Nuevo Arenal, Costa Rica to Tampa, FL
It’s all fun and games until someone gets bit by a scorpion.
But more on this later. First, we woke to yet another gorgeous day. We were on our own for breakfast, so I ate yogurt with granola and nibbled on some fruit, and Bri ate macadamia nuts and fresh pineapple. After the delicious breakfast feasts that Lidieth prepares, this didn’t seem like much, so we headed down to the Lajas Restaurante for more food. Our server had a bird perched on his finger, and we were able to pet it before it eventually flew off.
We ran into Elkin and Juan (aka Gilligan) at Lajas and were able to say goodbye, which was nice. Everybody asked us about the fiesta and were impressed by the amount of tamales and picadillos consumed by Brian. We ordered cheese omelettes and coffee and then headed off toward La Fortuna to check out Tabacón.
We knew Tabacón was the more expensive of the resorts, but I’d heard such great things about it that I really wanted to go there. Bri complained from the car to the reception, making comments like “My cutoff is $20. If it’s more than $20, we’re not going.” Naturally, it was $29. After much huffing, puffing and eye-rolling, Bri finally acquiesed and agreed to give it a try despite the higher price. He kept up a muttered stream of displeasure about it until we left the reception area and got our first view of the actual resort.
His mouth snapped shut, and I think mine dropped wide open. Tabacón is absolutely amazing. It is lush and green, with trees and flowers everywhere, and filled with hot springs, pools, and waterfalls. We walked into and behind a waterfall, and sat on the edge of the rocks with the rushing water falling on our heads.
We relaxed in the pools filled with running water from the hot springs, watching the birds flying by, smelling the exotic flowers, and listening to the water flow across the rocks. I think Bri put it best when he turned to me wide-eyed and said, “It’s hard to believe that all this is *real*!”
Lest you be confused, let me explain what I mean when I say “pool”. By pool, I do not mean a rectangular, chlorinated cement monstrosity. Oh no. By “pool” (which I now see to be a wholly inadequate word,) I mean rivers of hot water flowing down the side of the volcano, streams of which fill up miniature lakes, naturally constructed out of the banks of the rivers and outlined with large gray and black stones, made smooth by the constantly running water. By “pools”, I do not mean seperate, artificially constructed areas. Instead, everything is beautiful, natural, and organic, and layered one on the other with mini waterfalls, and connected throughout the resort by the many hot springs flowing through it.
We also heard what we thought was thunder (although there was not a cloud in the sky and it never rained) and we came to learn later that it was actually the rumbling of the volcano.
We relaxed in the water, Bri with pina coladas and I with strawberry daquiris. I stopped by one of the spa huts and ordered a massage. It was very funny in a way, because typically when a massage is given (at least in the States) some sort of relaxation soundtrack is playing in the background, such as Running Water or Babbling Brook or Chirping Birds, and there’s often candles, incense or scented oils. And here I was, the sunlight on my body, in the middle of the rainforest, underneath a real canopy of trees, along side real waterfalls, with the scent of tropical flowers in the breeze, and birds in the trees. It was amazing.
Later that night, when we finally tore ourselves away from Tabacón, we drove back to the house, hit the shower, then went to say goodbye to Lidieth at her house. Her husband was home from working 10 days straight in Cañas, so we got to meet him as well. Her grandkids, aged 2 and 4, were on the floor with dolls on their backs, being toros at a rodeo, and bucking wildly until the doll flew off. Maria, the youngest, actually went so far as to “gore” her doll with her head once it fell to the ground, which cracked up Bri and I. We used to play cops and robbers, and now I’m thinking it would’ve been more fun to play toro.
Afterwards, we went to Tramontti’s for pizza (everywhere has pizza) with Michelle and Luis, which culminated in a lot of cutting up and giggling like teenagers.
But what about the scorpion, you say? It sounds like the evening is winding down, and so far everyone is hale and hearty, you say? Patience. This is exactly when it happened. Me, seated at the table, eating pesto pasta, talking, laughing. Suddenly something bit me on the hand. Was it a scorpion? To be honest, I can’t swear what it was. I didn’t actually see the bite happen, although believe me, I felt it. So it could have been a scorpion, or one of those fabulous giant spiders, or even the Loch Ness monster for all I know. (According to Brian, there is a similar creature living at the bottom of Lake Arenal.)
What I *do* know is that my finger hurt like hell, by the time we got back to the house it had swollen grotesquely, and by the time I woke up at 5:00 am the next morning, my entire hand had bloated up like a blowfish.
I was a bit concerned by this unexpected turn of events.
We had a plane to catch and I had a stick shift to drive, so there was nothing to do but buck up and bear it until we got back to the States. Bri loaded up the car and I showed my impromptu boxing mitt to Alex, who was outside cleaning the pool. (Yes, as the crack of dawn. Maybe he doesn’t sleep.) He took one look at it and said it looked like an alacrán bite, and would probably be swollen for a few days. I nodded sagely, then came back inside to look up alacrán in my dictionary, since I hadn’t heard that one before. As you have no doubt already surmised, alacrán = scorpion.
Much to my dismay, my hand continued to swell, and when we arrived at the Liberia International Airport, I got a bag of ice which I carried with me the rest of the trip, refilling as needed. The flight attendants were all very freaked out by the massive size of my hand, and were more than happy to bring me frequent bags of new ice.
Once we landed in Orlando (not for the first time wishing we’d paid the higher price and flown out of Tampa) lightning began streaking down the sky, thunder rang out over head, and rain began pouring down. It is against federal aircraft guidelines to allow passengers to deplane in a lightning storm, so although we were on the ground, we were stuck in the plane for another hour and a half.
When we finally escaped the plane, it was 11pm or so. We didn’t make it back to the house until 1:00 am. I was barely through the door when I hit the bed and fell instantly asleep.
Tuesday morning I went to the doctor, who instantly gave me an epinephrine shot, something akin to a liter of Benadryl, and kept me for observation. He said next time not to wait so long (hopefully there is no next time) and that I should go to an allergist and get an epi-pen to carry with me because all further such bites would provoke steadily worse reactions and without an epinephrine shot, I could suffer cardiac arrest and die.
Luckily, this time I survived with my life intact, and although my hand is still Frankenstein-esque, it is no longer the size of a catcher’s mitt and I am finally able to type again, albeit not as rapidly as usual.
(Hey, Erica, how was your trip? Oh, you know, a scorpion bit me and my hand looks like an alien is gestating inside.)
Nonetheless, it was an absolutely fantastic trip and I cannot wait to return!