Pasific Coast - Costa Rica

Having gotten in touch with our inner spirits in the cloud forest, it was time to drink a few and we said bye-bye to the wet and windy Highlands making path for the dry and hot Pacific coast. Leah, a friend we all knew from college, was taking surf lessons with her sister in the centrally located Domincal, and we thought that would be the perfect place to start.

A low key surf town, Domincal is on the up and coming track and land there is being bought up quicker than Microsoft stock in the 80s. The pot-holed dirt track that leads you there is being paved over with asphalt and you know that this town's days as a sleepy little fishing hamlet are numbered. The locals, anticipating this, and have raised the prices to fit those of a resort destination, in spite of the fact that it still lacks all the enmities of such places, such as banks, good food, and, oh yeah, resorts.

This became abundantly clear when we checked into our hotel, supposedly one of the better deals in town. The Planet indicated that they had large cabanas for up to five people with three bedrooms, all with AC, a TV, and kitchen. What the half-conscious hotel receptionist showed us was a dark musty room with temporary walls partitioning it into thirds, two of which were bedrooms, and the third the entryway, "kitchen," and a steel bunk bed thrown in the corner, supposedly making up the third bedroom. There was two bathrooms and two AC's but they were both in the other bedrooms and the receptionist seemed almost offended when we asked for a fan for the third "bedroom." The TV worked, but since they didn't have cable we couldn't watch anything. Oh, and they charged us $70 a night for the privilege of staying with them. Very expensive, even for Costa Rica. Unimpressed with these accommodations, we switched out the next day and, with the girls, moved to another hotel down the street. It wasn't fully built yet and the construction started early in the morning, but it was a welcome reprieve from the casa loco down the road.

We spent 4 days in total in Domincal, mostly on the beach paralleling the town during the daylight hours and in one of the many bars that line the main drag come nightfall. However, the day before we left, Leah, Cynthia (thad be her sister), Eli, and I signed up for a horse back riding/waterfall tour. I was actually not going to go, the price being a bit too steep for my backpacking billfold, but Leah offered to front me the money (which I will pay back!) and I got to tag along. I was glad I did.

We took a taxi to 'Don Titos Horse Tours' and, along with about 20 other tourists checked in at this family run horse ranch. Our guides, the two grandsons of the owner, 21 and 16 year old Eddy and Marcos, though young, were obvious veterans, having done this there whole lives. Knowing every horse, and it's personality and rider preference, they went around asking everyone what there experience was with horses and then matching up with a steed accordingly. The more experienced riders got the younger stronger horses. When Eddy asked me I said I'd ridden "a dozen times," which was, in effect, a complete lie but I wanted a good strong horse and not a lagging nag. What he gave me was a young colt named Cuchulo, or what I came to call him, Culo (asshole). He was young and brash and, knowing I was an inexperience rider who would not take control, decided he was going to lead and I would have to follow. From the moment we started down the trail, zig zaging it's way down the valley wall toward the river below, Culo broke from the line and rushed toward the front.

Horses have a peaking order, the dominate horse get the right of way, and little Cullo did not yet understand this and repeatedly tried to overtake the older dominate horses. These horses would in turn, push, bite, and even hit check Culo sending him to the edge of the trail, (often times a steep drop to the valley floor below) and me to the edge of a heart attack. Eventually, he was able to squeeze past the lead horse and, to my terror, broke into a gallop down the steep rocky maze of criss-crossing trails leaving me to wonder where he thought he was going and where the hell Eddy was. But hey, if it was unsafe they wouldn't let the horses run free right? They know what they're doing... this is Costa Rica! I also noticed that Culo was veering from one side of the path to the other, specifically toward under hug branches so that as we rode past, they would slap me in the face. He was doing it on purpose. It sounds paranoid I know, but the asshole did it every time! I knew what he was doing, he was testing me, taunting me, daring me to take control. He wanted me to. With no other choice, I grabbed the reigns, leaded forward in the saddle, trying to get into the rhythm, and, with a swift heel check to his gut, kicked it up a notch and we tore down the trail. We came to the river, were Culo, not yet having the wisdom to conserve his energy paused, exhausted, for a long drink and was much more docile for the rest of the trip.

After a half hour, we came to the families house, perched up on a bluff overlooking the river valley. It was a small farmhouse converted into a restaurant complete with hammocks, parrots, and a shy, but friendly Toucan. There we had a traditional breakfast before heading on to the waterfalls, which were an amazing set of double falls that offered a refreshing dip and rock jumping. We spent the majority of the day there, returning to the restaurant for a late afternoon lunch and chance to play with the wildlife before heading back. Culo, having found his second wind, and I, my confidence, had a great ride back and sprinted up the hill in a dead run finishing alongside the other lead horses. I think we can say that both Culo and I earned our stripes that day.

La Fortuna & Monteverde - Costa Rica

We were all tired. It had been a wet, crowded, bumpy bus ride and when we arrived in La Fortuna it was damp and clowdy. We checked into our repective accomodations, the Berkeley bunch staying at the upscale Pura Vida, with air con and cable TV, and me at Gringo Pete's with with 8 person dorms and lockers for your personal effects (keys for the locks were extra). But hey, only $2 a night!

La Fortuna is a base from which you can explore Volcan Arenal, one of CR's most active volcanoes. During my visit here two years perior, we had been rewared with spectacular views and a midnight erruption with large chunks of glowing red volcanic rocks shooting out of the crater like missles afire and exploding on the steeps below. Sounds great huh, but we got none of that this time around. The volcano was hidden in a think showd of mist and fog and apparetnly hadn't been visable in weeks. It was so dense in fact that is was impossible to tell if there was a volcano there at all and Leif and Eli were sceptical.

With no projectile pyrotechnics on display, we consoled ourselves with the other main attraction in La Fortuna: the hot springs. With numerous underground water systems that are superheated by the emerging magma, Fortuna has an expance of day spas with built-in pools along the stream bed and are the perfect temperature for a soothing dip. We spent hours soaking in the relaxing spring water, making sure to hit up the bar for a refreshing cocktail between soaks. As good as this was we realized that that was all we were going to get out of Fortuna, we cut our losses and headed up to Monteverde the next day, taking a jeep, boat, jeep transport to get there.

The town of Monteverde, and the nearby Santa Elena, are perched up in the highland mountains, just below the cloud forest line. Thousands of visitors flock here each year to walk or zipline though this impressive jungle and search for rare species of birds and flora and fauna. Not able to sell everyone on the zipline tour, we opted for a hike through the Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserve instead. Walking along in the damp mist you felt minuscule compared to the overgrown trees and ferns. Even the shrubs that grew off the tress were massive and you understood that you were staring at centuries of life and were walking on ancient ground. This mysticism was compounded by the mist that encapsulated every part of the forest, from the jungle floor to the tops of the canopies. And, it blew through it in big gusts spraying sheets of condensation over everything (and everyone).

I usually don't take walks, always going for the fast-paced ziplines or supercharge dirt bikes instead, but its always good to stop and smell the fungi from time to time. To take in all the sights and sounds that you would otherwise not bother to see or hear. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to buy a pair of wool socks, and start eating granola everyday, but, at leat for that day, I defiantly felt at one with nature.

San Jose/Highlands - Costa Rica

SAN JOSE

I got in late in the afternoon on the 3rd and wasted no time in meeting up with Leif and Eli, two high school buddies who had come down for a couple weeks to tour Costa Rica. We caught up over a mediocre dinner and then headed out to the party spot, a collective of discos called El Pueblo. It was worse than the dinner, with a seedy fenced entrance and a group of mostly vacant discotheques blaring non-stop reggae tone for small groups of teenie-boppers. I was stunned, I had been there two years ago with my girlfriend Naomi and it was the place to be, with every bar full, dance floors going crazy and bilar-inas and DJ's leading the festivities. Apparently a lot can change in two years.

And that is the sense I got with San Jose. Where before we could walk the streets at night a feel completely safe, I now heard horror stories about armed robberies and doggy side streets. A friend of mine was walking home to my very hostel with her brother one night when two Ticos pulled a gun on them and demanded money. They were starting to hand it over when one of them hit her brother in the face, not knowing that he was an ex-marine who didn't like to be hit in the face. He then grabbed the guy with the gun and beat the shit out of him while his friend watched in horror. Not to be out done, my friend clocked the other guy, breaking his nose. The assailants ran off and my friends were ok, but that kinda stuff was very rare two years ago and now it seems to becoming more and more common place.

HIGHLANDS

The following day we took a bus out to the Northern Zone to meet up with Leif's mother and sister, also along for the vacation. We met them at a posh hacienda hotel set on the Rio Sardinal river in the foothills of the La Virgen. It was way out of my budget, but I splurged myself and enjoyed a refreshing dip in the pool, a real hot shower (I'd only had about 3 in the past two months), and a full dinner and breakfast buffet.

The following morning, around 8:30am, we took a taxi from our hotel out to the main road and waited for a bus, supposedly arriving any minute, to take us to our next destination, La Fortuna. Then, searching though his bag, Leif asked, "Did anyone bring the Lonely Planet?"
"Damn it," I exclaimed, "I forgot it on my bed."
I had been reading it the night before and left it along with my other book when we checked out in the morning.
"Well, I guess its lost then." Madaline (Leif's mother) signed.
I felt bad. "I can run and get it," I said.
"What if the bus comes while your gone?" Eli asked.
"If it comes take it, there will be another one, I'll just catch up with you there, plus I think I can make it, if I run fast enough." And I set out, running at a brisk pace back down the side road toward the Hotel.

I hadn't realized it on the way out, but it was a hilly road that was a lot longer than I thought. Moreover, it had started to rain and that, coupled with the humidity left me soaked in seconds. I ran on, picking up speed worried now that I would indeed miss the bus. I can tell you that in my three months of traveling I have ran about half a dozen times, usually to the gym and back in Antigua which was about five blocks and at about 65 degrees, now I was in a full sprint in the rain on some muddy road with the temperature at about 85. As I descended to a bridge crossing I was getting light headed and starting to slow down considerably. Still I pushed on, I had to make that bus! I was on the verge of passing out when I heard a truck engine behind me and turned to see a pickup truck bumping down the road. I stopped,, turned about and stood in the middle of the road making the driver come to a skidding halt right in front of me. I came around to the driver's window to find three very perplexed farmers staring back at me.
Forgetting my Spanish, and too winded to speak anyway, I mumbled the words "Nesesito... go ... the Finca... Por... Fa...vor."
They looked at me blankly for a second and then one of them spoke.
"Quieres ir al Finca?"the driver asked.
"Si!" I mouthed back.
"Si, si, es muy cerca, esta al otro lado de-"
I didn't even hear him, I just ran to the back of the truck and threw myself in the truck bed. They all looked back at me, more perplexed then before, then each other, then back at me. I gave them the thumbs up sign and singled for them that I was ready to go on. The driver turned back around and with a slight shake of his head started up the road... about another 25 feet around a bend and to the entrance to the Hotel.
"Oh," I muttered dismounting, "Esta muy cerca."
They all gave me the thumbs up sign with a slight shake of their head and rolled off down the road.

I ran up the dive way and yelled for a taxi as I dashed into the room and grabbed the books. I came back out and jumped into the cab telling him to double time it back to the road. The trip had taken twice as long as I thought it would and I was sure if I hadn't missed them already it would be close. We raced back down the road, and arrived back at the bus stop to find them all still standing there relieved that I had made it back in time. I emerged from the car covered in mud and sweat and had to change on the side of the freeway. But at least I would make the bus which should have arrived by now. We waited, we waited, and we waited. The Hotel had told us 8:45-9:00am, the taxi driver told me 10:00am, then a women waiting along the road told us 11:00am. The bus actually arrived just before noon, right on time according to the bus driver. I couldn't be mad though, at least I hadn't missed it and I got some much needed exercise to boot.

Updates - Panama & Costa Rica

I´ve seemed to have gotten a little behind in my blog posting so I will try and summarize my past couple of weeks in condensed sections, that are more fill than frill.

COSTA RICA

After our harrowing boarder crossing, Mike and I thought that the Caribbean would be a nice reward. We landed in Puerto Viejo, a surfer town almost touching the southeastern border with Panama. This town makes it claim to fame for having the famous ´Salsa Bravas,´ a off shore reef break that offers spectacular, and dangerous, waves for die-hard surfers. The town itself was a little on the seedy side. Most of the locals are young men who aggressively and unabatedly pursue the foreign girls. I found this out first hand because we met up with our friends Judith and Emily and had to fend off these sleaze balls 24/7. But all was not lost, at our hostel, we met up with some of Mike´s friends who had amassed a huge group of 14 people and it made for a very merry Christmas, complete with a huge potluck, Elmo pinata, and Christmas carrels. I made it an early night and went back to my tent around 4am, Mike stayed up until 9.

The following day, Mike´s group convinced us to come with them down to Panama City for New Years. Wasn´t in the plans and a bit out of the way since I had to be back in San Jose on the 3rd to meet my friends, but if Panama is the place to be, then I couldn´t pass it up.

PANAMA

Mike went ahead with the rest of the group and I traveled with the girls, who were also going to PA to ring in the new year. The border crossing passed without incident and we made our way toward Bocas de Torro, an outcrop of islands just south of the border and a must-see on the Panama backpacking circuit. We almost didn´t get the chance because after being told by a border guide (never to be trusted) that it would cost $5 for a taxi and boat ride to Bocas, he put us in a cab with his buddy cab who, after arriving at the docks, demanded more money saying it was $5 each for the cab and $5 more each for the boat. We refused to pay, not because of the money, but the principle. We got in the boat and sat there while he yelled at us and called the police. Finally he got the dock agent to hold up the boat until we either payed or got off and waited for the federalies. Not wanting to miss that last boat of the afternoon, nor have anything to do with the Panama police, we swallowed our pride and coughed up the cash. The was a lot of activities in Bocas, from surfing and snorkel tours to bike rides and beaches, but I didn´t do any of that because it rained the whole time. We spent the time getting our livers in shape for the new years celebrations that were rapidly approaching, playing drinking games and Martin (a Swedish guy in the group) and I taking Tequila suicide shots. That´s where you snort salt up your nose, squirt lime juice in your eye, then finish with a shot of the worst tequila they have. Sounds awful, and it was, but it was also free!

From there we made our way to Panama City and settled in for our New Years festivities. The group, now more then 20 strong, would have a huge dinner at our hostel, ring in the New Year there, and then head out to the bars, which don't really get crowded until 1am or so anyway. The first part went as planned with a big dinner on the veranda followed by fireworks and champagne to for the ball drop. But after that, it all fell apart. Imagine yourself trying to keep 5 drunk people, all with there own idea of where they want to go, together. Impossible right. Now imagine that there are 19 people and your drunk too. It ended up being just the girls and I walking down to Calle Uruguay, a stretch of real estate with a bunch of bars and discos. It was at this point that we decided that it would be a good idea to try and take shots for every letter in the words 'New Year.' Probably better done at the beginning of the night than at the end. Judith ended up getting really drunk and decided it was a good idea for her to take a walk around town by herself. Emily, not drunk enough to see the wisdom in this, wouldn't let her and they ended up walking around together, leaving me to finish off the New Year's challenge. We finally made it back to the hostel to watch the sun come up and people were starting to file in from there adventures as well. Everyone except Mike, who ended up waking up on a side street somewhere downtown having no idea how he had gotten there. We were convinced that, had she gone off on her own, Judith would have somehow woken up beside him. The next day was spent recuperating, or, in Mike's case, drinking and gambling at the casinos. As for myself, I fell back on my favorite pastime, movies. And, to start the new year off right, we made it a double feature.

COSTA RICA

The following day the girls and I took a long, sticky bus ride back to Costa Rica stopping late in the afternoon at a small roadside town called Palmar Norte. There we treated ourselves by checking into in a nice Cabana hotel with a pool and relaxed after a long travel day. That night we had a farewell dinner as the girls where heading off the Pacific and I was heading up to San Jose to meet up with my friends. It had only been about two weeks since I started traveling with them, but I felt like I had known them forever and it was sad to say goodbye. Now I'm waiting to meet up with my Berkeley companions and explore Costa Rica and see what's changed since my last visit over two years ago.

Boarder Crossing - Nicarauga

Finding the hiked up prices for the holidays but not the social scene to go with it, Mike and I decided to leave Nicaragua and head off to Costa Rica, where the girls and a bunch of Mike´s friends were planning on being for Christmas. Mike was actually ready to leave well before I was, but waited for me because he didn´t really want to cross the border alone. He didn´t know it at the time, but my company would be little help to the absolute mayhem that awaited us at the border.

We set out at 6:45am, wanting to get an early start and avoid any holiday rush that might come traveling the day before Christmas. We got to the border before 8am and when we got out of the cab, we didn´t see any of the long lines that the Planet had been warning us about and figured that, for once, the book was proving wrong in our favor. Then we turned the corner to walk to the immigration office. Though only 8am, there was a line that ran from the ticket windows, down the length of the building, around the corner down that side, and was spilling out into the street. We quickly took a place in line, somewhere in the middle of the street, and a downpour promptly let loose. We struggled with our bags as we moved the line beneath an awning on now, the third side of the building. We noted that during this mad rush we had lost a fair bit of places in line as people took the opportunity to mistakenly´move up´during the confusion. From then on, the line was at a virtual stand still.

Mike and I passed the hours making markers and predicting when we would reach them. ¨I bet we can make it to the tree (10ft away) in a hour,¨ ¨betcha, we cross that lamp post before ten.¨ Sometimes you need to set small goal to attain the bigger ones. Well, the bigger one was not getting any closer and after hours of standing in the rain I figured it was time to see what was up. I ran up to the ticket booths around the corner and discovered the problem. There was no organized line and it was a virtual free for all. Our line, the one we had been standing in for 2 hours, lead to a single file stream of people that were getting pushed to the wall by all the others, who were just jumping in front and trying to push there way to the window.

Mike and I decided it was not in our best interest to try and cut and waited another hour to cross the corner. By then, the group of cutters had turned into a mob, and no one was moving anywhere. Fights were starting to breakout in the crowd, and the border officials -who, up until now, had been calmly sipping coffee and chatting in behind the ticket window watching the madness- took action. They grabbed one guy and dragged him into the street beating him with there batons. The man, terrified tried to give up, but the police kept hitting him and finally put him in cuffs. This show did little to dissuade the crowd and more pushing and hitting ensued. Mike and I, having been adopted by a group of Nicaraguan´s who felt sorry for us, held our place in line and tried to push forward.

Finally, after four hours, I had had enough, realizing that we may never get through. We had another idea. Tica bus, a first class international bus company was known to take care of all the passport business for there passengers. If we could get on a Tica bus, the could, in theory, handle it and save us the trouble. Problem was that all the Tica buses coming to the border were already full, and, by the time I tried to barter our way on, the passport official had come and gone. Finally, Mike had the bright idea that, instead of trying to get a seat, we could just ask them to take our passports, get them stamped and we would walk across. This would be illegal of course and like most illegal activities at the border, it would cost. But after four plus hours in this shit hole, we were ready to pay any price.

When the next Tica Bus pulled in, I approached the driver. He waited for everyone else to get off the bus and then let only me in to negotiate. $20 a passport and we would have to walk across. Fine by us and we agreed. He handed him the money and the passports and he disappeared behind the crowd. Yes, I was a little nervous about it, since we really couldn´t go to the authorities if he pulled any tricks, but you have to understand how desperate we were to get out of there. He reappeared moments later and said the inspection official would be by later. He then motioned for me to come back on the bus and again we had a private conference, in which he told me that, for a price, he could be persuaded to give us a space on the bus all the way to San Jose. This seemed like a godsend to us and we agreed. Little did we know that, space did not mean seat and when we got our passports back and boarded the bus he told us that we would have to stand in the back and duck down when we crossed the boarder patrol. OK, so now had had our passports illegally stamped and were sneaking across the border. Not wise, but still a better option then the never ending lines at the Nica border.

Once past inspection we had to disembark at the Costa Rican side and go through there migration office. We were preparing ourselves for another mob, but found nothing of the sort. We got out, qued up in a line, separated by partitions, where one officer stood watch and were through in less then 20 minutes. I couldn´t image why the Nicas did do the same. They had the personnel, and we saw the partitions... boxed up in a corner of an office. We were across! But, there is no rest for the weary, and for the next five hours Mike sat in the isle by the bathroom and I sat perched atop a diaper changing shelf at the back of the bus. We didn´t even care, we were just happy to be across. The moral of this story is its amazing what a length of rope and a guy in a uniform can do to create order out of chaos.