Norfolk, VA

Well, today we woke up at the crack of automated wake-up call and groggily set about showering up and loading the car. We’d unanimously agreed that *of course* we could somehow be much faster this morning, so the wake up call gave us a half an hour more sleep… for a grand total of six and a half hours.

Amazingly, we were up, ready, packed, breakfasted, and on the road by ten minutes til eight, which was actually ten whole minutes before schedule. Turned out we needed those ten minutes and then some – when I’d indulged in that extra half hour of sleep, I’d totally forgotten to take rush hour traffic into account.

We sailed out of Williamsburg and onto the highway, where we were greeted with an ever-growing sea of brake lights. Eventually, the two lanes widened into four (on each side) and we had the good fortune to be the only car in the HOV lane for a good 15 minutes… until the HOV lane ended and the highway went from four lanes… to three… to two… to construction… to Check Gas – 3 Mile Tunnel Ahead.

Yeah, that’s right.

As always in such circumstances, traffic ground to a halt (except for the jerks who fly around the exit only lanes to cut back in, one–maybe two–cars ahead of where they were in the first place) but we were able to see massive ships (with their own skylines, they were so big! We thought it was land at first.) and experience driving through a 3 mile tunnel.

On the other side, traffic picked back up to normal speed and we made it to Norfolk only slightly behind schedule. My second-biggest concern at this time was filling up the rental car with gas so that I didn’t have to cash in an IRA or anything to pay the crazy Ha-ha!-You-sucker!-You-didn’t-fill-your-tank-and-now-you-owe-us-your-life! fees. My first-biggest concern was that the hotel didn’t have an available printer, so we were unable to check-in online ahead of time for our flight.

If you’ve never flown Southwest, this may mean nothing to you. So what? you say. Just check in at the airport, like normal people, you say. Ha! I snort in your general direction. =) Actually, Southwest is a little different. (Haven’t you ever seen the truly frightening television show “Airline”???)

First of all, there are no assigned seats. There being three of us (one a minor, one with motion sickness and a slight fear of flying, and one being me and in charge of everything,) I really wanted us all together.

To get on the plane, people are categorized in three groups – A, B, and C. First, people with children or wheelchairs board – and sit anywhere they want. Next, the entire A group boards – and plops down anywhere *they* want. Then B, and last C.

Near as anyone can tell, Southwest assigns groups based on the order of check-in. First they fill up the A group, then the B group, and so on. Therefore, checking in online 24 hours in advance is a clear advantage… and one we didn’t have, since by my watch the plane would board in less than an hour and a half.

So, I gassed up the car, rolled into the airport, and pulled into the Enterprise lot. A twenty-something girl – quite possibly the most sourfaced, snarky person on the planet – greeted us with a scowl.

She held out her hand as I stepped out of the car. I must’ve hesitated a moment too long, because she finally spoke. “Can I *have* the keys?”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn’t know what you were reaching for.”

She rolled her eyes and tapped her handheld PDA-thing. “Where’s the paperwork?”

“Oh, crap,” I answered. “It’s in my suitcase. Give me a sec and I’ll get that out for you… unless you can hunt me up in that computer?”

She scowled. “You should *always* have it on you. ALWAYS.”

“You’re right, it’s not on me, although it is *with* me… Let me pop the trunk and I’ll get out my suitcase…” I pop the trunk and the boys start unloading the back.

She taps into her PDA. “Ridley?”

“Yes.”

“Erica?”

“Yes.”

“You’re returning the car?”

??? “Yes.”

She sniffs and starts walking away.

“So…” I start trailing after her. “Since you found me in the computer, do you still need to see that paperwork?”

She stalks further around the car without responding.

I stop moving and try again. “Do you need the paperwork still?”

She tosses her head. “I’m LOOKING for DAMAGE.”

Er, okay. “But do you need the paperwork? If you do, I’ll be glad to get it. If you don’t, we’ll get our bags out of your way and-”

“Just go past the building on the right and walk to the terminal.”

Okay, then.

What a ray of sunshine. On that cheery note, the boys and I glanced at each other and silently agreed that further conversation would be useless. We grabbed our bags and headed out of there before Miss Personality changed her mind.

Once we made it inside the airport, we quickly discovered that we were at the furthest possible point from the Southwest counter. (It was at the diagonal opposite of the airport, but of course you can’t cross an airport diagonally, so we had some fun sprinting with suitcases.)

I had had the foresight to sign my brothers up with Southwest frequent flyer numbers (knowing that nearly always gives preferential treatment at any airline) and somehow we managed to land a B, and escape the dreaded C group.

Our flight from Norfolk, Virginia to Indianapolis, Indiana was fairly uneventful (except for a random pitstop in Baltimore) and my parents met us three yards from the security exit. We headed straight home, except for stopping at Steak and Shake, where nobody got steak but everybody got shakes, except my dad, who got coffee. (Mine was a Caramel Mocha Macchiato… dee-lish)

And that, my friends, rounded out our adventure!

Tags: airports, road trip

Bruges, Belgium

Venk@ and I go to Brugge, where we annoy the locals by speaking in French instead of Dutch. During the first half of the drive there, all the signs along the highway were in French. Only. Suddenly they all changed to Dutch. Only. Aaargh!

Tags: road trip

Madrid, Spain

I made it back to Madrid’s Atocha train station, caught the bus to the Metro and the Metro to the campus and raced into class without a minute to spare. Today was the final lecture, followed by the review for the final. Not knowing what the week in Paris would bring, I spent most of the day working.

Tags: road trip

Puerto Banus, Spain & Ronda, Spain

If you’ll recall, today is the day that instead of going to class, I am going to visit Ronda, home of Spain’s oldest bullring. (FYI: “Ro” like “row your boat”, not like “rah”.) When I arrived in Ronda, I met a girl (from my same excursion, though not from my hotel) named Eliana. She is from Argentina and was visiting a friend who had a summer house here in the Málaga area. Eliana is really nice and we hit it off right away. Apparently, we became fast friends a little too quickly, because the next thing we know, our tour guide is gone and the group disappeared right along with him.

We picked up a couple maps at the tourist information office and ended up making our own sightseeing tour, trying to follow the route the guide had indicated, but never quite catching up with him. What we *did* find was an absolutely breathtaking panoramic view of the area.

Ronda is an old city, perched atop a nest of mountains, overlooking an incredibly deep but beautiful gorge. An ancient Roman bridge snakes up the mountainside, made of stone blocks over a row of repeating arches. Old and new buildings balance on the edge of the gorge, and the people line the perimeter, enjoying the view of the bridge, the rocks, the cathedral, the mountains…

We came across the Plaza de Toros just in time to see the tour group! Unfortumately,they were scattering because it was the last guided stop before free time, but luckily the guilde was still there and we did not have to pay for admission. The bullring was massive. I could just imagine the thousands of spectators crowding each level, hundreds of years ago.

After this, Eliana and I stopped for lunch and I ordered a vegi pizza. Spanish vegi pizza is nothing like American vegi pizza. First of all, you don’t pick what goes on it. You don’t even get to know in advance. Secondly, what does come on it is different at each restaurant and always appears a bit random. For example, the most abundant vegi on this particular pizza was corn. You heard me. Corn.

Naturally, we couldn’t find the bus stop when it was time to pile back in, but at least this time we were not alone. We had met up with half a dozen or so travellers from England, who were also very lost, and took turns asking us if we knew where we were going. Finally, I said I’d ask someone, walked up to the nearest local, and asked him if he knew where the tourist buses typically picked up. Sure, he said, and gave some easy directions.

The British woman turned to me and said, “I didn’t know you were from Spain!” “I’m not,” I answered. Her eyes got round and she exclaimed, “But you speak Spanish so *well*!” (Apparently my English is a little sketchy, however.)

So we get back on the bus, which makes a stop at Puerto Banus on the way back. Eliana tells me that Puerto Banus is a famous, rich Spanish port, with an impressive array of yachts and a large statue that appears in lots of Spanish movies. We walked along the port, saw lots of yachts, several fish and even a ray before it was time to head back to our hotels.

Back at the hotel, I was just in time for dinner and the nightly entertainment. As usual, it was Mario, the hotel singer who sings to karaoke CDs (without the lyric screen) and plays along on an electric keyboard, although one time he stopped to answer his cell phone mid-song and the music mysteriously kept playing. He “plays” a short set, but he plays the set three times a night, and you can bank on hearing Shakira, Every Step You Take, Pretty Woman (which he mumbles through since he doesn’t know the words except to the chorus) and this undulating, bouncy yodel tune, to which he yodels his name (”Mario-hee, Mario-hoo”, etc.) At first, we believed he invented that particular ditty himself, but we were to later learn that it is in fact a real song.

Tags: animals, cathedrals, lost, lost in translation, music & concerts, road trip

Rock of Gibraltar, UK

I woke up bright and early, about 6am, and went downstairs for a quick breakfast before waiting outside for the bus. Today I was going to the rock of Gibraltar! I packed my camera, my batteries, some water, some crackers, my passport… what I *should* have packed was a coat. The bus driver had the A/C cranked higher than a Florida movie theater.

When we crossed the bridge into Gibraltar, both the Spanish and the British customs agents checked my passport (if you can call briefly glancing to see if I was indeed holding something vaguely passport-shaped actually “checking”) and I had the disappointment of once again not getting my passport stamped. It hasn’t been stamped since Costa Rica, and here I’ve been in and out of France, in and out of Spain, in and out of Gibraltar, and back into Spain, and – nothing.

OK, enough venting. So, we get to Gibraltar and I board a smaller tour bus because I booked a guided tour. The rock of Gibraltar is not just a rock – it’s huge, like a mountain. There’s the British naval base and a runway for a small airport, and military tunnels within the rock as well as natural caves, which I got to explore. There are also monkeys.

Lots and lots of monkeys – hundreds of them. As we were leaving the bus, I was in the back, so I was one of the last to leave, and a monkey must have snuck in by the feet of the departing passengers, because he suddenly leapt from the floor to the seat of a woman who had left her bag on the seat. He rummaged inside, filched a banana and a sandwich, then dashed out of the bus and up the side of the rock to eat his prize. Hilarious!

As we were leaving the caves, another woman bought an ice cream bar. She was walking away from the stand when a monkey reached down from a tree, snatched the bar from her hand, quickly unwrapped the plastic, and started eating the ice cream bar. I started creacking up when she yelled at the monkey, “Hey! It cost me a pound fifty, that!” (Which is about $3 US. Crafty monkey.)

I also saw some sort of US satellites, old mosques, lots of shops and cafes, and a baby monkey. I caught sight of him crouched on the side of the road. He was so cute! I knelt down and inched closer in order to take his photograph. I was just thinking how funny it was that he would let me get so close when he suddenly sprang up and latched himself around my head, his legs wrapped around my neck and his little hands gripped the rim of my visor. Oh. My. God. This has to be the single most funniest thing that has ever happened to me! (In case you are wondering, monkeys are feather-light, very soft, very smart, and very playful. Oh – and very tricksy.)

So, I get back from Gibraltar and decide to charge up my batteries. Naturally my converter doesn’t fit in the wall – I need an extender plug. I try two supermakets and the Kodak store – nothing. Discouraged, I walk back to the hotel. Something possesses me to ask at a roadside souvenir stand – whaddya know, they have tons of them for 1 euro each. I rush back to the room with my prize, plug in my expensive 15-minute charger, and promptly zap it, the stink of fried electronics thick in the air. Oops. Luckily I brought my crappy 12-hour charger along as backup, but why couldn’t I have zapped that one instead? I flip the switch on the converter to low power and plug in the 12-hour charger. Oh well, better than nothing.

I later found out that today, the professor’s wife and her mother were hit by a car. They are bruised and sore, but otherwise fine. They were crossing the street and a car was pulling out from behind another car and didn’t see them. (It’s an epidemic of car accidents!) The good thing is that Spain as social medicine, so they were treated quickly, and for free.

Tags: animals, cathedrals, healthcare, road trip

Seal Rock, OR

Today we went out to breakfast at Shari’s (Shari like sherry, not Shari like sorry) and I got some sort of mozzarella-and-marinara omelette, which was pretty tasty.

Next, we headed out toward the Sea Lion caves, and since that was so far away, we made plenty of stops along the scenic view car pull-off areas. Due to the wind and rain, I got lots of wild pictures of tall waves crashing against the massive sea stacks rising from the water, which was really neat.

Another cool thing was that just before we got to the actual Sea Lion Cave area, we hit the Seal Rock pull off, where we looked down over the cliff wall and what do you think were just kicked back, relaxing on the rocks below? That’s right, a bunch of seals just hanging out! They were stinky, but very cool.

Then we finally made it to the actual Sea Lion Caves at about 5:30 (they close at 6pm) and on the lookout there, we saw a baby sea lion nursing on his mother. (or wet nurse. how am I to know.) The cave itself was also pretty neat, but it was (obviously) dark, so I’m not sure how well those photos will come out.

We rounded out the evening with sandwiches and beer at McMenamin’s (I got a Porter, Todd got a beer with a lemon in it, I forget what it’s called.) and headed home after another successful day.

Tags: animals, road trip

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

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

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