It would be impossible to overstate how narrow the roads can be in Costa Rica. Two lanes, thick foliage or lush farmland on either side. No easements as we are accustomed to in the United States on even the most rural of roads. Although it can make for some spectacularly scenic drives, if something goes wrong....well....things can get ugly fast.
We are traveling through the cattle ranches, farms and small towns of the Pacific Coast. We pass a monument to marimba players, a statute of 3 boys playing the percussive instruments. Later we are treated to marimba music over the buses sound system from our tour guides I phone. A few miles outside of a restroom and ice creme pit stop the traffic along the country road slows, then stops. There is a line of cars and trucks ahead of us, a growing line of cars and trucks behind., Word comes that there is an accident ahead. We are stuck, glass half full, at least the bus was in an area that was tree shaded so we didn't roast inside it's metal shell. We sit and wait, and wait. There is nowhere to go. Although there is an alternate route to our destination 5 miles behind us there is no way to turn the long bus around on the small, narrow road. Kindles appear, I pull out these blog notes and write, people take out cell phones or try to nap, after all, at this point there is no passing scenery to view.
Eventually traffic begins to crawl forward. Although an accident we're told caused the initial back up, a stalled truck exacerbated the already exasperating situation. Traffic regains it's normal pace and soon we are at our lunch spot for the day. We file out of the bus glad to finally be released from it's confines.
We have lunch that day in a beautiful open air pavilion surrounded by meadows and mountains draped in Costa Rica's rich mantle of vivid, varied shades of green.
Sunday, December 21, 2014
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Costa Rica - The Tale of the Beach Town and the Suitcase
We had over packed for the trip. Or, more accurately, my husband had over packed for the trip. Upon our departure we were informed by the desk agent that our main suitcase was 8 pounds over the limit allowed by the airline. Although the agent said she would overlook it she made it clear that we could not expect to be so lucky on our return trip. So this meant it would be necessary for us to pick up an unexpected memento of our Costa Rican adventure, a new suitcase. At the beginning of the tour we asked our guide where the best place would be to find one. She suggested the small beachfront town of Tamarindo near our Pacific resort. She also let us know about a shuttle operated by the hotel which would, for a small fee, take us to and pick us up from the town. There was a free day with no activities scheduled, other than a open bar happy hour, which we would be loathe to miss, So the plan seemed perfect....seemed perfect.
We, along with several others from the tour, got on the shuttle and ventured into the nearby hamlet. It was a typical beach town, although it did seem to contain more that the typical amount of smoking paraphernalia for sale in the various shops there. There were a number of kids who looked as if they might have an occasional need for such wares, which could explain the plethora of items vended. There were also a number of surf shops, surfboards and surf bums, which could explain the plethora of items. There were also what seemed to be a number of ex hippie expats, which might also help explain the plethora.
We soon discovered that the words "suitcase" and "luggage" seem to have no direct Spanish translation. We then discovered that, once we made them understand what we were looking for, noone seemed to know where we could find such a thing. We were beginning to get desperate. Each shop owners suggestion led to another dead luggage end. Passing by a surf rental store we heard a young blonde girl speaking in a vernacular that was unmistakeably American. Asking her if she was from the States she replied "Yes, from Chicago". We said "So are we!" She then said "O.K., actually I'm from Rockford." Rockford is a small, somewhat provincial, speck of a city in Illinois. It is not Chicago. We explained our problem. She had no idea where we could find a suitcase but she might, using the neighborhood merchants communication online site, be able to come up with a duffel bag. At this point we were ready to settle. She said to come back in 15 minutes and she would tell us what she was able to come up with.
We decided to kill time in the local souvenir shops. Entering the first one I looked down and saw a large size roller board suitcase. Hot pink with flowers, bigger than what we needed, but in my glass half full manner, I thought "At least we'll be able to spot it on the baggage carousel." I called my husband over. The shop owner, with some but not total command of English, understood our problem. Laying the suitcase on it's side he unzipped it to reveal a medium size suitcase inside. Unzipping that he revealed the perfect size carry on bag we needed, only downside was it was covered in a motif of hot pink flowers. My husband informed me "You're rolling that thing through the airport". He took over and got across to the shop owner that we would prefer something that size but less festive. He ran upstairs and returned with a dark blue version, slightly more expensive than the pink flowery one but we didn't care to argue. There was only one other issue at hand. Would the suitcase adhere to the stringent size standards of the airline. This is when we discovered that the term "tape measure", like suitcase and luggage, seems to have no Spanish equivalent,.My husband then remembered that a one dollar bill is 6 inches long. I found myself on the floor of the shop laying a U.S. greenback end over end measuring the dimensions of our purchase. As we left the store the shop owner pulled two painted wooden key chains from a bowl and gave them to us as a thank you.
Our hard won treasure in hand we shopped for more asetheticly interesting mementos and walked along a driftwood strewn beach. We took the picture of another couple on the tour posing in front of a full sized tree, lying on it's side in the sand, heavily weathered from exposure to the salt and sea. Judging from the number of surfboards and surfers this beach was a place of great waves. We found it to be a spot of great natural beauty as we walked along it listening to the pounding surf.
We, along with several others from the tour, got on the shuttle and ventured into the nearby hamlet. It was a typical beach town, although it did seem to contain more that the typical amount of smoking paraphernalia for sale in the various shops there. There were a number of kids who looked as if they might have an occasional need for such wares, which could explain the plethora of items vended. There were also a number of surf shops, surfboards and surf bums, which could explain the plethora of items. There were also what seemed to be a number of ex hippie expats, which might also help explain the plethora.
We soon discovered that the words "suitcase" and "luggage" seem to have no direct Spanish translation. We then discovered that, once we made them understand what we were looking for, noone seemed to know where we could find such a thing. We were beginning to get desperate. Each shop owners suggestion led to another dead luggage end. Passing by a surf rental store we heard a young blonde girl speaking in a vernacular that was unmistakeably American. Asking her if she was from the States she replied "Yes, from Chicago". We said "So are we!" She then said "O.K., actually I'm from Rockford." Rockford is a small, somewhat provincial, speck of a city in Illinois. It is not Chicago. We explained our problem. She had no idea where we could find a suitcase but she might, using the neighborhood merchants communication online site, be able to come up with a duffel bag. At this point we were ready to settle. She said to come back in 15 minutes and she would tell us what she was able to come up with.
We decided to kill time in the local souvenir shops. Entering the first one I looked down and saw a large size roller board suitcase. Hot pink with flowers, bigger than what we needed, but in my glass half full manner, I thought "At least we'll be able to spot it on the baggage carousel." I called my husband over. The shop owner, with some but not total command of English, understood our problem. Laying the suitcase on it's side he unzipped it to reveal a medium size suitcase inside. Unzipping that he revealed the perfect size carry on bag we needed, only downside was it was covered in a motif of hot pink flowers. My husband informed me "You're rolling that thing through the airport". He took over and got across to the shop owner that we would prefer something that size but less festive. He ran upstairs and returned with a dark blue version, slightly more expensive than the pink flowery one but we didn't care to argue. There was only one other issue at hand. Would the suitcase adhere to the stringent size standards of the airline. This is when we discovered that the term "tape measure", like suitcase and luggage, seems to have no Spanish equivalent,.My husband then remembered that a one dollar bill is 6 inches long. I found myself on the floor of the shop laying a U.S. greenback end over end measuring the dimensions of our purchase. As we left the store the shop owner pulled two painted wooden key chains from a bowl and gave them to us as a thank you.
Our hard won treasure in hand we shopped for more asetheticly interesting mementos and walked along a driftwood strewn beach. We took the picture of another couple on the tour posing in front of a full sized tree, lying on it's side in the sand, heavily weathered from exposure to the salt and sea. Judging from the number of surfboards and surfers this beach was a place of great waves. We found it to be a spot of great natural beauty as we walked along it listening to the pounding surf.
Costa Rica - Native Customs
I always try to remember that when I travel I am essentially, whether invited or not, a guest in someone else's home. I always make an attempt to respect the customs and traditions of my host. For instance, in Mexico City I wore long pants despite the mild climate. Mexican men, for the most part, do not wear shorts. When entering a church I make sure my arms are not bare. Tank tops or sleeveless shirts are covered by a shirt with sleeves I carry with me on such occasions and I try to maintain a quiet and reverent tone of voice and manner when in sacred structures. I sample local foods and learn to say at least hello, goodbye and thank you in the local tongue.
In Costa Rica however there was on custom I could not bring myself to adhere to. Apparently the standard of Central American plumbing is not quite as high as that of plumbing in the U.S. With this in mind Costa Ricans, along with a number of other Central American cultures, discard their used "toilet tissue" not in the toilet but in a bucket which sits alongside it. Each time it was necessary for me to use a public facility I would look at the bucket and a single thought would go through my head. "I should respect their culture....I should.....but I just can't...." Then I would flush.
In Costa Rica however there was on custom I could not bring myself to adhere to. Apparently the standard of Central American plumbing is not quite as high as that of plumbing in the U.S. With this in mind Costa Ricans, along with a number of other Central American cultures, discard their used "toilet tissue" not in the toilet but in a bucket which sits alongside it. Each time it was necessary for me to use a public facility I would look at the bucket and a single thought would go through my head. "I should respect their culture....I should.....but I just can't...." Then I would flush.
Costa Rica - We're Going to be on the Bus for How Many Hours?
We were heading from the center of the country to the Pacific coast. From the windows of the bus we got a closer look at the vegetation which crawls up the side of the volcano. We climbed winding mountain roads looking down at Arenal Lake. Formed by a dam built for hydroelectric power the cross atop the submerged town of Old Arenal can occasionally be seen rising above the water. The residents were given homes and jobs in a new town built by the government to replace the old one. Brooks and rivers tumbled through thick green growth over rocks worn smooth by their ancient dance with the water. Wind turbines rotated on the top of a hill while cows grazed on the slope below.
Lunch that day was at a restaurant known for it's population of White Tail Deer. The deer, the national mammal of Costa Rica, is endangered in that country. Most of the people on the bus agreed that they were free to take some of ours.
As we drew near to the coast the landscape changed from a uniform dark to more varied shades of green. The growth, still thick became noticeably less dense and more multi-layered. As we passed through small towns their relaxed, languid nature is manifested by the sight of a man in a car pulled off to the side of the road, napping, all the doors open to let in the breeze.Three young teens stood by the side of the road trying to hitch a ride. A group of chickens and a single goose clucked and squawked around a sagging weathered wood porch.
The main activity that day was an educational tour of a protected nesting site for the critically endangered Leatherback Turtle. It was our first sight of and our first walk along the Pacific. I must say that the turtles have picked a beautiful spot to lay their eggs. Green hills tumble into the sea on either side of a sandy stretch of oceanside beach. The sound of waves tumbling in and cooling breezes coming off the sea added to the tranquility of the site. In recent years the turtles have moved from this beach after decades of poaching. Remarkably intelligent and intuitive animals, they have moved to areas with smaller human populations and less risk to their offspring. Outside the visitors center enterprising young boys, for two dollars, hacked off the tops of coconuts giving me my first taste of the mildly sweet water inside.
As we neared the resort where we would be spending the next 2 nights the foliage became sparser. Now thick forests mix with green meadows dotted with large trees. We sat on the beach on plush chaise lounges that evening and watched the red sun set over the horizon of the Pacific. The clouds glowed pink above the blue water and white foam of the wave caps. After dinner we walked through the hotel grounds among spotlit palms while birds circled in the night sky over our heads.
Lunch that day was at a restaurant known for it's population of White Tail Deer. The deer, the national mammal of Costa Rica, is endangered in that country. Most of the people on the bus agreed that they were free to take some of ours.
As we drew near to the coast the landscape changed from a uniform dark to more varied shades of green. The growth, still thick became noticeably less dense and more multi-layered. As we passed through small towns their relaxed, languid nature is manifested by the sight of a man in a car pulled off to the side of the road, napping, all the doors open to let in the breeze.Three young teens stood by the side of the road trying to hitch a ride. A group of chickens and a single goose clucked and squawked around a sagging weathered wood porch.
The main activity that day was an educational tour of a protected nesting site for the critically endangered Leatherback Turtle. It was our first sight of and our first walk along the Pacific. I must say that the turtles have picked a beautiful spot to lay their eggs. Green hills tumble into the sea on either side of a sandy stretch of oceanside beach. The sound of waves tumbling in and cooling breezes coming off the sea added to the tranquility of the site. In recent years the turtles have moved from this beach after decades of poaching. Remarkably intelligent and intuitive animals, they have moved to areas with smaller human populations and less risk to their offspring. Outside the visitors center enterprising young boys, for two dollars, hacked off the tops of coconuts giving me my first taste of the mildly sweet water inside.
As we neared the resort where we would be spending the next 2 nights the foliage became sparser. Now thick forests mix with green meadows dotted with large trees. We sat on the beach on plush chaise lounges that evening and watched the red sun set over the horizon of the Pacific. The clouds glowed pink above the blue water and white foam of the wave caps. After dinner we walked through the hotel grounds among spotlit palms while birds circled in the night sky over our heads.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
Costa Rica - What a Way to Finish a Day
On our return we stopped at hot springs. The well manicured and landscaped pools are spread over several levels and offer a range of temperatures. The water, naturally heated by the nearby volcano, provided a relaxing and soothing finish to the day. A rejuvenated group returned to the hotel for our final night in our floral paradise.
Early in the morning I heard my husband leave the room through the sliding glass doors leading out to the terrace. I got up and followed him outside to check and see if there was anything wrong. I found him on the lawn looking up. I followed his gaze. The stars above us shone brilliantly in a crystal clear sky. We lingered barefoot on the dewy grass staring at the heavens.
As we laid in bed the next morning, prior to our departure, watching through the glass doors as dozens of birds flew and swooped over the lawn in front of our bungalow, I once again realized what a lucky traveler I sometimes am!
Early in the morning I heard my husband leave the room through the sliding glass doors leading out to the terrace. I got up and followed him outside to check and see if there was anything wrong. I found him on the lawn looking up. I followed his gaze. The stars above us shone brilliantly in a crystal clear sky. We lingered barefoot on the dewy grass staring at the heavens.
As we laid in bed the next morning, prior to our departure, watching through the glass doors as dozens of birds flew and swooped over the lawn in front of our bungalow, I once again realized what a lucky traveler I sometimes am!
Costa Rica - A River Cruise and Illegal Entry
We were off to a wildlife viewing cruise. Along the way we stopped to see a large number of outsized iguanas sunning themselves in the brush by a roadside restaurant and gift shop. As the story goes the man who owned the business discovered an iguana one day rustling through the garbage. The next day there were two, later and entire iguana clan. A car of tourists, seeing the lizards stopped to take photos. A light bulb went off over the proprietors head and the cultivation of the reptiles turned into a thematic profit producing concern.
We continued on our way to a tiny, sleepy town and walked the few short blocks to the dock where the wildlife cruises depart from. We were told the river was high which would cut into the number of birds, mammals and reptiles that we might have seen on one of the better days. My husband and I opted to sit out in the open air on the bow of the boat instead of under the canvas awning covered area housing the rest of our group. Even though viewing was less than optimal we were treated to egrets, cormorants and brightly colored songbirds. Colonies of bats created black lines as they slept in neat rows up the trunks of trees. Vivid green water walking lizards with crests on their heads and backs sat on branches hanging over the river's edge.
Our hot young boat captain with the powerful looking, deeply tanned arms and pierced eyebrow piloted us further downriver towards Nicaragua. We were told to bring the photo copies of our passports with us on the cruise that day as a safety precaution as we would be coming quite close to the border of Costa Rica's sometime disagreeable neighbor.
All during the cruise we had heard the distinctive call of howling monkeys. Our guide had learned to imitate the monkey's bark and used it to try to lure them into the open. Suddenly, in a tree along the shore we got our "money shot". A mother howling monkey carrying her tiny baby appeared. One by one the other members of the troop appeared among the branches. We pulled directly under the tree. Our guide once again made the sound of the animal's call. The alpha male answered him. Our troop of humans gaped, pointed fingers and shot picture after picture as the small primates moved through the foliage searching for food.
Eventually we left the monkey show and continued towards Nicaragua. Our guide, using sign language, signaled the pilot of a boat ferrying day trippers from the neighboring country to Costa Rica asking if he had seen any monkey troops further downstream. He shook his head no and shrugged his shoulders. A fence of barbed wire and branches running through a field came into view. A sign on the river's bank announced the border of the Nicaraguan Nature Preserve. The boat crept by the sign until we were two feet inside the country. Our guide asked "Ever been in a country illegally before"? He explained that a checkpoint was another mile downriver. This stretch was a sort of "no man's land" where citizens of both countries could move freely.
We cruised back upstream returning to the dock. Lunch included fried cassava which resembled french fries in look, taste and texture. At the restaurant an artisan that works in wood reclaimed from fallen trees had set up shop. We purchased a letter opener, one of several collections we own, carved from red wood from trees that are found only in Costa Rica. I love indigenous momentos!
We continued on our way to a tiny, sleepy town and walked the few short blocks to the dock where the wildlife cruises depart from. We were told the river was high which would cut into the number of birds, mammals and reptiles that we might have seen on one of the better days. My husband and I opted to sit out in the open air on the bow of the boat instead of under the canvas awning covered area housing the rest of our group. Even though viewing was less than optimal we were treated to egrets, cormorants and brightly colored songbirds. Colonies of bats created black lines as they slept in neat rows up the trunks of trees. Vivid green water walking lizards with crests on their heads and backs sat on branches hanging over the river's edge.
Our hot young boat captain with the powerful looking, deeply tanned arms and pierced eyebrow piloted us further downriver towards Nicaragua. We were told to bring the photo copies of our passports with us on the cruise that day as a safety precaution as we would be coming quite close to the border of Costa Rica's sometime disagreeable neighbor.
All during the cruise we had heard the distinctive call of howling monkeys. Our guide had learned to imitate the monkey's bark and used it to try to lure them into the open. Suddenly, in a tree along the shore we got our "money shot". A mother howling monkey carrying her tiny baby appeared. One by one the other members of the troop appeared among the branches. We pulled directly under the tree. Our guide once again made the sound of the animal's call. The alpha male answered him. Our troop of humans gaped, pointed fingers and shot picture after picture as the small primates moved through the foliage searching for food.
Eventually we left the monkey show and continued towards Nicaragua. Our guide, using sign language, signaled the pilot of a boat ferrying day trippers from the neighboring country to Costa Rica asking if he had seen any monkey troops further downstream. He shook his head no and shrugged his shoulders. A fence of barbed wire and branches running through a field came into view. A sign on the river's bank announced the border of the Nicaraguan Nature Preserve. The boat crept by the sign until we were two feet inside the country. Our guide asked "Ever been in a country illegally before"? He explained that a checkpoint was another mile downriver. This stretch was a sort of "no man's land" where citizens of both countries could move freely.
We cruised back upstream returning to the dock. Lunch included fried cassava which resembled french fries in look, taste and texture. At the restaurant an artisan that works in wood reclaimed from fallen trees had set up shop. We purchased a letter opener, one of several collections we own, carved from red wood from trees that are found only in Costa Rica. I love indigenous momentos!
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Costa Rica - Hotel Arenal Manoa
As we neared the town of Fortuna we were given welcome news. The peak of the volcano, which has only a 30% chance of being seen due to cloud cover on any given day, was unobscured. It loomed majestically over the surrounding landscape. Small roads led us to our home for the next 2 nights. Hotel Arenal Manoa is a collection of semi detached bungalows set among beautifully landscaped grounds. Scores of birds flitted across the lawns adding thier brilliant colors to the hues of the multitute of flowers and tropical plants. The massive volcanic mountain kept an ever prevelant presense over the resort. Each room contained a small terrace with a view of the geological wonder. As we neared the walkway to our room two small black birds, their breasts bright red, flew out of the bushes as if welcoming us to this lovely spot.
Each commodius bathroom contained a skylight with a planter beneath, which, in our case, showcased two large philadendrons. The dining room was an open air pavilion allowing the sounds of the surrounding forest, birdcalls, frogs, the occasional bark of howling monkeys and the gentle gurgle of the small river which runs along one side of the resort, flow through.
The next morning the view of the volcano was crystal clear. Steam escaped from it's peak. Perfectly centered in the open side of the pavillion we watched it as we ate breakfast knowing that this was, almost assuredly, a once in a lifetime experience.
As we returned to the room a pair of parrots flew overhead. Two tiny blue birds landed on a bush, one finding a small springy branch where he bounced happily up and down before the pair flew off.
Each commodius bathroom contained a skylight with a planter beneath, which, in our case, showcased two large philadendrons. The dining room was an open air pavilion allowing the sounds of the surrounding forest, birdcalls, frogs, the occasional bark of howling monkeys and the gentle gurgle of the small river which runs along one side of the resort, flow through.
The next morning the view of the volcano was crystal clear. Steam escaped from it's peak. Perfectly centered in the open side of the pavillion we watched it as we ate breakfast knowing that this was, almost assuredly, a once in a lifetime experience.
As we returned to the room a pair of parrots flew overhead. Two tiny blue birds landed on a bush, one finding a small springy branch where he bounced happily up and down before the pair flew off.
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