Costa Rica PART III...

.....[please read Parts I & II first]......

We are supposed to meet our ride to the river at "the curve in the main highway"... Good Morning, vague directions! Fortunately, we find a curve on a highway and we are picked up. Success! We meet Andres who ends up being our guide for the majority of the Pacuare River segment of our trip.

totally useless side note: i have the attention span of a gnat these days and can't seem to finish this. Shoving all the work aside and finishing blog NOW.

So, we meet up with our fellow travelers and start down the Pacuare river. I really enjoy whitewater rafting as it is a mix of adventure, sight-seeing and physical activity. It was a relatively mellow day as it had not rained in awhile and the river was low. We arrived at the lodge and I exhaled a huge sigh of relief. I do most of our reservations and you are never really sure how some place is going to be until you see it. Especially in foreign countries, you run a risk of finding your luxury jungle eco-villa to be a insect-infested lean-to shack. Whew. It is beautiful! The carefully landscaped grounds dotted with the handful of villas, the gorgeous open air lodge, the river front view... Just what I wanted!

We unpack somewhat and head off on our next adventure - a new excursion they offer called Canyoneering. Now, since there are no BIG waterfalls or canyons around, it seems a little silly at first, but it turns out to be thrilling enough and lots of fun. We get filthy, muddy and are rappelling down waterfalls into murky pools of water (and who knows what creatures). I have a problem with slippery surfaces. Okay, I have a problem with a lot of surfaces, but if something is slippery and I am there - I will be the one to fall. I was doing so good - I'm used to rappelling (rock climbing) however, these slick and mossy rocks are giving me hell. Sure enough, i misplace a foot and BANG into the side of the wall I go. Fortunately for me, I have sturdy legs and am able to take the blow without too much whining. It does leave a nasty scrape that led to simpering fears of what happens when you start bleeding in the jungle. Enough of that, enough!

That night we arrived to dinner at the main lodge in a state of wonder. The entire lodge is light up by candles... candles everywhere... in the chandeliers, on the walls, set on the ground. It is beautiful. The wood of the lodge floor is high quality and it is customary to remove your shoes and leave them on the outer deck. We head upstairs to the bar area bare feet against the softest polished wood. It is at the bar where we meet an absolutely wonderful couple - Jean & Bob. They live in England, but met in the US (where she is from) and have recently bought a small place in France. They are well traveled, well educated and easy to converse with. We are called down for dinner and seated in various groups.

Imagine sitting on the deck of a beautiful lodge lit solely by candlelight...the river rushing past, the jungle twittering with the life that comes alive with the setting of the sun...complete access to a nice wine cellar... a fantastic three course meal... good friends...This was our experience. A well earned reward after our previous days of work and adventure. We ended up enjoying a few (plus) bottles of wine and enjoying each other's company as well as the company of our guide Andres who we cajoled into drinking wine with us. We also had the good fortune to see a ARMADILLO! It was quite possibly one of the cutest, shyest things I've ever seen. It was living under one of the pathways and it was only a foot long (not including it's tail). Silver and black, with very tiny little paws!

The next day we wake up late (maybe we had too much wine, maybe) and saunter down to the lodge for our breakfast. More excellent food prepared by the same guys who were our guides, our hosts and our activity coordinators - these guys are outstanding! We opt for a morning of canopy touring via zip-line and afternoon massages in our room. The zip-line is fun and we sail through the trees at high speeds! It's exhilarating and scary enough to get your adrenaline going a little bit. We are joined by Bob & Jean on this adventure and use the opportunity to laugh at ourselves, each other and converse.

It is raining now and I head back to the room for my massage. Surely, it wasn't the best massage, but it was luxurious in that I lay face down on the table being spoiled while listening to the river rushing, the steady patter of rain and the twitterings of little birds. I ease my way out of the room and float to the lodge for some hot chocolate with my book while Mike gets his massage. The afternoon is leisurely and before we know it the sun has fallen again. This is our last night, and we head to the lodge for our customary pre-dinner drinks.

Much to our horror, a couple has arrived from....Orange County... What bad luck is this?! Had they been more, how shall I say, like us? It would have been tolerable... [inner groan]. Some 20 year-olds had booked this segment on their credit cards not realizing that it wasn't really the kind of place they fit into. I was horrified at the prospect of having to hear Frat boy stories peppered with Duuuuude every other word. Like, ya know? Ohmygod!. Shudder. Fortunately, our hosts/guides were very keen observers and set up the dinner tables so that Bob, Jean and us were at one table, the Swiss couple was at another and this Terrible Twosome was at their own table well away from the adults. Exhale, it's okay, it's all okay.

We had a lovely evening. This couple - I just can't say enough about them. I really liked their relationship - friendly, gently teasing, comfortable, nice... They had been married for over 30 years and have experienced so much together. Our conversation was constant and pleasant over a few bottles of wine. It is always a luxury to find oneself amidst excellent company combined with good food and nice wine. The night took a bit of a rough turn as we returned to our cabana and I began my Nightly Bug Check. Sure enough, a poisonous friend was hanging out in the space between the sofa and the bed. Completely unacceptable.

I immediately hopped on the couch and hollered at Mike that he had to get it out! In desperation I gave him an Open Favor. That is one favor to be called in at ANY time, for ANY thing, ANY where. Whoa. Now you know how scared I was. Fortunately we chased it around, he lost a few legs and Mike was able to catch him and throw him outside. Things like that are just too big to smash. Really, just too big. Augh. No more talking about it.

We wake up and it's been pouring rain for a few days now. The river is faster, higher and brown with all the silt that's swirling around. While I like whitewater rafting, I don't like dying or near drowning. I'm a bit nervous as they start to load up all the boats and I see just how many safety kayakers are going with our tiny group. On a good day this part of the river has Class 3s and Class 4s. This is a great day, if you like death or if you are an experienced kayaker. I am, um, neither. I can jump out of a plane hundreds of times, but you get me near water that has the potential to kill me and I am like an angry, pissy cat near bath time. Unpleasant.

However, rafting is pretty much our only option to get out of there at that time. So into the raft I go. Into the front of the raft (bad move). With a little safety pep talk and a how-to-hang-on-to-the-safety-kayak demo we are on our way. Did I mention that it is freezing, raining and I'm near death? Well, know you now. The Swiss Couple is behind Mike and I and I think they are crazy because they seem to be enjoying this. Mike is enjoying this. Andres (the guide) is definitely enjoying this. Highly possible that Mike is trying to kill me and has paid all these people to conspire. Highly likely. The whole Can't Live Without You, Can't Live With You thing.... It could happen.

We are flying down the river, stabbing at the water with our plastic paddles, inhaling gallons of water (please let it be clean), and barely staying right side up. Oh yes, I am feeling the adventure now, thank-you-very-much. Eeeeek! I yell to Mike and ask him if now is a bad time to let him know that I can't swim very well. He laughs, you know me, alwaaaays the joker. Well, it's true. I swim like a platypus without a tail. Not well. I can survive, but not, say, make it out of a Class 4 rapid without a concussion. Not to worry, we lived and I can't tell you how grateful I was to make it to dry land. Wait, I can - I was VERY grateful.

We spent our last night back in San Jose - eating and taking it easy. Our flight was uneventful and everything went smoothly. The best parts about coming home are:

• Hot showers with NO time limit
• Your own bathroom - and not having to worry about getting eaten alive by bugs while doing your thing.
• My King Size Tempurpedic Bed, with the Egyptian Cotton sheets.
• Fleecey soft pajamas that are too big for packing in a backpack.
• Silence (i.e. no snoring friend).
• Knowing I can wake up in the middle of the night and not put my headlamp on to go to avoid death lurking in the forms of bug, snake & scorpion.

The best parts of the trip, of any trip, are immense and innumerable. I will be writing a separate blog on that... Hopefully, much more concise than this rambling pile of work-avoidance this chapter has been......

...Adios muchachos & muchas gracias para leyendo...

Costa Rica Part II (read Part I first)

....[continued from Part I]....

So here we are at 4:30 a.m. passed out in our sleeping bags on BUNK BEDS careless of what kinds or how many spiders have crawled in our ears and down our throats all night. We are now 2 hours late to begin our hike. I could care less. I'm stiff, sore, exhausted and it's freezing. That is most definitely not the right attitude for conquering mountains, but there, I said it. We are under a time limit - we need to race to the summit, hurry back down to the Crestones Base Lodge, grab our packs, eat something and begin our 14.5km descent back through the cloud forest and through the jungle to our original hotel in San Gerardo de Rivas. It would be really nice to be down before dark... We decide we don't have time for breakfast and stuff our pockets with Cliff Bars and head out to the trail. Surprise, surprise, it's raining. It's cold, windy and raining. We seem to have a summit/rain curse since Peru, so although we are in tropical, warm Costa Rica I am not surprised that it feels like we are in Antarctica.

Onwards we go, up and up and around and over and through and ... you get it. We finally get to the fork in the trail where you either head around or UP. The trail to this point has been meandering in a general uphill trend. The trail from this point is startlingly vertical and technical. The trail ends in stacks upon stacks of rocks. I remind myself that I am agile as a little mountain goat (sure, the clumsy goat of the pack, but still...). The nice thing about this summit is that I can see the Costa Rican flag snapping in the wind above my head pulling me up, reminding me that I am not as far as I think. Finally - we make it! On a clear day you can see lakes and lagoons and both of the oceans (Pacific & Caribbean) as the sun rises. It is muy obsucro and I can't see a damn thing. It's freezing. It's raining. But, there is the elation that only comes with a summit... (and knowing Mike has a bottle of Scotch in his pack). We take our summit pics and sign in the log. We swig a little scotch to warm up and celebrate and then head down.

The descent was great - we made record time - 4.5 hours for 14.5 km. We practically ran. I'm not going to talk about knees, ankles or toenails slamming into shoes. Or pain or what happens when the vicodin wears off. We are just not talking about that. We are both tough. Enough said. After a nice HOT shower at the Hotel Uran at the base we headed for another brutal downhill walk (a hobble really) to town. This time we remembered our headlamps & rain jackets. Town is the only place where beers are found. We celebrated, we laughed, we ate a huge pizza, we passed the hell out in our beds. Mission accomplished.

What day are we on now? I have no idea. This happens while travelling as well... Who am I, where am I and what day is it... Aha! The day of the soaking wet taxi driver and the jerfkace bus driver who wouldn't give us our bags. That all turned into a nice sunset at the Turrialtico Lodge and then that spilled over into far too many cervezas y tequilas. A nice full day of travel and adventure if there ever was one.

The bus ride into Turrialba is worth the plane ticket to Costa Rica alone, for me. There's a place I've been looking for... a piece of land... with rolling hills and farms and mountains and lush vibrant green plants and warm air and gentle breezes and ... you get it... I sat in the back of the bus in a window seat with my ipod on watching acres of 10 foot tall sugar cane blow by. I forgot to breathe. This must be what falling in love is like. I will be going back. Turrialba is not done with me yet.

The following day we head up to our next lodge - the Cerro Alto Pochotel. We happened to be lucky enough to bump into the owners at the Turrialtico lodge who were returning to their place and offered us a ride. The value of this ride is immeasurable as neither of us can walk a few steps without crying and the Pochotel is only a quick 2km walk uphill. Hah. Quick. Whew. Rustic and quaint and sprawling and wild. That describes Cerro Alto. The view is stunning - a complete panorama of the city, the hills, all surrounding pueblos and supposedly on a clear day you can see Chirripo and the Caribbean sea. As you guessed, it is not a clear day.

Here we meet a local man named Freddy who designates himself as our guide...Freddy is kind and gentle and unusual. We set off on a walk to look for sloths (perezosos). We go through the property and through someone elses property and under barbed wire fences. We meet his friends (horses and goats and one lonely cow). We trek through the pueblo of Sitio Mata in which Freddy is related to EVERYONE and they all stop and say hello and chat with us. We see 7 sloths - which are nearly impossible to spot. Without Freddy we wouldn't have seen a damn thing. He teaches us the names of all the birds, trees and flowers. Ever the teacher, he makes us repeat the names and quizzes us on the way back through town.

We stop by a house in which it seems everyone is running around with a half-dead fish in their hands. Kids, adults, girls, men... all running around with fish. Turns out, they have a Tilapia farm in their backyard and are having a cookout. We are greeted by a man our age who slits the belly of a Tilapia, yanks out it's guts and then shakes our hand - fish guts and all...We manage to get our way out of dinner as it didn't seem like a sanitary option for us. I wanted to come home with memories, not parasites... even if we had to hurt their feelings by declining the invite. We spent the rest of the evening drinking Cervezas at the Pochotel, eating our dinner and playing old tunes on the Wurlitzer.

On to our final leg of our journey....

(to be continued, as I really must get some work done today....)

Costa Rica - PART I

Most who venture to Costa Rica hit a few specific tourist spots that are heavily touristed: Tamarindo, Arenal Volcano, Tortuguero, Guanacaste… Beautiful places, but a bit too developed for our taste. The problem with development is that you go to Costa Rica to get away and you end up in a plane half full of Orange County Bro-Brah Surfers and half full with the tour bus / bird watching crowd. You hear the clanging of English slaughtering Spanish (if they even bother to try). You hear the bitching and moaning and griping and social ladder climbing and it’s not a vacation. Hence, we designed our trip to take us in and away from all that, to plunge into the heart of the country, to climb the highest peak, to raft the hardest river and to immerse ourselves in the sanctuary that is the jungle.

We landed in San Jose on Mike’s birthday at noon and headed directly to our hotel (Hemmingway Inn) – a converted old mansion. The air is hot and sticky and our cab driver discusses the recent terremoto (earthquake) with us. We flow from Spanish to English and he flows from talking about death to life to the sun and our trip plans with the relaxed ease that only a Tico is born with. We depart with a hearty ‘Pura Vida!’ and head to our room to drop our things. Priorities are priorities and before shower-time or nap-time, we must first have beer-time. Bless Costa Rica for its ice cold Imperials. You can get ICE cold beer ANYWHERE in that country.

Later we venture out to the popular part of San Jose (aka the gringo part) called El Pueblo. A bunch of little bars and restaurants crammed together in a street corner surrounded by a wall and secured by taxi drivers buzzing at any exit, eager for a fare. We bounce around a bit as we are the only customers of the place, it seems. Finally, we hear music – LOUD music – and head towards a nice small bar in which we meet Tony The Bartender who runs the place. We spend the rest of the evening with many Imperials, a few Tequilas, a mystery shot for the birthday boy and some tacos. We geek out on music (standard for us anyways) and have a nice night.

Day #2 consists of getting from San Jose to San Isidro via bus. Then catching a cab from San Isidro to San Gerardo de Rivas to check in with the Ranger Station. Then up to our hotel at the very base of the trail for Chirripo. All goes well; with the minor change that we find out we are hiking the very next day instead of the day after that. We change into our swimsuits and head out to hit the hot springs. They are a bit farther away than we realized and it’s a bit later than we thought. The hot springs are not luxurious – they are funneled by a pipe into concrete pools… with a little imagination and plenty of relaxation we find the hot springs to be an infinity pool of Jacuzzi standards. We lazily swim around and let the water from the springs beat down on our backs. Bliss is an easily achieved goal here. We pack up and head down to the town (it IS beer-thirty people!). The town is small and quiet in ways that only a rural town can be mid-week. We drink our beers at La Roca Dura hotel (hard rock hotel, haha!) which is made completely of beautiful wood – even the stools, benches, tables, walls; everything is carved of smooth glorious wood. It’s like being inside of a tree house! No windows, no screens, just the wood and your beer and you and fresh fresh fresh air.

We work our way through our drinks and later next door for some amazing vegetable pizza made by a Canadian man who quit his ‘normal’ life for something of more value. We stare across the river canyon at his enormous house perched hillside amongst the rainforest and nod along with him, yes, yes, we too know that yearning. The sky cracks and dumps sheets of water. We realize, surprised, that we have no headlamps, no rain jackets and no first aid kit. We are ALWAYS over prepared, but here we are, with NOTHING. We get trash bags to cover our backpacks and head on out home. Suburbanites: say this with me: “I do not know how dark it is with no street lights”. Dark is DARK. Dark as in I cannot see my hands in front of my face. We realize it’s no longer really funny. There’s a big river here and two crossings and we cannot see the edge. There are a few forks in the road and we are directionally retarded. There are bugs and monsters and a whole lot of things that can go wrong. This is the kind of stupid mistake that can get experienced people killed for the lamest of all lame reasons. We do eventually make it back, with a few errors. I cannot say how relieved I was to be back and what a good lesson that was for us both.

Day #3 – Up at 4:00, quick typical Tico breakfast of eggs, rice, black beans and toast. We put on our 20lb packs, headlamps, bug spray, and grab our trekking poles and head up the trail. Now I have a few fears that I have always had since I was little. There are the following: the Ocean (although I will surf & kayak, etc…), Bugs/Insects and the Dark. Yes, I am almost 30 and I can be a little scared of the dark sometimes. Haha! So here we are in the JUNGLE people in the DARK with bugs that light up like little dancing flies and the red hungry eyes of creatures lurking in the trees lighting up as we near. The ground is slick with dead leaves and mud and ages of rotting things. Switchbacks can suck on a good day. Switchbacks with mud and rocks at a steep elevation in the dark are a whole new level of suck. Suck it up we did and on we went. I was so happy when the light started breaking the hills. A little sunrise goes a long way with this girl.

The jungle is indescribable – it is immense in a way that the pictures cannot capture. The trees are hundreds of feet tall. Hundreds of years old. Rope-like vines as thick as your forearm hang from impossibly high branches, begging you to do a Tarzan swing. Everything grows on everything else. It’s hard to find the original plant, the actual soil, or a bare rock. Bromeliads suffocate orchids to grow atop trees smothered in vines that brush elbows with lichen only to be tickled by moss. Mosquitoes are persistent. They buzz in your eyes and in your face, hunting the non-DEET covered speck of skin they can get to. Bugs click and buzz and birds sing a thousand strange songs. The jungle is a cacophony of life.

We come out of the sweltering humidity of the jungle, through the cloud forest and out into a scrubby high ground reminiscent of California or Catalina Island – but with a richer variety of brush. Butterflies and lizards reign here. The sun is upon us, the wind occasionally reminding us of our altitude and the clouds blowing in and back rippling through the hills like water on the shore. The last leg of the hike is called Los Repentants. This was brutal for me. Exhausted. Weary. Sore. Uphill without mercy. Hiking on rocks and stones and sandy gritty dirt. Hill after hill, rock after rock, stopping at each tree for a little shade and a little breather. I really did begin to repent at some point. I forgave myself many things. I let things go. I can’t hike with any extra weight – emotionally, spiritually, or mentally. I love this point in any hike – where you dump your excess subconscious baggage. And you breathe. And you move. And you are a living machine of the earth. I kept repeating to myself that all this uphill bullshit would soon become downhill joy when we headed back home. You can’t have one without the other, so I learned to appreciate the uphill to love the uphill – as much as I would love the downhill.

Mike was waiting at the end of the trail for me. I was beyond joy to see him, as I knew that signified my end. We hobbled in to the Crestones Base Lodge and up (stairs, ugh!) to our dorm room. There we took the COLDEST shower of our lives. If you took 3 gallons of water and let it sit in a bathtub of ice and then let it trickle out of a narrow pipe – then you would know what that shower was like. We made our simple dinner and drifted off to sleep. Drifted off right through our 2:30 alarm.





……more to be written shortly…….