La Fortuna, Costa Rica
Our fifth day began with another delicious breakfast brought to us by Lidieth. We ate outside, as we have almost every morning and some afternoons. Once again, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and it was impossible not to grin at each other. How were we to know that today was the day we’d pick up a hitchhiker?
We headed out fairly early and got some gas. Brian’s first credit card didn’t go through and it took 15 minutes for them to bring back his second credit card. Once we juiced up, we drove past an ominous sign (”Peligro! Carretera en mal estado!”) and started down the road. Suddenly, Bri shouts “Stop here!” and I swing into Toad Hall.
He wanders around, looking at souvenirs. We pick up a couple things and head to the register. I tell Bri not to worry, I’ll get it. I hand the cashier (apparently a European transplant who I was later to learn was brand-new to the job) my card and she swipes it through the machine. The transaction goes through, but instead of a receipt, there’s a paper jam. And so the fun starts.
“I will have to run your card again.”
“You already ran my card.”
“But I need a receipt for you to sign!”
“Print out a new receipt.”
“The receipt comes when I swipe the card. Can I have your card back?”
“No way. You can’t run it twice.”
“But I need a receipt for you to sign!”
“Well, I’m not going to pay for this twice.”
“I understand, but I need to swipe again so I get a receipt.”
“I understand, but I can’t let you run my card twice.”
“But what can I do?”
“How about reprint the receipt?”
“I don’t know how! I just started and the boss didn’t show me.”
“I’m sure there’s a button for reprinting.”
“Why don’t you come look?”
Brian stares in disbelief as I go from customer to cashier, slipping behind the counter and studying the keypad. After maybe two seconds, I see a button called “reimprimir” (reprint) and press it. A copy of the receipt starts spitting out of the register. I sign, grab my bag, and leave.
As I unlock the car doors, a young blond woman with a bookbag walks up to Brian. He has no clue what she’s saying, so she walks up to me. Her boyfriend’s car died and she needs a ride to La Fortuna. We happen to be going to La Fortuna, but I know how paranoid Brian is and how he’ll undoubtedly think she’s an axe murderer. Believe it or not, we managed to talk him into letting her ride with us. I found out later that he was in fact scared, and did in fact think that her bookbag either contained drugs or weaponry.
She was a native of Argentina, who lived here for five years, went back home for one, and just came back to Costa Rica for good. It was great to have her in the car because I could ask her a zillion questions and she was more than happy to answer. She explained about some of the area attractions and which spots were the best for viewing the Arenal volcano. We were on our way to the Fortuna River waterfall in the Ecological Preserve, and had no idea how to get there. Since she was going to La Fortuna anyway, she was glad to show us.
We dropped her off half a mile from our final desination and parked at the reserve. I bought tickets, grabbed my camera, and headed down the trail. What a trail! If we thought the trail was iffy and steep at the canopy tour, boy were we naive. This trail was crazy, but when we reached the bottom of the mountain, boy was it worth every step.
The water cascaded down from so high above that it took four seperate photos to capture the whole thing. We stripped off our shirts and shorts, to our swimsuits underneath, and tentatively waded into the water. Yikes! Cold! But gorgeous, absolutely beautiful.
After playing in the water and taking innumerable photos, we huffed and puffed our way back up the mountainside and drove to the Los Lagos resort, who only charged us $6 to get in. (I was later to find out that the repeated low entrance fees were actually due to me getting repeatedly mistaken for a local, as locals get into the attractions much cheaper than tourists. TGIM)
Los Lagos is pretty, with landscaped gardens, crocodiles, hot springs, a restaurant, and more. First we hiked around the trail and checked out all the crocodiles. There were lots of lizards and butterflies along our path.
Next, we got back in our bathing suits and inched into the pool. Yow! Hot! And just what I needed. The pool was fed by water from the hot springs, which flowed from the volcano. The water felt absolutely wonderful on my tired muscles, and the mai tai I bought at the wet bar didn’t hurt either.
Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder sounded, and Brian sprang out of the pool. I asked the bartender if it were dangerous to be in the water if it rained. He answered something like this:
“Not in regular rain, not when it sprinkles. But it can be dangerous when the sky is full of lightning. As bartender, it is part of my job to let people know when it becomes potentially dangerous so that everyone can get out of the pool safely. Four years ago, that didn’t exactly happen as planned. There was an American sitting about where you are, a big fat one that took up two stools and was half laying on the bar. I told him, ‘Please get out of the water, sir. There’s lots of lightning and it isn’t safe to be in the pool.’ He got angry with me and began shouting. ‘Oh yeah? I’m from the United States!’ he yelled. ‘We have lightning there, too, and I’ve never once been hit!’ Well, no sooner did he speak these words when thunder rolled across the sky and a jagged bolt of lightning struck the center of the pool. Because he was so wet, the skin that laid on the bar boiled and instantly turned as red as those flowers in the vase.”
At this point in the story, the bartender shook his head sadly, as if to say, “Americans.” Not wanting to be lumped in the same category as the belligerant, burned fat man, I paid my tab and quickly exited the pool.
By this time, Bri and I were starving and we stopped for dinner at the restaurant by the pool. The waiter was extremely friendly, and after he brought our bill, did a magic trick for me. I’m not sure why that came to pass, but as you may know, I absolutely love magic tricks, so I squealed like a five-year-old and made him do it again so I could squint really close and figure out how he did it.
I could not. The mystery remains his.