Cowgirl king of the rodeo...

Spent the last week or so on a little Pacific beach tour (seven beaches in eight days) many a day was filled, cavorting in the waves as the white horses galloped down behind us - sometimes we dived under, sometimes trying to surf them, sometimes facing them head on with Woody on shoulders and sometimes just throwing her straight over the top... On one visit to Playa Grande, which can be reached on foot from Tamarindo where we stayed, the black sands were filled with thousands of the little spiral shells. We waded there like a couple of soldiers with our books and T-shirts over our heads - a river estuary separates Playa Tamarindo from Grande. We kicked around on the beach and saw the tide come in, and looked across at the estuary which had now become unwadeable. Or unwadeable to most normal, God-fearing individuals. So, up to our necks in it once again, we bounced and splashed our way to the other side. Rumours circulate that there are crocodiles in that there river, but our limbs survive to tell a different tale...

We met some brilliant people in Tamarindo - including our first great Scot: Jamie, a young Andrew Nelson lookalike from Oban. Another Celtic connection was found in an Irish girl, Elaine, a tin-whistle playing teacher from Dublin, and the dictionary definition of Irish Craic. Joined by Aussie Ben we drank Costa Rican Imperial and danced in a reggae club by the beach. The next night, before hitting a salsa club to dazzle with our new found Latin flavour we made our way out of town to Villarreal and the Fiesta del Toro Rodeo. We had an appointment to keep with some rather sizeable bulls who have busy schedules and don't like to be kept waiting...

Sitting in a rickety old wooden grandstand, we surveyed the ring below us. Costa Ricans began climbing the fence to get a good view of the festivities. The first bull was released to gasps of excitement and squeals of delight from the crowd. It threw the ragdoll rider within seconds, at which point the dozen Ticos in the ring began running thisaway and that, distracting it as it charged and swung it's mighty noggin trying to gore these tormentors. Curiously they didn't look much like experts - many held beers in their hand as they scooted and darted around. After about five minutes of this japery out charged three Guanacastian cowboys on mighty steeds, expertly roping the bull as they flew past - eventually the bull retreated to the shacky wooden gate from which it bolted.

After a few of these bulls had run, thrown their riders, been captured and retreated, I noticed a few more people in the ring and started to get all jittery. The best thing I could think of to rid myself of this restlessness was to go down to the ring and jump in for the next round. Previously Woody had made me promise not to go, but it was already in my head and I was halfway down the stairs. Too good a chance to miss. Barefooted (too risky to be slowed down by my flippin' flip flops) I jumped off the fence and into the ring waiting for the release of the beast. "¿Quizas es muy peligroso, no?" Around me most people seemed pretty relaxed but I bounced around on the balls of my feet like a flyweight waiting for the bout. In my little head it was reminiscent of a scene from Gladiator as I looked up and surveyed the grandstand in a circle, my loincloth blowing in the breeze. Among the tiny faces I could see the ravishing Miss Woodward. She was standing up, gesticulating madly and mouthing something I couldn't quite make out, but I could tell she was happy. She was saying I was 'number one', raising the third finger on each hand in my direction - "Number one! Number one!"

At the last minute I was joined by Aussie Ben who also didn't want to miss out. The gate flew open and the beast reared it's powerful head, flicking the hind legs to dismount the rider - which it promptly did. Now faced with the bull, we scattered like a shoal of small-fry avoiding a shark as it careered towards us. The black bull would stop abruptly and quickly throw it's hind legs in 180 degrees. In a split second it changed direction, charging back at those who tried to run up and smack it on the be-hind. Moments later here comes the cavalry, lassooing away like crazy. As the bull was roped it had one final attempt at freedom, pushing the small fry back a step or two. As I trotted back I felt the gentle nudge of a horse's flank as it trotted into my shoulder. Hit by the wrong animal!

The bull disappeared and as me and Ben congratulated each other I heard a familiar, husky voice. She wasn't.....she was! Woody had skipped into the ring, along with Elaine and Jamie. With a defiant look gleaming in her eye "how do YOU like it?" we stood awaiting the next majestic beast. Glad that we were all participating but suddenly quite fearful given the injury-prone nature of the company. All five of us took on the toro. It came crashing out and we sidestepped and made forward-backward runs until once again it was captured. Rachel and Elaine were the only females brave enough to enter the ring, among the macho cowboys of Costa Rica. All smiles and relief, we retreated to the dodgems. They had dodgems at the rodeo.

And so we fly tomorrow back to Miami for festive merriment and Christmas cheer abound. The first three months have been a whirlwind, and we approach the New Year's travelling with gusto and enthusiasm. Much love to clans various. Glad tidings to you and all your kings....of the rodeo. Good time to roll on!