Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica is a group of homes, shops, and eateries nestled in the rain forest on a steep, winding hill that snakes along a cliff overlooking the Pacific. Three different kinds of monkeys swing through the trees, five-foot-long iguanas show off red frocks and green jeweled necklaces in the middle of the road, snakes long enough to stretch across the entire road hide in the rafters of palapa-roofed restaurants, and passionfruit colored scarlet macaws swoop through the branches of the mango trees.
A thousand-dollar-a-night hotel and nature reserve sits high above the winding road. We went there for dinner occasionally, leaving our van in the parking lot and taking the white-kid-gloved golf cart shuttle up the devastatingly long, steep driveway.
I loved the restaurant on top of the hill. It was possible to see all the way to Jaco (ha-ko), a surf town an hour away, and the sunsets out over the deep blue ocean were stunning.
That particular evening was clear and the sun burned the color of a ripe mango, all juicy and dripping into the sea.
A classical Spanish guitar sung the Hawaiian version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow as our blueberry and thyme martinis were served alongside tapas plates filled with gorgonzola cheese tarts, mahi-mahi ceviche, Caribbean honey calamari salad, and sweet plantain pie. As delicious as the food was, the view would not be ignored with its giant hand-shaped rocks that grabbed the surf and flung it all white and foamy toward shore. Below us macaws circled, their piercing cries announcing the end of the day.
That was when we saw the bright light of what looked like an airplane headed straight toward us. Such an odd place for an airplane. There was nothing to land on along the rocky cliffs and the airport in the palm groves behind the hills would require a very different approach. We watched it come closer and decided it must be a helicopter, although that too seemed unlikely given its position.
Then, out of the blue, Lee said, "Just watch, I bet it’s going to fall..." and he finished his sentence as it fell, "…out of the sky."
There is nothing below where the bright light fell, just a rocky shore and a very steep cow pasture—no safe place for anything to land.
I sat there with my drink in my hand—forgotten, my mouth slightly ajar, and no breath on my lips.
Fall wasn’t really the correct word for the behavior of the bright light because falling isn’t really fast and the light rushed into the ground, or more likely the sea.
There was no splash that we could see, neither was there any smoke or evidence of a crash of any sort.
It simply disappeared.
And, this is where theories abound and imagination takes over.
I, personally, decided the most logical explanation was an underwater base in the deep ocean just off the shore of one of the least populated countries on earth.
It certainly seemed plausible.
After all, there must be a conspiracy of alien life and the global illuminati government preparing for the total takeover of mankind somewhere in the wings.
You think I jest.
I am not so sure.