Costa Rica 2008, Part 1

June 25, 2008
Tranquilio Backpackers Hostel
San Jose, Costa Rica

Hola,

Have you ever lay awake at night wondering what you've gotten yourself into? Or worse, wondering what you've gotten yourself and your teenage son into? By shunning expensive taxis for public transportation and en suite hotels for budget hostels, Scott and I were aiming to add some adventure to the start of our ten day Costa Rica adventure. The former worked out well…the latter, not so much.

Our journey through this Central America paradise with a popular on-line tour operator began with a midnight departure from Sacramento. Four hours later we arrived in Houston and spent the remainder of the morning sleeping on the floor overlooking George Bush Intercontinental Airport’s runway 3E. By early afternoon, though, we were on the ground at Jose Santamaria International Airport in Alejuela, just outside the Costa Rican capital and, arriving the day before the start of our guided trip, we anxious to begin our adventure.

Houston Intercontinental Airport

After clearing immigration and customs, and with a little direction from the airport tourism guide, Scott and I wended our way through the throng of taxi drivers clamoring for a $7400 CRC fare (Costa Rican Colones, equivalent to $15 USD) into the heart of San Jose and found the $350 CRC ($0.67 USD) TUASA bus just outside the airport parking lot. Any concerns of getting on a bus leading away from the capital and deep into Nicaragua was quickly dispelled by a man beside the big red coach yelling, “San Jose…San Jose…” Everything was going according to plan.

The downtown Coca Cola bus stop, so named because it is next to the soda drink plant that is no long there (locals use landmarks for directions rather than street names and addresses here, even long after the landmark has been razed), is on the far side of the city center from the cluster of hostels in the historic Barrio Amon neighborhood, so Scott and I walked the 15 or so blocks through the heart of downtown during the afternoon rush. With our luggage on our backs, we never drew a sideways glance down the Avenida Central pedestrian mall; San Joseans are used to seeing gringo tourists traipsing through their city and across their country.

We decided (or was it I?) upon the Tranquilio Backpackers hostel, described in the guidebook as a reader's top choice because of it’s, “ample hammock's and common rooms radiate tranquility and peaceful times.” And a bargain at just $17 for a double room! Once we were buzzed in the front security door, I was immediately attracted to the laid back, albeit dilapidated, tropical ambiance populated with young people from a variety of countries, adorned with a variety of styles, and smoking a variety of herbs.

Tranquilio Backpackers

The thought of asking to see the room before never crossed my mind; it’s just not something we do in the states and this is the first trip where we (or was it I?) chose accommodations upon arrival instead of in advance on-line or through an agent. After plunking down US$28 (the rates of gone up, of course) we were lead through a couple of doors, through a common room where a number of the aforementioned young people were watching a Spanish language Naruto cartoon on a 1970’s console TV, up a flight of stairs, and down a few halls to Number 3. To say our room, obviously partitioned from an original bedroom in this old Victorian mansion, is spartan is an understatement. It doesn't rate a descriptive word with that many letters - four would be plenty, and it was standing in the doorway that I got my first "what have I gotten us into..." feeling. Part of the adventure, right?

The match-box sized room contained two framed mattresses, two sheets, two blankets, two pillows and one light bulb. Our narrow window opened up, somewhat, to a wonderful view of an adjacent room and a corrugated roof. Loud music, wafting up from the lobby below the tin roof, competed with the loud Spanish-Japanese cartoon. Scott and I agreed the front desk was playing a pretty good selection of rock and roll, so we left the window open and closed the door. Neither of the toilet stalls across the way were gender marked, but as neither affords any privacy, it probably won’t matter. Close by are two closets inconspicuously marked as showers and apparently this is a BYOT establishment (bring your own towel).

Once settled (what more can you do to settle in a barren room than simply drop your bags?) Scott and I scouted a couple of other nearby hostels and hotels, including where we would be joining the others following day. But Scott's “I don’t care” attitude and my already spent cash convinced me to stay with Tranquilio Backpackers and embrace the adventure. We headed back to the center of town; found a Burger King for one last fast food dinner; and watched break dancers perform. We took a moment to pondered why a large woman with beach ball sized buns was immortalized in a life size statue outside the flower market. As the evening grew, hawkers began bargaining handmade craftwork, children’s clothes, and pirated DVDs on blankets spread out along the pedestrian mall.

Tranquilio Backpackers

Back at TB, there was no sign of the music or cartoon ending, so I read while Scott amused himself with his latest electronic gadget. Soon the long day, despite a five hour Houston nap took its toll; we were both ready to crash by 8:30 PM. As I lay back in the dark, listening to U2 from the lobby and multi-language conversations through paper thin walls, it was hard not to again wonder "what have I gotten us into?”

Despite the hall way floor boards creaking all night with the constant comings and goings of the other guests and a foam pad mattress that was far more foam than pad, I slept rather well. Scott must not be too disturbed by the bustle; its 9:30 AM and he's still sleeping. After enjoying a free continental breakfast (a pitcher of pancake batter and a hotplate) I decided to take advantage of TB’s other free amenity-low speed internet access!

We’ll be meeting up with our fellow travelers this afternoon to begin our tour. Fifteen or so of us, in the company of a local leader, will spend the next nine days visiting some of this Costa Rica’s most popular sights – volcanoes, cloud forests, and tropical beaches. I’ve learned a little bit about a few of them through the tour operator’s on-line forum - two young ladies traveling from New York City and a single woman from Florida. Yesterday Scott wondered if the tall blond family of four that shared our flight from Houston and was wandering near our hostel last night might be in our group too. I’m looking forward to meeting our guide; the right leader can make or break a trip like this.

Pura Vida!



June 26, 2008
Hotel Paradisio
La Fortuna, Costa Rica

Buenos,

When Scott asked if he could order a margarita at dinner Wednesday night, I was reminded of the time, a teenager myself, I tried to order a Pina Colada while dining out with my parents. The waiter politely asked, "Virgin?" Assuming he was referring to the drink, I meekly responded affirmatively. Curious to see if Scott would go through with his request, I told him to go for it. I was pretty confident his first bitter sip would be his last. I told him the experience would make a great story someday. Little did I know, those words would come back to haunt me.

Despite Tranquilio Backpackers’s one star accommodations, Scott and I lounged away Wednesday morning in a couple lobby hammocks indulging in one of my favorite vacation pastimes - reading. I delved into Costa Rica, A Traveler’s Literary Companion, an anthology of short stories by Costa Rican writers, and learned about Tico life. The Carbonera (Carlos Salazar Herreras) explores the life of a rural charcoal maker in the southern provinces while In Shadows of the Banana Tree (Carlos Luis Falles) depicts life on a banana plantation on the Caribbean coast. The Tarqua Tree (Fabian Dobles) characterizes Costa Rican’s relaxed manner. Chided by his brother for whiling away his days in the shade of the tree’s enormous leaves, Lolo simply replied, “I’m not wasting my time, I’m honing it.”

In the afternoon, Scott and I walked to San Jose's Mercado Central at the east end of the city center. Established in 1855, this enclosed city block is a medley of stalls, stores, and sodas (lunch counters). Wandering the narrow alleys and tiny shops, we experienced the color, sounds, and smells of Costa Rica’s capital-vibrant reds, yellows, and greens of the produce stands, sizzles of greasy lunch counters, and rich coffee aromas of cafes. Nearly everything can be found in there, including freshly butchered meat, house wares and, of course, souvenirs. Scott picked up a leather coin pouch to hold his Colones (or is it my Colones?).

Mercado Central

When Christopher Columbus first set foot on the Caribbean coast of this land bridge between North and South American in 1502, he declared it la costa rica (rich coast). Three hundred years of Spanish rule later, Costa Rica won independence. A civil war quickly ensued between the liberal politicians of San Jose and the conservative leaders in Cartago, twenty miles away. The liberals triumphed and established San Jose as the seat of government. Today, the metropolitan area is home to 1.5 million people. The Plaza de Cultura (Culture Plaza), the center of San Jose, is home to thousands of hungry pigeons, many of whom Scott had eating out of the palm of his hand. The historic Teatro Nacional de Costa Rica (Costa Rica National Theatre), built in 1891, adjoins the plaza, casting afternoon shadows on the square. Unfortunately, chamber music was on the bill, so Scott and I settled for a brief tour of the ornately decorated lobby. Outside, in the busy square, farmers were selling fresh fruit to the people passing in every direction in the early afternoon. One gentleman was selling avocado halves ready to eat with a plastic spoon.

The Museos del Banco Central (Central Bank Museums), beneath the Plaza de Cultura, features three separate museums-Museo del Oro Precolumbino (Museum of Pre-Columbian Gold), Museo de Numismatica (Numismatic Museum), and Sala de Exhibiciones Temporales (Temporary Exhibition Gallery). The Pre-Columbian museum details the history of indigenous Costa Ricans and the importance of gold in their culture. The smaller Numismatic Museum displays the history of the Costa Rican currency and the Exhibits Gallery featured modern art by local artists. After touring the museums, Scott and I walked out to the Museo de Niños y Niñas (Boys and Girls Museum), a children’s science museum housed in a rescued 18th century prison on the outskirts of downtown. From the front steps we got a good view of the San Jose skyline, such as it is.

Teatro Nacional

In the evening, after settling in our new, posh hotel (toilets & towels!), Scott and I met several of our fellow travelers in the atrium lobby. Robby and Veronica, despite having just met on their flight from Orlando, were already fast friends. She claims to be a pre-med student; he, from Ohio, is being treated to a high school graduation trip by Aunt Melissa. She hails from the same town in Florida as Veronica. As the other eight travelers straggled in, we were all greeted by our leader, Michelle, and I could tell immediately it was going to be a great trip.

A petite woman, Michelle’s eyes flashed with anticipation while talking about our coming adventures in La Fortuna, St. Elena, and Quepos and her excitement peaked while hinting at several surprises awaiting us along the way. Clearly Michelle intended to have as much fun as we, beginning passing out nicknames as we each introduced ourselves (Scott 1 and Scott 2). That tall blonde family, hailing from Minnesota (don’t ‘cha know), is indeed part of the group and Scott was pleased to discover the son, Michael (Blondie), is his age. His parents, Mike (Daddy Gratz) and Angela (Momma Gratz), are vacationing with him and his sister, Jenn (Aqua Jenn), to celebrate her recent university graduation.

Over dinner at Michelle’s favorite San Jose restaurant, Tico Italiano, I had a chance to get to know the others. Twenty-six year old Brooke (B.B.), traveling alone from Canada, seemed ill at ease with all the excitement; she barfed all over the table. Alyson and Lindsey (the Chickas) from the Big Apple, were immediately put off by the incident. Very attentive toward one another, I suspected these young ladies are a couple. I learning about Michelle’s extensive travel through Europe, Asia, and now Central America. Scott hit it off with Blondie and Aqua Jenn, but couldn’t help notice how easily he engaged others at the table, including the most distant traveler. Carolina, a university teacher from Finland, was the only one in the party not from North America. It appears we’ll be spending the next nine days with a good mixture of younger and older visitors.

San Jose

We started this morning with an early two hour drive to Rio Toro for our first adventure - white water rafting. Brooke, sufficiently recovered from a bad case of tortellini, sat behind Scott and I, regaling Veronica with many stories about the time she rafted in Ontario. Before long, “One time I rafted on the Ottawa River…” sounded, like Michelle Flaherty talking about her band camp experiences in American Pie. It’s no wonder Veronica attached herself more closely to Robby as the day progressed.

I rafted the world class Pacuare River during my previous visit to Costa Rica in 2005. The rain swollen river was running fast and high that day and the normally two hours ride through Class II and III rapids took less than 45 minutes. I figured I knew what to expect on the Rio Toro (One time I rafted the Pacuare River…), but today's odyssey turned out to be much longer and much more difficult.

The journey through 45 Class III (Oh my God!) and IV (Holy sh--!) rapids left us little time to relax. During one of the more difficult torrents the raft I was on flipped over; the screams of my paddle mates (or was that me?) was drowned out by the roiling sucking water. When I finally came up for air I grabbed for the nearest boat and scrambled aboard. It didn't matter that it wasn't my raft. Three hours later, when the expedition mercifully and I was describing the emerging bruises on my left hip, right buttock, and both elbows, Scott gleefully pointed out, "That'll make a great story someday, Dad."

Typico almeurzo

Tico’s have a simple staple diet - rice and beans, beans and rice, and any combination thereof. A typico desayuna (typical breakfast) includes eggs, toast, and often a slice of cheese with the beans and rice. The nourishing typico almeurzo (typical lunch) – beef stew with rice and beans, we enjoyed after drying off the Rio Toro was rejuvenating. Although traditional Costa Rican cuisine lacks the spiciness usually found in other Central American countries, it more than makes up for with hearty goodness.

We reached our next stop, La Fortuna at the base of Volcán Arenal (Arenal Volcano), by early evening. First settled in the early part of last century because of it’s rich grazing land, La Fortuna evolved into a sleepy agricultural town. That tranquility was shattered in 1968 when the volcano, long thought to be extinct, erupted. The nearby villages of Tabacon and Pueblo Nuevo were buried under lava and ash and 80 lives were lost. Soon after the eruption, La Fortuna blossomed into a mecca for volcano aficionados burning to see red hot lava flows and glowing night skies. It is also home to several natural hot springs and we spent the evening at the "Disneyland of Hot Springs," a resort with dozens party sized hot tubs filled with volcanic hot water, including one with a waterslide!

La Fortuna

Our first two days have been a whirlwind of excitement and discovery, but the adventures are just beginning! Tomorrow, Scott and I will hike up a volcano and repel down a waterfall. The Chickas have nearly convinced Scott to bungee jump with them in the afternoon. On hiatus from producing The Maury Povich Show in Manhattan where they convince otherwise normal people to air their dirty laundry on national television, Alyson and Lindsey are using their charms to convince Scott to leap off a 120 foot tower with nothing but rubber bands attached to his ankles. I’ve let pretty smiles con me into doing some rather silly things in the past, but not even these lovely young ladies could talk me into taking that plunge!

Pura Vida!

P.S. Turns out a margarita is pepperoni and tomato pizza!



June 29, 2008
Claro de Luna Bed & Breakfast
St. Elena, Costa Rica

Hola,

One of the local guides contrasted the Tico lifestyle with our North American attitude - “In the U.S. you say, ‘Just do it.’ In Costa Rica we say, ‘Just do it. But do it later.’” Caught somewhere between the two, Scott wavered Friday morning on the subject of bungee jumping. When the time came though, the Chicka’s applied a large dose of peer pressure and Scott stuck to his roots - he just did it. He bungee jumped off a 120 foot platform erected in the middle of town (apparently whitewater rafting, canyoneering, kayaking, mountain biking, ATVing, and volcano hot tub waterslides aren’t enough excitement for La Fortuna.) As Scott stood at the precipice high over my terra firma vantage point, I was struck by how incomprehensible bungee jumping was to me. Why would anyone want to do this? Anxiously, excitedly I watched Scott raise his hands above his head, lean off the platform, and plunge downward. After the initial fall, he bounced up and down, swung back and forth, and twisted left and right before finally being lowered back to earth with an incredulous “Did-I-just-did-that?” smile on his face. I was very proud, not for what he did, but for facing his fears and his doubts and having the guts to Just Do It!

La Fortuna

Our day began with “canyoneering” down a narrow ravine cut in to the lower reaches of Arenal Volcano by a cool clear stream. We hiked, hopped, climbed and jumped from pool to pool. When the stream had no where to go but straight down, we repelled right down the middle of the water falls! While dropping nearly 200 feet through the misty jungle air, the guide above swung us back and forth through the free falling water! Somehow Brooke managed to make a connection between this adventure and rafting in Canada (one time I rafted in the Ottawa River…).

In the afternoon the group paid, Santos, a local naturalist, to guide us on a hike through a private reserve in the shadows of Volcan Arenal. Oblivious to the constant heavy rain, he pointed out the unique plants and wildlife of the region, including a small orange snake delicately coiled on a small tree branch. The scent of tiny flowers from one of the trees reminded me of my grandmother's orange tree blossoms. While serenaded by the constant guttural growls of hidden Howler Monkeys, Santos taught us the difference in annual rainfall between the lower elevation rainforest (6 feet) and La Fortuna’s Tropical Wet Forest (15 feet). Wet is wet and after that afternoon’s deluge, they only need another six inches or so for the rest of the year!

Arenal Volcano

As the evening grew darker and Santos searched for a good spot to view the glowing red lava flow, Michelle kept qualifying any promises of actually sighting the lava. “If the weather cooperates…If the rain lets up,” she admonished time and time again, apparently nervous we would be devastatingly disappointed if she didn’t come through on her efforts to deliver the awesome sight. We never did see the lava flow or red glowing sky, but I heard the deep rumbling of pyroclastic lava boulders as they tumbled down the volcano's side in an avalanche of lava, gases, and ash while fireflies danced in the night air nearby.

Some of us have been comparing our native colloquiums. Tico's say, "Pura vida," after an exciting experience and we learned from Carolina that Finnish say "Keva! The Canadians offered, “Wicked!” while our east coast friends suggested, "In a New York minute." I couldn’t come up with a good California exclamation. Cowabunga seems a bit dated. Any one of these phrases could be used to describe the day we left La Fortuna.

I awoke at 5:30 AM Saturday morning, hoping to see Arenal’s peak before the daily cloud cover enveloped in, but it was cloaked in rain clouds before the sun came up. Rather than crawl back to bed, I decided to take advantage of the solitude and wander around this town of a few thousand people. In an intermittent drizzle, I strolled through the square as the town woke up and the locals began moving toward work and school. It took a bit of hunting (more than you might expect in this land of coffee), but I found a soda serving piping hot java.

La Fortuna

In the past, the trip from La Fortuna to our next stop, St. Elena, was a five hour circuitous drive around mountainous country due to the lack of serviceable roads. A few years back someone realized visitors like us would pay extra to shorten the journey traveling by boat, horse, and jeep. After a hearty desayuna tipico, we all crossed to the far side of Lago Arenal (Lake Arenal) where saddled horses were and waiting for us. The rainy 30 minute boat ride was uneventful, but the horses left lasting impressions-one on my right buttock and one on my left buttock. The scenery along the shore of Lago Arenal would have been a beautiful if it hadn’t passed in galloping blur. The jeeps waiting at the end of the trail looked suspiciously like minivans, but the last leg of the journey, a two hour drive through steep dairy country was the best. Over mountain passes and through rocky canyons, we passed emerald green farms and isolated homesteads. Along the way we stopped at the crossroads town of Los Dos (The Twos) and lunched at a roadside café offering a variety of casadas-simple meals with beans and rice (of course), vegetables and an entrée. Typically simple meals, casadas are inexpensive and filling, and are almost always topped off with a sweet fried plantain.

Arenal Lake

Nestled in Costa Rica’s northern Tilaran Mountains, St. Elena has changed little since my last visit. It's still just one block long. But we didn’t come to see the town. We came to visit the cloud forest just above it. A private reserve, Reserva Biological Monteverde (Monteverde Biological Reserve) was established over sixty years ago by a group of Quakers fleeing persecution in the U.S. After four Quakers were jailed in Alabama for refusing to be drafted into the Korean War, 11 families left the U.S. and settled in military free Costa Rica. The rich soil and mild climate of St. Elena was ideal for dairy farming and, recognizing the need to preserve the watershed above their grazing land, the Quakers purchased and preserved 3700 acres of cloud shrouded forest in what has since become the Reserva Biologica Monteverde. Naturalists began flocking to the verdant forest after a 1983 National Geographic article on the rarely seenResplendent Quetzal Bird. Descendant of the original Quaker families are still farming their dairies, and shipping gourmet cheeses all over the world.

Over dinner at Morphos, Mike and Angela shared stories about their extensive family travels in Europe, including numerous visits to family in Scandinavia. Given so many opportunities to explore the world, it was easy to see why Michael and Jenn shared a quiet confidence that makes traveling easier. Comparing their hometown climate to Costa Rica, Daddy Gratz described Minneapolis’s seasons as winter and road construction. In between, Blondie and Aqua Jenn fit in man seasons of competitive swimming that took them to meets all over the U.S.. As the conversation drifted to past group tour experiences, Brooke, who I don’t think had ever been south of the Ottawa River, offered her opinion. Our troupe, she decided, lacked that non-stop talker who always has to put in their two cents worth that is common to most groups.

After a few drinks, the conversation naturally gravitated towards relationships. The Chickas were particularly interested in Michelle’s dalliances with past guests. Company rules forbid fraternizing with guests, but she was quick to admit that if every solo male traveler weren’t a nerd, she would be open to a holiday romance. I immediately protested, having traveled alone on group tours in the past. Michelle promised to reserve judgment on me until the end of the trip. As dinner finished up, Michelle flitted about the room trying to excite everyone about the evening’s activity. No visit to St. Elena without a visit to it’s one and only night spot, so she insisted everyone, young and old alike, head over to the Centro de Amigo’s discothèque after dinner to help her relive her days as a Toronto nightclub Go-Go dancer.

The minimum drinking age in Costa Rica is 16, but that seems to be more of a guideline than a law, so the bouncer didn’t look twice at Scott or Michael while collecting their cover charge. I was hoping for some rock and roll standards like they were playing back at Backpacker’s Tranquilio, but the DJ played a mix of Latin, Hip-Hop, and Salsa. Knowing quite well this white man can’t dance; I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to embarrass my son. Imagine his horror, watching me “get jiggy wit’ it.” Eventually everyone took a spin or two on the noisy dance floor, except for Veronica. She sat at the bar moping while Robby danced with others, earning herself a new nickname - Miss Cranky Pants. It took a few songs, but by now the Chickas were fairly adept at goading Scott into action and they got him on the dance floor. It helped that Lindsay has a winsome 22 year old smile that could motivate a legion of teenage boys into action. After several tunes, Scott very disconsolately exclaimed to me, “I dance like you!”

Centro de Amigos

This morning began with an early visit to the Monteverde Reserve, where strict entrance quotas fill up early. Our trek through the cloud forest was guided by a local naturalist. Korki professed no formal secondary education, but he had a wealth of knowledge about the abundant flora and fauna. He once spent three hours with a botanist/ornithologist couple from the states and only got 10 yards meter into the diverse reserve!

I was amazed by a giant Strangling Fig tree. Beginning as a seed dropped into a crook of a host tree, Korki explained, the fig sent a series of vine like roots to the soil 70 feet below. After many years the encompassing roots fused to form a massive trunk around the host tree. Hollywood’s best set designers couldn’t have created a more surrealistic jungle tree, including the moss covered vines and ferns growing out of every nook and cranny. Elephant Ear plants, whose large veiny leaves resemble a pachyderm’s big ears, completed the set. Michelle pointed out her favorite plant - Mimosa. “It’s beautiful and does amazing things,” she exclaimed and as she touched it the long feathery leaves curled up. Korki was unable to find a Resplendent Quetzal whose iridescent green and blue plumage was the mark Mayan gods, but we saw several other species of birds as well as colorful tarantulas. Our three hour walk concluded under a tree full of Howler Monkeys not too shy to make their presence known with their aerial antics.

Korki

After our visit to the cloud forest, we took a short bus ride to the zip lines, Costa Rica’s signature adventure. Two years ago a fear of heights almost convinced me to skip traversing the series of suspension cables stretching over one mile high above the jungle. Fortunately, I faced my fears then and today I eagerly awaited the exhilarating experience. My favorite cable, over 1500 feet long, sends you soaring 200 feet above the forest canopy. The view is amazing and the thrill is totally unique. The 50 foot Tarzan swing at the end, one of Michelle’s surprises, coaxes any remaining adrenalin out of your system.

The group as a whole is pretty exhausted from the last four days' adventures. Scott skipped dinner and was out before sunset. My rafting bruises are beginning to recede, but they’re being replaced with new aches and pains. I’m hoping our five hour drive tomorrow to Quepos on the Pacific Coast will give me an opportunity to recuperate.

Pura Vida!