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.