It’s been unseasonably windy this year. These breezes are usually a welcome reprieve to the sweltering heat that invades Guanacaste. But this year is not the same as last; these winds have fueled a season of wildfires.

Today the air smells fresh. Every morning I’ve been waking to smoky odors of charred leaves and brush, a smell that sticks to my hair and clothes like Napalm. I’ve learned to hate this smell, because I knew what was happening; the forest around Flamingo was burning.

One evening last week, I was enjoying a lovely dinner at Mar Y Sol while watching the sun set. I could see there was smoke billowing in the distance. At first I thought the fire was a controlled burn; this is usually the case in Costa Rica. However, with such intense flames shooting into the air, it made everyone uneasy. Tourists looked out over the balcony and feared it was a forest fire.

No, I said. But as the winds blew, the fire mercilessly hopscotched across the countryside igniting everything in its path. At first I thought of the people, and said a prayer for those who lived there. I followed that prayer with one for the animals that must be dashing across the mountain. What about the monkeys? I thought. The precious morning, I saw thirty of them in a tree by my house and more on the electrical lines along the street. It was unsettling. I’ve never seen so many in such a small area. Now it all made sense; they were looking for a safer place.

This was my first wildfire. I’ve read about them happening in places like Australia and California, but could never have envisioned how utterly frightening it looked. There was nothing anyone can do but watch and hope the winds would die down. I thought about where I used to live in Grecia. The ground was always so green, even in the driest of seasons. I could never have imagined this happening there. But under the right conditions, it appears to be occurring throughout the country. This year has been one of the windiest. Forests are burning near the Panama border, as well as, the Palo Verde National Park in Guanacaste.

The coastal areas—with all their beauty—become crippling dry during the high season. No rain in sight, at least not for a couple more months. The tourist areas are bustling with travelers looking to zip-line and surf, appreciative of the forecast: sunny, sunny, and sunny. No rain is good for business.

Even without the fires, the air smells like crunchy dead leaves. But this doesn’t seem to bother the birds, the Trogons and Squirrel Cuckoos that land in my backyard, fooling me that it’s spring again. It seems no matter what happens to the land here, the wildlife returns.

The air smells good today and the fire in Flamingo appears to be out. A consequence of the fires have been a larger than usual sightings of snakes. They had to go somewhere, so we have been warned to be extra careful walking in tall grasses. You don’t have to tell me twice, you won’t see me strolling in the brush anytime soon.
Even as the mountains are scorched, I’m already anxious to see how they will look once the first rains come. I’ll watch and wait for the howler monkeys to return and the trees to bloom their bright yellow flowers that remind me of Easter Daffodils. I’ll never forget this experience, and I’ll always think twice what a windy day can bring.