travel log part uno

Costa Rica Travel Log
by p. ashlund

travel log part uno

Well, I made it six days without a computer. What was I thinking? Incommunicado for 11 days?? This whole journey began because of a failed romance. While killing time over ligonberry pancakes in Door County I happened across an article in the local paper about a couple’s journey to Costa Rica in search of the perfect cup of joe. They found it while enjoying Portuguese quiche and persuaded the proprietor to reveal her source. It was El Trebol at the Mercado Central on Calle Ocho (8^th Street). At that moment in the 20 degree cold, a decision was made. The following week an email arrived from Julia Tindall, inviting me to her group tour and ¡Viola! here I am.

Myths in a Foreign County Or La Mentirosa (the liar)

Myth One: You don’t need to speak Spanish in Costa Rica. One thing to remember while traveling in Central America, despite what every body said at home, you definitely do need to speak Spanish. From the moment I left the plane till today I have not met a soul that knew more than "hi" or "how are you". I have been laughing through the whole wonderful experience and fortunately my Spanish is beginning to return.

Myth Two: Costa Rica is a peaceful Country. Of all the fortuitous events, the evening of my arrival happened to be the same day an international summit was beginning. In the cab ride on the way to the hotel I noticed many billboards, which read, Bienvendios Vicente Fox, which I thought meant the president was welcoming us tourists. It would help to know my presidents, because Vicente Fox is the president of Mexico, and they were actually signs welcoming him to the country. So, a summit downtown of the latin american presidents.... hmmmm. Right in the heart of downtown where I am heading, which means.... road blocks, central downtown is roped off.

I have always pretended to be Canadian when traveling in latin countries in some vague attempt to avoid being viewed negatively. Since know one knows what to think of Canadians, it has served me well to avoid stereotype. So when the cab driver asked me where I was out popped "Soy Canadiense" (I’m a Canadian). This has never caused me trouble, but there is always a first time.

So our cab is stopped by a policeman, to whom I here the cabbie shout "we have to get in, she’s a Canadian". My heart stopped for at least a second before he waived us by without asking for my passport. We negotiated our way through the narrow (what I thought were one way) streets until we were stopped by a crowd. It seemed I would have to hoof it to the hotel, not a happy prospect with two suitcases, alone in the dark in an unfamiliar (and quite dirty looking) city, but I was preparing anyway. The cab driver, however, wasn’t having it. He got on his cell phone and called the hotel, arguing with the hotel that they must send some one to meet me at the esquina (corner) because I was "sola". That was reassuring. Until...

We heard shouting and confusion and suddenly the street crossing ours was filled with angry protestors, holding huge red flags with pictures of someone (che guevera?) and other symbols I associate with unions and radicals. Cabbie dude was on the phone again now, and as he yelled at me to get back in the car I picked up two words "guerrillas" and "gritando", one self-explanatory and the other ¨"screaming". That got the blood pumping, although too much exposure to hollywood made the whole thing seem like a movie set complete with colorful guerrillas. Then I remembered that those movies always ended with outrageous murders and I decided to stop that train of thought.

We moved to another side street where the cab driver apparently felt more secure and again waited for a bus boy to appear. After 20 minutes I noticed many tourists walking around shopping and winding there way through the protest and decided it did seem pretty safe and told the cabbie I’d go it alone. He didn’t´ want to let me leave, but I knew he wanted to run himself, he was afraid he cab would be hurt. The ride was $10 bucks and I was searching for change for a tip and he basically said in Spanish, forget it lady, took the ten and was off. At that moment I walked in the direction of the hotel, but heard someone calling me "Señora, Señora", which I ignored and walked faster thinking that the same advice applied at home as here, don’t talk to strangers on the street, but I did glance over my shoulder luckily in time to see it was two uniformed bus boys who had come to rescue me. To say I was happy was an understatement. Both grabbed a bag and escorted me to the Gran Hotel.

Part Dos: the opposite of vicarious experience OR good luck (buenas suertes) –

Maybe I should have paid attention when Wendy’s husband Steve said to her "why’s Pam going to Costa Rica? to sweat?" hahaha, he had a point.

Luckily things calmed down for the rest of the trip and there were no repeat performances of the summit excitement. Sometimes having a little Spanish under your belt is an advantage and sometimes not because it gives people the impression you can really tackle a conversation. When I asked the cab driver if he knew where the Gran Hotel was he said ¨"no, don’t you know where it is?" I said "no, I don’t" in a panic to which he replied "well, it’s at avenida dos and calle tres" and enjoyed a good laugh at my expense. Gotta love it.

I checked in to the Gran Hotel, and once up in my little (not so nice) room, hot and thirsty I weighed the pros and cons of braving the outdoors again mid-protest and decided to eat the orange in my suitcase and go to sleep. I fine idea. After a cool shower (no hot water at night) I turned off the lights and two seconds later it was morning.

Friday: I had Friday to myself before my friends arrived and I signed up for a rainforest aerial tour. Up at 6, I had four hours to explore San Jose. First to convert some money I asked where the ATM was, after a blank look, we determined it would be easier to find an ATH (A Todo Hora) (at any hour) or a cajero automatico, both of these get you to an ATM, but ATM doesn’t mean anything, especially if you don’t pronounce the lettres in espanol. Of course the directions were delightful "right next to burger king". For this I had to go to Costa Rica?

Myth Three: Everything is cheap in Central America. Maybe somewhere, but not in Costa Rica. Prices were equivalent or much higher than in the Estados Unidos.

Myth Four: Costa Rica is a beautiful country. Well, yes, in the national parks and at the beach. San Jose, however, whew! Dirty, ugly, and as a bonus you get diesel fuel smelling air everywhere. For an extra bonus just try to avoid being mowed down at an intersection. After four hours I had seen all I ever wanted to see. Just before my tour I remembered, yikes, El Trebol! The coffee I had traveled across the world for, and this was my last day in San Jose. So map in hand off I ran to find the central market.

Myth Five: San Jose is easy to navigate because they use the grid system. There is a grid, true, but with two caveats: One: There are no street signs. So if you are lucky enough to know you are on Calle Dos, you can count and at least have a rough idea where you are. Two: The counting is Even numbered streets to the left and Odd numbered streets to the right. So, don’t try to find Calle Cinco (5) between Calle Cuatro (4) and Seis (6)

Myth Six: The food is delicious in Central America. Everywhere else, yes, but Costa Rica? Comida Tipico (typical food) is rice and beans, and bland ones at that. Eggs are friend, mayonnaise is hot and just generally, not much is appetizing. But it’s expensive as a compensation! :-)

I found the market and found El Trebol. Talk about a great smell (what a relief from the Diesel Fuel I was growing so fond of). I bought 8 lbs of coffee for about 6 bucks. Turns out coffee is the only bargain in town. And with just enough time dashed off to the Holiday Inn to join my tour.

At the rainforest I found the first sign of the Costa Rica I had expected. Acres (hectores?) of spectacular jungle. The world buzzed with sounds and sights and smells. We were served a buffet lunch (of guess what? yep, rice and beans and chicken). For a moment I sat alone on a deck and that moment I thought the sun had gone to my head when a walt disney animated butterfly the size of two hands swooped by me. It was a morpho, the national butterfly of Costa Rica and it was so incredible that my mind couldn’t accept it as real. In a second it was gone to the forest and it was last glimpse I was to have. Here is one, but I can tell you the photo doesn’t do justice to what I saw: http://www.butterflyfarm.co.cr/gallery/

What can you say about an aerial tour? I learned a lot about plants? I wouldn’t place this as the highlight of my trip, although and hour at 300 meters above the trees is pretty nice.

part tres - a barrel full of monkeys

Confucius say "Bringing suntan lotion isn’t as useful as wearing sun tan lotion".

Saturday morning I came down to the front desk at the Gran and the desk clerk asked me if I knew a Lynn Marie and when I answered in the affirmative, told me she was looking for me and waiting on the patio. Then he told me "she looks like Sigourney Weaver" and sighed as he patted his heart.

I met up with the group and found it was a very small group, just Lynn Maria, Brent and Susan (and Julia the group leader, with me, makes five. At last we headed off (out of the dreaded san José) in a private shuttle bus to the Coast. A 3.5 hour drive. Contrary to what I heard (and thank god) the roads were not too bad.

We arrived at the Hotel Vela Bar around 4. Words like ¨"wow" and "charming" come to mind. This is an “American in paradise” place. Palm thatched roof patios, spectacular wood paneled cabins, frogs, birds, monkeys, coconut trees, hammocks, you name it. And if location, location, location is the mantra, we had it. About 100 yards from the ocean, and 100 yards from the entrance to the national park (and for me 100 yards from the internet cafe ) whew!)).

Our days: Meet for Yoga on the sand at 7 am, breakfast on the patio, event in the morning, rest in the afternoon, dinner in the evening. Not a lot of pressure.

Sunday morning we hiked in to the Mañuel Antonio National Park. For next time, I’d leave the hiking boots at home, since I haven’t worn them once. Tivas (hiking sandals) are the only foot wear I´d even consider in this heat. Inside the park was a nature lovers stair master. We hiked straight up and straight down around the point and then down down down to the beach. The beach, the most pristine beach I will probably ever see. And we had left all the tourists behind at the first two beaches. This beach was ours alone and encircled by rain forest. The water was 90 degrees and the waves were gentle. Floating there I considered relocating. Still somehow, after four hours of sand and sun and but busting hills, I left my friends and headed back to the hotel for a shower. On the way back my path was blocked my a groovy iguana who must have been as scared of me as I of him, but he didn’t show it.

Part Cuatro:

Note for future reference: one someone tells you you will be staying at the "best hotel in Dominical", remember to ask them if it is also the "only hotel in Dominical".

Headed out of Manuel Antonia yesterday for the quaint town of Dominical. One point of interest: the town just got telephones in 1999. I'm sure the rest of technology will follow someday. We are in bungalows with white gauze enclosed porches. An added bonus: Lynn Marie found a scorpion in her shower yesterday. We asked whether others had seen scorpions, and they said "they are hardly ever seen, you'd be lucky if you saw one".

Ah, at last the food is heavenly. That is if you are not concerned with tiny swarming bugs covering the table... yum, extra protein is what our guide said.

We headed for the beach when we hit town, and found an exciting dangerous surfing beach not suitable for humans (except surfers). They said there were 15 foot "walls" on Wednesday but today was mild. We decided to wait to go to the swimming beach today.

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