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!

Tags: airplanes, food, road trip

Mata de Caña vs Nuevo Arenal, Costa Rica

This morning we woke up to sunshine and chirping birds, yet again. (I could really get used to this.) Lidieth dropped by for breakfast and fixed us fruit and eggs and toast, which was of course fabulous. Later, we went down into Nuevo Arenal and visited Elkin, Valentina and Esteban for a little while. Brian and I were supposed to be at the fiesta at 2:00 and were running a bit late.

We walked down from the house and when we got our first glimpse of the field, a soccer game was in full swing. To the untrained eye, it looked like the reds versus the blues. Come to find out, it was Nuevo Arenal (red) vs Mata de Cañas (blue), with Arenal up 3-2, and we were the (blue) home team. Being as Mata de Cañas is a small town, even for small towns, I believe every able-bodied male was out there on the field, kicking it for the blue team. Michelle’s husband Luis was on the field, as was the new school principal (who had been at the school for a whole week now, and was not only the administrator, but also 50% of the teaching staff.)

Let me pause here to give a little info about the school. This particular weekend-long fiesta was actually a school fund raiser. The school was made up of two small buildings, one room in each (and a row of potted plants, which were used as dividers in one room). Although when Brian went to the boys’ room and was shocked to discover that the sink was nonexistent and the “toilet” was actually just a hole in the floor, along the wall next to the bathrooms was a small table set with two HP desktop computers and a Microsoft USB electronic scanner/microscope.

We got a couple cervezas (okay, more than a couple, but it was a school fund raiser, so of course we were drinking for the children’s sake) and plopped down on a bench to watch the game. A row of kids sat in front of us on logs that resembled trunk slices from a large tree. Behind us was the food vending area, where I ate a vegetarian concoction (cooked flower petals in a tortilla) and Bri ate picadillos (a non-vegetarian corn-and-miscellany meal, also served in a tortilla.)

I thought that the contrasting reds and blues of the soccer teams were especially picturesque against the bright green grass, and decided to catch a bit of the game on film, so I took my digital video camera out of my bag and flipped it on.

Within about two seconds, there were more people behind me peering into the display screen than there were playing ball on the actual field.

It was absolutely hilarious. I wish I could’ve filmed from both ends of the camera so I could’ve gotten the giant cartoon-like crush of people scrambling on top of each other, trying to simultaneously peer through the viewfinder. For as long as I had the video recorder out, I was extremely popular.

The blues unfortunately ended up losing to the reds, and I put the camera away. As it turned out, there were two more soccer games immediately following, and the blues were in all three games. (The second game was against the greens, not sure which town they represented, and we missed the third game, so I can’t really tell you much about that one.)

Around 7 or 8, the dance started. All the desks and chairs were cleared out of the larger one room building and piled into the smaller building in order to make room. The walls were covered in giant palm fronds (much bigger than I am tall, and no comments from the peanut gallery) and a couple rotating laser disco balls hung from the ceiling.

A live deejay spun the tunes, and intermission time was filled with karaoke. That’s right, you heard me: karaoke. No, I didn’t sing, although I do know Thalia/Shakira/Paulina Rubio, so there was probably something I could’ve done. Bri was willing to sing anything Iglesias (Enrique or Julio) but the song list was up by the deejay, completely across the dance floor, which was empty since nobody dances to karaoke, and neither of us felt like making a spectacle of ourselves.

Of course, we were bound to make spectacles of ourselves anyway. That’s just how it goes.

We had paid our 1000 colones to get in the door, and our hands were stamped with a parrot in blue ink. We were calmly sitting there, sipping cervezas, when Luis came and dragged us out on the dance floor. It was some sort of dance that everyone knew the moves to but us, to music hailing from Columbia. Luis danced with me for maybe ten minutes, gave up, and went back to his wife. Bri and I braved it out for another five or ten, then sat back down.

We were up and down several times, and the music ranged from Columbian to merengue to salsa to contemporary Latin American pop music. It was getting close to midnight and we were getting ready to leave when Lidieth arrived. I was whisked away to merengue with Enrique (whom I had just met) and Bri partnered with Lidieth, who first tried to dance with him, then tried to lead him around by the hands so he was at least moving in the right directions, then gave up and sort of vaguely danced in the vicinity of him.

I, on the other hand, was being whisked hither and yon, and twirled around the floor until my eyes rolled around in my head. I had no idea what I was doing, but thanks to an evening of swing-dancing with Steve in Tampa, I had learned the art of Letting The Man Lead while dancing, and was able to follow Enrique’s lead for a good half hour or so.

However, I think it’s safe to say that the *funniest* moment in the evening was when the deejay, in an attempt to liven up the crowd at the very beginning of the dance, shouted into his microphone something to the equivalent of, “Get this party started! All the ladies in the house now SCREAM!!” and Brian, not speaking a word of Spanish, immediately threw his hands in the air, waved his arms around, and screamed on cue. Hilarious.

When we finally made it back to the house, tired but happy, we were greeted by a special visitor. This visitor was black, spotty, eight-legged, and about the size of a peach. That’s right, a massive spider. It was actually the second such to come visit us (the first one surprised me on the futon when I was reading a novel) and this time, I had the foresight to run and grab my camera before calling Brian. (Once involving Bri in anything having to do with bugs of any type, a situation tends to quickly border on the hysterical.)

Animal-equality sort that I am, I didn’t want the spider to die by Reebok, but I also didn’t want to cozy up to it in the bed or the shower (or on the futon again. Once was plenty.) So I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a tupperware container and a lid, and sprinted back to Bri and the spider. Why did I give Bri the tupperware rather than just take care of the spider myself? That’s right, because I had to man the video camera (*somebody* had to do it) and besides, Bri takes everything to the next level and is vastly more entertaining.

So, tupperware in hand, Bri sneaks up to the spider (who, incidentally, has not moved from the spot in the hallway where it was when we first walked through the door) and captures the spider with the plastic bowl. He slides the blue lid underneath and then half-juggles the two in order to get them out the door. The juggling bit isn’t because Bri fancies himself a circus clown (although entirely possible) but because the lid didn’t quite fit the bowl and he was deathly afraid the spider would get out and touch him.

Bri makes it to the entrance, shoulders his way out the door, and tosses everything – spider, lid, bowl and all – out into the bushes.

I blink, then crack up laughing. He scowls at me, but doesn’t go rescue the bowl for a good thirty minutes, after which he gave the tupperware a washing and sanitizing the likes of which rival any hospital ICU. Then he put it in the dishwasher. (I suppose there’s no such thing as too clean, after all.)

Tags: animals, festivals & fiestas, food, music & concerts

Mata de Caña, Costa Rica

Hurrah! This morning began with Lidieth and another fabulous breakfast. This time, french toast and fresh fruit. Yum. While we were eating, Lidieth said she heard about our hot tub issues, and thought she figured out the problem. Apparently, some numbskull had shut off all the breakers. (What?? The breakers were off?? Who could have done such a thing?) She said she flipped the breakers back on and now the tub was refilling. Cool, we’d finally get to use it tonight.

Bri and I finished breakfast and went horseback riding with Alex. We rode around for a couple hours (this time *I* rode Bonita and let Bri take the butt-bouncing Casper) and took a completely different trail than before. Once again, we heard monkeys in the trees but couldn’t actually see any. We did see lots of other animals – baby cows, horses, roosters, baby chicks, and even a toucan!

When we got back, I called Michelle because she invited us to go to the school to watch the women making tamales for tomorrow’s fiesta. I got her answering machine, and decided to change out of jeans into shorts. Bri had the same idea, so we headed to the bedroom. On the way, we passed Lidieth, who said she was almost ready to leave, if we didn’t need anything else. No, no, we said, we don’t need anything, feel free to cut out whenever. Bri washed his face, we threw on some shorts, and were discussing whether or not we should keep ringing Michelle until she answered or if we should just walk over, when I suddenly realized I was hearing a steady watery sound.

Thinking that Bri had not completely shut off the sink faucet, I slid off the bed to check it out. Imagine my surprise when instead of tile, my sock touched down on an inch of cold water.

A sneaking suspicion snaked through my stomach as I made my squishy way into the bathroom. The jacuzzi was steadily overflowing and water was flowing everywhere.

Oops.

“Lidieth!” I screamed, not knowing how to shut it off. “Lidieth!” I ran out of the bathroom, through the bedroom, and into the hall, where Lidieth paused with her hand literally on the door, ready to leave.

“Yes?” she answered.

“We have a problem,” I confessed. “The tub is… too full.”

She came running, took one look at the ever-flowing disaster, and ran outside to shut off the water. The three of us spent the next hour or two draining, towelling, and mopping on our hands and knees. Lemme tell ya, you haven’t had fun times until you try flooding someone else’s house.

I have no idea what caused it, whether it was us flipping the breakers, Lidieth forgetting the tub was refilling, or some combination of both, but with a good team effort, she managed to escape two hours later than planned. Bri and I felt awful.

Michelle called back, we told her we’d grab some lunch and head over to the school grounds. We heated up food and drove over, where a kids’ soccer game was in full speed. Michelle met us there a few minutes later. We grabbed a couple cervezas and she showed us the kitchen where the women had been since 7 am (it was now 4:30 pm) making tamales. First, they tear the leaves from banana trees and smoke them. Next, they prepare all the ingredients. Then, they spread the leaves out on a long table and each woman takes an ingredient bowl and puts a scoopful in the center. Lastly, each leaf gets folded into a shape somewhat like an Uno deck and tied closed. Lastly, the tamales are boiled before they’re ready to be eaten.

Brian meant to try a spoonful of Michelle’s but he ended up eating the whole thing, so she ended up getting a new one for herself.

As we were pulling out around 7:30, the truck arrived with the music (and something about a disco ball) for tomorrow. We plan to head over around 2 – should be lots of fun!

Tags: animals, food, lost in translation

Lake Coter, Costa Rica

Today began with (you guessed it!) sunshine and twittering birds. Breakfast was a stale cinnamon roll, on which I gave up about halfway through. So, we drove into town to mail a postcard and stopped by the panadería. Bri got some kind of jelly-filled cookie (breakfast of champions) and I got a slice of what looked like marble pound cake. Both of us were surprised by what we considered to be a dearth of sugar, so we made it through about half of those before giving up and deciding to wait for lunchtime to roll around.

We piled back into the car and set out for the Lake Coter hanging bridges. On the way, we stopped at the Panoramic View for a look around. One thing I ought to mention about many roads (whether dirt, gravel, or the occasional paved) is that oftentimes, they are only one lane wide. My theory is that this way, they keep you on your toes.

So here we were, at the peak of this narrow, windy road, about to get back in the car and head down, when a car rolls up at the foot of the mountain and stops by the entrance. Bri and I held our breath, waiting to see if they were going to come up, since there would only be room enough for one car.

The car sat at the entrance for a good 5 or 10 minutes, so we eventually had to stop holding our breath.

Finally, it drove off, we heaved a sigh of relief, and I started up the engine in order to head down the mountain before any other vehicles decided to head up.

Another odd thing about the Panoramic View. There were landscapers at work when we pulled in, and there are several signs on both sides of the road giving directions to the place. However, there was no entrance fee or even so much as a tip jar at the top where the parking area and picnic tables were. So who pays for all that??

We got back on the road and headed to the Hanging Bridges, where I apparently also got the Costa Rican discount. (At the time, I naively thought that the prices had gone down since the time our welcome packet was printed.)

The hiking trail here was amazing, and absolutely gorgeous. The bridges were narrow, swaying things hundreds of feet across, from which we were rewarded with the most breathtaking views of the volcano, the mountains, the countryside, the rain forest, and a waterfall.

We saw lots of different birds, butterflies, insects, and lizards. We also grabbed lunch when we finished the hike, and man was it ever tasty. Bri got a chicken burrito that seemed to have been grilled (it reminded him of a pressed Cuban, although to me it looked like a grilled burrito). I got rice and vegetables, which sounded plain but was actually delicious. It came with a giant heap of stir-fried rice and veggies, surrounded by seasoned potato wedges. Mmm.

Thus fortified, we climbed back in the car and made our way back to the rental house in time for another beautiful sunset.

Once again, we tried (and failed) to figure out the outdoor hot tub. Upon failing in this endeavor, we turned our concentration to the indoor jacuzzi. It, too, was willing to fill with water and bubbles but unwilling to heat up.

I broke down and called Alex (we didn’t want to be problem guests) and he came over and tried to fix it. Deciding it was an electrical issue – and not wishing to electrify himself – he called up Michelle’s husband. (I guess it’s cool for Luis to get electrified.)

Bri and I were seated on stools around the island kitchen table when Luis arrived.

“May I borrow this bag?” he asked, pointing to the high-class Walmart bag I had artfully laid on the table.

“Sure,” Bri and I answer in unison, surprised and grateful that he would bother to come over late at night to lend a hand.

We watched in silence as Luis opened our freezer and dumped all of our ice into the Wal-Mart bag, tied a quick knot, and tossed it back into the freezer before shutting the door.

Now, I’m not the world’s foremost expert in hot-tub-fixing, but I totally did not get the connection. Something must have shown in our confused expressions, because he grinned and said, “There’s a fiesta tomorrow and we’re going to need ice.”

Hilarious!

Afterwards, he went outside where he and Alex tinkered around the breaker box awhile, then proclaimed the problem fixed. He came back inside, filled up the tub, twisted the timer to 30 minutes and said it should heat up in 15. He showed us the breakers, tipped his hat, and was on his way.

Great, we said, shook his hand, and waved good-bye to them both. 15 minutes later, lots of water, none of it hot. 30 minutes, same thing. An hour goes by, still no dice. An hour and a half, and we give up. We shut off the water and the timer, but weren’t sure what to do about the breakers. Was he showing us for educational purposes, or we supposed to do something with them? We decided to err on the side of caution and not overheat the pump, so Bri went outside and flipped the hot tub breakers off. Little did we know how much excitement that small act would cause for us the next morning.

Tags: animals, food, hiking, road trip

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.

Tags: hiking, road trip

Arenal, Costa Rica

This morning, we were greeted with (you guessed it!) absolutely gorgeous weather. We fixed ourselves some toast (Lidieth comes every other day) and headed out to the car. We decided that today would be a great day to check out the famous (or infamous) canopy tour! (Boy am I going parentheses-crazy.)

For the uninitiated, a canopy tour is actually a series of zip lines through the rain forest. If this is still Greek to you, imagine this. After a half hour hike straight up, we were strapped into a belt-like harness and attached by rope to a cable stretching hundreds of feet across and hundreds of feet high, from tree top to treetop. Once attached, the guide gives a little push, and I go flying across the rainforest canopy (hence the name), zipping on down the line (hence *that* name) from one rickety platform to another.

This was absolutely incredible. You have got to try it.

The aerial view of the rainforest was breathtaking. Trees towered above me, and yet sometimes I could not even see the ground below me. All manner of creatures rustled in the leaves, and the wind whipping through my hair as I sailed across a vast sea of lush plantlife was absolutely exhilirating.

I’ve got *tons* of pictures that I cannot wait to show you. Me, in a fetching hardhat. An enormous walking stick, climbing up the porch at the lodge. And of course, dozens of shots of trees, plants, and countryside.

When we came back to Nuevo Arenal (technically Mata de Cañas) we stopped by the German Bakery. Oh yes, there are German bakeries even in Costa Rica. This particular one is called Tom’s Pan. Pan is the Spanish word for bread, but then again, pan is also an English word (which a German would be more likely to speak) so it remains a mystery exactly what is meant by the name.

I will say that the chocolate cupcakes were absolutely delicious.

We came back home in time to watch a gorgeous sunset and curl up with a book. (You’ll not be surprised to learn I’ve managed to read a novel almost every evening. Bliss!)

Tags: animals, food, hiking

Mata de Caña, Costa Rica

Our third day greeted us with bright sunshine, chirping birds, and Lidieth, the friendly cook/housekeeper. She was a bit disappointed to find out I was vegetarian (since she brought ham and chicken) but quickly whipped up a delicious breakfast of omelettes, toast, juice, fresh sliced fruit, and a pot of Costa Rican coffee.

For Bri and I, the first order of business was to find a bank and get some colones (CR currency). Oh and Gatorade (what can I say?). Lidieth gave us directions to the bank in town, where her daughter works. We headed on over, planning to ask for Veronica once we got there.

An armed police officer on the inside of the bank unlocked the entrance with a key, let us in, and immediately relocked the door. The queue was made up of chairs, which was kind of nice (no standing in line) and kind of awkward (everytime someone got helped, we all scooted over one chair.)

As it turns out, there was no reason to specifically ask for Veronica – there was only one teller station, and she was it. I forked over two twenties and asked for a variety of bills, not realizing that this would cause issues later on. She cheerfully complied, and for the first time in my life, I held a 10,000 note in my hand. (Along with a 5,000 and a 2,000 and a 1,000 etc)

Next, we went to the SuperCompro and bought some sports drinks, some insect repellant, and some milk boxes. Let me tell you a bit about milk boxes. They are *awesome*. If you are familiar with juice boxes, you have the basic concept. Now imagine them filled with flavored milk instead – ranging from vanilla to strawberry to chocolate to caramel. They are made by a local company called Dos Pinos and they taste like milkshakes. I am so totally addicted to caramel milk boxes now, that I have no idea how I will survive without them once I get back to the states.

We returned to the rental house, and headed over to the barn. Alex was going to take us to Hacienda Rio Frio and give us a tour of the macadamia farm. On horses.

You probably realize that I haven’t been on a horse since I was ten and went to my mom’s friends’ house in central Indiana. And I’m not even sure if that counts, since the horse I was “riding” was actually being led in a circle by my mom’s friend. Brian had a similar, single, solitary, childhood horse experience, so I wasn’t sure which one of us was going to make the biggest mistakes.

Bri managed to mount Bonita with a minimum of incident, and I got astride Casper with the aid of a step stool. I could have probably done without the stool (and have since dismounted easily without it) but at the time, I had my three pound video camera looped around my neck, which wasn’t the best for balance.

No sooner had Alex mounted Brownie, when Brian’s horse took off at a run, turning around backwards and dashing up a mound of grass. Hilarious. The rest of the trip was speckled with similar misadventures of Bri and Bonita, typically with her running off with him at top speed wherever she chose.

My horse, on the other hand, was a sweetie and very intuitive, although he tended to bounce when he galloped and managed to completely bruise my rear end.

The macadamia farm was vast and very pretty. There were a few workers about, but not many. Although it’s summer for us, it’s winter here now, which apparently makes it off-season. We found out later that the shells of the macadamia nuts (and believe me, there are *tons*) are sometimes used to fill the potholes in the roads. I thought this was a particularly inspired idea.

We saw lots of hawks in the sky and butterflies nearer the ground. I took a lot of video footage with the camera, but who knows how it will turn out, horseback being somewhat unlike a tripod, and all.

We came back two very contented people, having had such a fun filled day, and happy to relax and watch the sun set across the lake and its backdrops of mountains and volcano.

Tags: animals, food, shopping

Nuevo Arenal, Costa Rica

Our second day arrived with sunshine, chirping birds, and a light breeze. There was no foreshadowing to let me know I would soon be attacked by a barbed wire fence. Our adventure began quite innocuously. We got up, ate a light breakfast, and decided to hike down the trail to the butterfly garden.

It was recommended that we wear boots, but we couldn’t find any, so we set out in our hiking shoes, t-shirts, and shorts. Two dogs were sitting at our front door when we left the house – a big white puppy (whom we later learned was Campion) and a small black dog (later introduced as Perla).

The dogs kept us company until we reached a blue and white gate. It was necessary to jump over, and it would have been entertaining if we could have seen ourselves attempting to do so – me with a camera case and a video camera slung around my neck, and Bri trying not to land on the dogs, who climbed under the fence just as he was leaping over.

The dogs cheerfully led the way down the picturesque mountainside and we followed behind, taking photos and video of the countryside unfolding beneath us: rolling hills in front of a beautiful lake, with a row of mountains jutting up behind it.

Grass tickled my knees as we carefully made our way through the trees. Then we saw a razor-wire fence crossing the path. Michelle had let us know that whenever we came across a fence, we were to leave it as is. If it was open, it stayed open. If closed, then closed. This was to keep animals (such as cows and horses) where they belonged.

This particular fence was made up of several rows of barbed-wire strung across a few 4×4 posts. So, Brian pulled out a post and opened the fence wide enough for him to walk through, and I quickly followed. How was I to know that he would drop it on me?

“Aaagh!” I screamed, as the rusty metal points scraped across my bare arm, leaving long bloody scratches in their wake.

“I didn’t know it would fall on you!” Brian defended himself immediately.

“Did you look to see if I was past?” I demanded, gripping my arm and gritting my teeth, visions of blood poisoning dancing in my head. (For the record, I’m the least hypochondriac of anyone I know. However, it was in fact a rusty barbed wire fence, it did draw blood in multiple locations, and my mother has had blood poisoning on multiple occasions.)

“What should I do? Should I go back to the house and get you a WetNap?”

(Me, in disbelief.) “A WetNap? Are you serious?”

(Bri, defensively.) “To clean it up!”

This is the turning point in our arguments, where I either A) waste the next 30 minutes attempting to be the force of logic, or B) roll my eyes and move on. I opted for choice B, and decided if I was going to die of blood poisoning, tetnus, etc, at least it would be with a view, and I continued down the trail.

At the foot of the mountain, we came upon a Century 21 building. Yes, you heard me, Century 21. Real estate agents are everywhere! Of course, it was like no other – perched upon a sloping hillside with lush plantlife, a tiny, picturesque bridge, a layered waterfall, and an incredible view of the countryside.

We decided to go in and see if they had area maps. Unfortunately, they were closed. Fortunately, we ran into Juan (known locally as Gilligan) and Elkin. Who are Juan and Elkin? At the time, we had no idea either. They also didn’t know who we were. As a matter of fact, they only pulled into the lot because they thought we were *different* friends of theirs who they were expecting to meet.

Instead, they met us. Being the friendly sort, they invited us out on their boat to tour lake Arenal. Those of you aware that I am a non-swimmer probably realize that jumping on a stranger’s boat in another country is not something I typically do. However, when in Rome, and all that – I said sure, and got inside.

Boy am I glad I did! Aside from the fact that there was a gaping hole where the door should latch, but instead was flapping in the breeze, it was a smooth ride. We went around the lake and stopped by several islands. We even got out of the boat and got to explore the islands! Some had animals – monkeys, cows, deer. Others had stone – quartz, jade, etc. Others had ancient pottery – lake Arenal covers what used to be an ancient civilization, and pieces of dishware, chairs (3-legged stone stools) and other miscellany wash ashore. All in all, it was pretty amazing.

Elkin took us back to his house where we met his wife Valentina and their adopted toddler Esteban. They told us that in some places, there is a problem with abandoned or unwanted children, and although he and his wife initially wanted to have children of their own, they felt that adopting was the better choice. Their house was adorable, perched on a steep incline (so precariously that every time Esteban kicks his ball, it flies off the edge of the cliff to the highway below) and with a magnificent view.

It had your basic concrete sink, many windows (there’s no AC in Costa Rica), an HP desktop computer, several shelves full of 4000-year-old artifacts collected from the sea, and a remote control for the electric gate at the bottom of the hill. If this sounds bizarro, random and incongruous – believe me, it was.

Elkin shared with us some local fruit – papaya and guaba, which looked to me like cotton, but reminded Bri of sugar cane (which he also loves). We finally said our goodbyes and headed over to the butterfly garden. It was closed (we’re guessing because it was Sunday) so we hiked up the steep incline back to the house. 45 panting and sweating minutes later (OK, and about a million photos later – Costa Rica is definitely the prettiest place I can even imagine) we finally burst through the forest and arrive home sweet home.

Oh, and in case you were concerned, don’t worry – no tetnus, no blood poisoning, just a couple scabby welts (doesn’t *that* sound sexy) that are quickly healing.

Tags: animals, food, hiking

Liberia to Arenal, Costa Rica

While waiting to board the flight from Orlando to Miami, I met these two Costa Rican guys who said they were from San Ramon. I, in my infinite wisdom, said I had no idea where that was, but was going to Arenal. (Turns out it’s right next to each other.) I also said to Bri, “Don’t worry about Costa Rican money – we’ll get some from the ATM once we land, like I did when I went to Europe.” (More on my naivete later.)

The flight from Miami to Liberia was interesting. I had a window seat (half view, half wing) and it was pretty cool to fly from North America to Central America. The pilot would let us know what country we were flying by (”On your right is Nicaragua”) and it was pretty wild. From the air, Costa Rica is lush, green, and mountainous. From the ground, Costa Rica is lush, green, and mountainous.

Of course, once we got to the ground, I peered out the window, straining for a glimpse of the Liberia International Airport. To my right, I saw some sort of hangar – really a narrow, open building with a roof over two parallel walls and a couple planes in front of it. Come to find out, that was the Liberia International Airport.

There was a single rope separating the deplaning passengers from the people milling about, waiting to pick up friends and family or there to offer taxi services. We followed the queue inside where there were three podiums manned by three customs agents. We stood in line, got our passports stamped, and wandered out the other side of the building.

If there was electricity, I didn’t see it. If there was an ATM, it would have had to be magical.

So, we get to the taxi area and there’s dozens of Costa Ricans holding up signs for rental car agencies. We recognize our names, and head to the Alamo driver. (That’s right, there’s Alamo in Costa Rica. There’s also Dollar, Payless and Hertz.)

One of the guys opens the van door for us, loads in our bags, then looks at Brian expectantly. Bri looks at me. I look at the guy. “Si?” I ask tentatively. “Propina?” he answers. Oh. A tip. Good thing we thought ahead and had absolutely no colones (CR money). Naturally, all I had was two US twenties. Turns out Bri had the same. We figured $20 was a bit steep for throwing bags in the trunk, but we didn’t want to be rude to the locals two seconds off the plane. We scrounged in our pockets and managed to come up with $1 in change, and that seemed to work.

Fast forward to the rental car place. There was nothing fast about it, lemme tell ya. It took us 45 minutes to get the car that we had rented ahead of time. A lot of tapping on the computer. No clue why. Then Brian’s American Express didn’t go throuh. No clue why. Luckily he had a MasterCard. So then we get our car, our requested four-wheel-drive SUV…

Oh boy. First off, it is a tiny thing. SUV shaped, yes, but in length… not sure if it’s longer than a Dodge Neon. Secondly, it’s stick. Bri + stick = disaster. Thirdly, it’s a Toyota No Brand. Features, nil. Amenities, nil. Anything it can do (lights, wipers, radio, etc) the choices are either On or Off. The back is a hatch type thing that you cannot open without turning off the car, getting out, and unlocking it with your key. Likewise, once all your stuff is in the back, the door will not latch unless you physically lock it with the key. (Yes, we found this out the hard way.)

So Bri gets behind the wheel (he was just as nervous about that as me) and heads toward the exit. He manages to drive to the exit without killing the engine or us (for which we were both proud and relieved) and shows his paperwork to the armed guard before he will open the gate to let us out. That’s right, armed. Later, we have come to the conclusion that they were not just guards, but actual police officers. At the time, however, we just thought that Alamo meant business.

So Bri drives maybe 100 yards, pulls over, and has me get behind the wheel for the rest of the week. We glance at the packet of papers I brought and flip to the page with the directions to our rental home. Only a couple turns and mostly highway, so we should get there in no time.

Wrong again. The “highway” is barely two lanes wide, and is covered with pot holes the size and depth of bath tubs. The road is mountainous, therefore lots of ups and downs with sudden sharp turns. I’m going between 20-30 kmh (I have no idea what that translates to – the dash does not have mph, rpms, or anything else that might be construed as useful). Our teeth are rattling, our heads are banging against the seat backs, our backs are jostled against the sides of the car – and the locals are passing us, around curves, going easily twice as fast.

We found out later that the speed limit is 80-100 kph on the highway. Not me, brotha. The highway was dotted with bridges, all of which were one lane wide with sheer drops on either side. Some had whole sections that had fallen down the mountainside. We also found out later that a friend of ours’ sister actually broke a rib just driving on the road. Our conversations went something like:

“Slow down!”
“I’m in first gear.”
“Watch out!”
“Bri, the road is covered in pot holes.”
“I see them! They’re everywhere!”
“I’m going as slow as I can.”
“The bridge is only one lane!”
“Yes, yes it is.”
“We’re on the side of a cliff!”
“Looks that way.”
“Slow down!”
“I’m still in first gear.”
And so on.

Come to find out, the house was not around the corner from the airport. The house was not around the corner from anything. Had we known this, we’d have looked for lunch and a bathroom before leaving the airport. As it turns out, a neighbor says it takes her two and a half hours to get from her house to the airport. Oh yeah. So hours of the windy road and Brian’s interminable exclamations ensue before I finally pull into the road the rental house is on. And I use “road” lightly – we were told it was gravel, and I guess it is, if by “gravel” you mean dirt, pot holes, and rocks ranging in size from fists to bowling balls. Thank *God* we got four wheel drive.

I pull through the gate onto the circular driveway and wow. Amazing. Beautiful landscaping, gorgeous house, breathtaking view of the countryside and lake Arenal. Suddenly the long drive is completly worth it. We step out of the car wide-eyed, and Alex the caretaker steps out of the house to greet us. He’s young and personable and gives us a general tour, shows us how to work the hot tub, and rings up Michelle (the afore-mentioned neighbor.) She drops by, and gives us lots of great advice regarding area attractions, where to find the important phone numbers, and shows us food that was prepared for us and waiting in the refrigerator for our arrival. Mmmm.

We ate, and wandered around outside excitedly taking pictures and video. We tried (and failed) to remember how the hot tub worked, gave up, went back inside once night fell, and fell sound asleep until morning.

Tags: airports, lost, road trip, travel tips