ABSTRACT
It was a hot mid-July day in 2005; any breeze from the ocean a kilometer away was barely making its way up Monkey Hill, a small knoll that rises from the back of the sea-level town past the soccer field and primary school. Even in the shade it already felt stifling in the intense summer heat! My daughter played in the garden in the center of the circle of cabins, looking for baby geckoes. For the time being she was content while I conducted an interview. Last night a Canadian woman living in Puerto Viejo had introduced me to several tourist women, and Zoë was amongst the first to volunteer for an interview. We had agreed that the morning would be the best time to meet up, before the hot sun became unbearable.
