling and bustling of San José."
As our taxi climbed above the airport, the lights of San Jose twinkled far below. Clarissa was obviously mesmerized by the view. She did not say a word for the whole twenty minutes it took us to climb through coffee plantations and rain forest to the 4,200' level.
"What kind of room did we get?"
"Rooms," I said correcting her English.
"We don't have money to waste Max."
As we got out of the taxi, I said, "We're supposed to be missionaries. Remember?"
"I haven't forgotten the missionary position?" she chided me. "You are the one who seems to have forgotten."
"Whatever do you mean?" I asked feigning ignorance of her innuendo.
"Missionaries are poor."
"I'll see what I can do," I answered with relief.
Our room had a pair of queen sized beds. From the open window, we had a view of a rain swept valley. Volcanic peaks and the lights of San Jose were suddenly blotted out. Almost at the moment that we put our gear down, the rains started. We had made it in the nick of time.
Looking out across the valley, enjoying the coolness that the rains brought, I sweated the landing all over again. If we'd been a half-hour later, we'd have cut it rather too fine. An hour later, I could easily have been in a situation that exceeded my ability to cope. We might have been rendered a statistic. The cross- wind gust that greeted us as we touched, had been a precursor of a storm that was now sweeping down volcanic slopes with sudden fury. I didn't have the experience to cope with these conditions on an unfamiliar approach. We could have very easily been a pair of dead ducks. Two thousand beetles could now be feasting on gourmet coffee beans.
I look forward to getting into bed. I knew that there was nothing that would keep me from sleep. I felt numb from seven droning hours in a cramped cockpit.
The biblical deluge had no sooner thrashed the landscape, than it stopped with typical tropical suddenness. Clarissa and I stepped out onto our room-sized second floor balcony that overlooked a freshened tropical garden now being swallowed by darkness. A slight breeze stirred the leaves of the surrounding trees and a second much gentler shower ensued.
"This is such a romantic spot," Clarissa said dropping a hand casually on mine. The softness of her fingers made a vivid contrast to the rough plaster of the balustrade.
"We are not here for romance," I cautioned. "We are supposed to be on a mission."
"That's why we call ourselves missionaries," Clarissa said.
"No no," I said. "We are missionaries because it should ensure us safe passage into the hinterland."
"Flying into the hinterland could be dangerous?"
"The President of Peru, Fujimoro, has instituted a you fly you die policy for those trying to fly cocaine paste out of Peru to the processing labs in Colombia."