Travel Stories >> Costa-Rica

COSTA RICA, but not your run-of-the-mill package tour......

October 1989

It's late on a cold and drizzly Sunday in the Forrestal Building in Washington (where the US Department of Energy is housed). Rafael and I have just finished two long hard weeks on a consultancy to design an information center for the DoE. I turn to the last page of the Washington Post's travel section to face a map of Central America and an advertisement screaming at me, "San Jose, Costa Rica, only $350 RT!!!" Damn, that's what I need right now, a beautiful beach and some fresh coconut milk! I say this aloud and Rafa jumps out of his chair and starts to laugh, "Hey, let's go, come on, let's go tomorrow!!" I think he's joking, he grabs my arm and starts dancing around in the little cubicle we've been working in, "come on, come on, come on…. Trio music, good food, and BEACH, B-E-A-C-H… let's go tomorrow!!" Well, hell, why not, Spanish is the best language for both of us, and I haven't had a vacation for two years. I just left a job I detested, and wasn't due to start the next one for two weeks, why the hell not. So Rafa calls the travel agency, and the next day I taxi to National Airport, board the plane, and wait for him.

.....well, it's 1:35, the flight leaves in 15 minutes, and I have the sinking feeling that Rafael is not going to make the plane. Too bad, it would have much more fun with company. I packed my own crummy little camera, and bought film because I just had this feeling that he wouldn't show. He is a busy guy and has a wild work life. This whole trip was impetuous anyway, and even though he'd like to be more spontaneous, he is too tied into his business and his fast-paced life. Without his good company to keep my mind on other things, this head cold will be unbearable…

INCREDIBLE!! He made it! With 3 minutes to spare, they actually close the door behind him - I don't know how he runs his life this way, I'd have bleeding ulcers. "Ye of little faith," he says with a HUGE Rafa grin. Jeez! as if making a plane as it is taking off doesn't bust faith!

After a quick flight we come into the Dallas area. Texas is so flat - blah, give me something to look at: trees, buildings, mountains, water, anything! Dallas/Fort Worth is a nice, clean, modern airport, lots of gift shops with "things" from Texas. I have now surmised that it is not the taking off that bothers my congested ears, it is the landing. The ear canals fill up and then can't understand why they can't seep into my brain - they try.

This leg is a good one so far. There are three retro-hippies sitting across from us - the long hair (parted in the middle - how funny, how 60s!), the little baggies - with carrots and bean sprouts (okay, I eat them too, but not on international airline flights!), torn blue jeans - the whole package. The plane is filled with odd off season tourists like ourselves, and lots of US G-men (probably some CIA, some USAID and assorted consultants). It makes me smile to think that I am on this plane and not feeling like it is at all unusual. After fourteen months on the phone daily to El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras and their neighbors, I feel like it is completely normal that I am sitting on a plane for Central America.

Our layover in Guatemala City (after salmon and filet mignon! TWA this ain't!) was uneventful - pouring rain and cool. After G.C., we napped for a bit. Rafa is a kick (he says he gets dreadfully airsick, but a cat nap during both take-off and landing does the trick), he sleeps like an absolute rock for 15 minutes going up and coming down, each time! During this little leg we are abruptly awakened by our captain who announced that if we desired, we could witness a spectacular thunderstorm over Nicaragua (ha, how true!) to the left of our plane. For all the flights I've been on, I have never seen anything as striking and breathtaking. Our own plane's route was completely calm and steady, while the vista from our windows was a battle of the vapors - Nature's light show - great bursts of light hidden by gray, lumbering clouds of all shapes and shades. An extra, rather surreal treat, and a sign (I'll say) of the adventure to come.

Landing in San Jose was painless and we made our way to the Budget Rent-A-Car where a very NERVOUS, young guy named Jose fixed us up with a car. We had originally requested a standard with no air conditioning, but there were none left so for the same price we got an automatic with air conditioning! We asked him for directions to the Hotel Don Carlos in San Jose where Jorge's father had made reservations for us. He folded out a small map from a brochure and tried to describe where this place was in the city.

It would appear that there are no addresses in San Jose. They use meters, kilometers, and landmarks. So we were told to turn at certain buildings, travel certain numbers of blocks and meters, and look for certain corners. We were supposed to get through all of this in the dark? (it was now 11:15pm). Don't ask me how, but we made it after only an occasion missed turn. Both Rafa and I have good orientation - a quality which is not so common and which is a blessing in a travel companion.

The Hotel Don Carlos was a pleasant place, a beautiful terrace with tropical potted plants, brightly colored birds in cages, and some stunning rocks and pseudo-ruins in mini gardens. The room was certainly acceptable, and we were on the north side of city, more residential and quiet.

October 2

Up real early (I wasn't sleeping for the bronchial cough so why bother lying there in bed pretending?) and off to a breakfast of bananas, a huge chunk of the sweetest, most luscious pineapple, a wonderful cinnamon roll and COFFEE. Oh, Costa Rica's coffee is the best thing I've tasted since Spanish coffee. Rafa is certain that they add something sweet to it in their processing - I don't care, it is a dream! I asked Rafa if he cared jumping right into this trip and seeing the Caribbean first. He grinned as I apologized for being one of those vacationers who is up at the crack of dawn (for fear of "missing" something) and who likes to do everything. I read that grin as a, "GOOD! ME, TOO!" So off we went in search of the sea.

Jorge had told me that Limon was just a dirty port town but that it was worth checking out the beaches to the south. Along those same lines, the young man at the Don Carlos told us that if we were feeling adventurous (oooh, little did he realize that he'd made us an instant challenge!) we could make our way south along the coast towards Panama, and we would find some lovely beaches. Lovely beaches??? We were there....

Crossing the mountainous terrain to the east of San Jose was fun, the flora and fauna were strikingly new for us. Most noticeable were plants with primordial looking round leaves which Rafa loved and which prompted his devious little mind to try to figure out how he could get one out of the country! Lots of foliage resembling rhododendron. The roadbed wasn't bad, and someone in the government had thoughtfully designed passing lanes on all the ascents meaning there was no sitting forever behind the trucks carrying everything from bananas to logs.

It was gray and cloudy, and although my spirits were still up, I was not too exciting about spending any time on a drizzly beach. We got to Limon in two hours and made a pit stop for money and a beach towel (Rafa hadn't packed one), and I was particularly thrilled to find COMTREX in the pharmacy - there is a God. We headed south for the little town of Cahuita and just about as the sun began to peer around the clouds, the roadbed turned to gravel (65kms or so below Limon). It was then that we entered the twilight zone. Eerie landscape, filled with eerier human beings and dwellings.

The road twisted by the coast every once in a while so we knew we were on the right track. When it didn't follow the coast, it wound its way through a tropical "underbrush" which never seemed to grow higher than 10 or 12 feet. Every once in a while we would rumble past a wooden shack, or a road-off-shoot, both accompanied by strange signs which said things like, "RENT BICICLES, SANDWICHES, RENT CABINAS," or, "SCUBA GEAR." All of these in English!! It was bizarre because there were all these civil, modern offerings in a place I couldn't imagine being less civil or modern! Both Rafa and I would stop each other every so often saying, "should we stop here to see if they have rooms?" and would alternately say, "naw, let's keep going." We both had this urge to see just what was around the next bend. Of course all along this, we could see that everyone had been right and that these beaches were indeed spectacular, a note that inspired and calmed us at the same time.

The hunger of the afternoon began to gnaw at our bellies and we finally stopped along the side of the gravel road at a little building with picnic tables spread around its ground floor, which (compared to most we'd seen) looked like it had potential. The name on the sign was "Lilies". We parked the car, and feeling very apprehensive, approached the place and immediately noticed the heavy German (British ?) women sitting at one of the tables. All we had seen from Limon to this moment were small dark persons on bicycles or walking, lugging large sacks on one shoulder or the other. These women were so far out of place, it shook us.

A skinny little blonde woman carrying (gypsy style) a little blonde child approached our table and asked us in poor Spanish (no, I stand corrected, the Spanish was okay, the accent was disastrous!) if she could get us anything. We asked for drinks and chose the "pollo a-la-Lilies", which turned out to be delicious (okay, maybe we were just deliriously starved by the time it came). We asked Lilie (?) as we paid the bill, if there were any cabinas for rent in the area. She spoke briefly to a young man who was passing by the establishment, and he nodded and timidly introduced himself as Rodolfo. He had a room in the cabin right across the gravel road that we could have for $7 a night. We moved right in. It was seriously primitive, I mean I'm used to roughing it but this was a real stretch. A frame somewhat resembling a bed was in the middle of the room (that was it), on it a foam mattress which was covered by what looked and felt like a vinyl pizza-parlor table cloth. Okay, who cares, we were there for the beach, right? So we dropped our stuff and changed and took off to cool ourselves (the heat and humidity had become quite stifling during the previous two hours) in the Caribbean.

After checking with Lilie to see if she had lobsters for dinner (!) we waded into the water. The shoreline was unlike right out of a club med advert. Besides the fact that the place was empty, the palm trees grew right on the beach, and jutting out from the coast was a little piece of land, quite high out of the water, and covered with tropical growth. Rafa and I made our way along its steep banks (covered with fast-moving crabs) and waded farther and farther out. As we approached what appeared to be the outer tip of this piece of land, we found a tunnel! It was a natural tunnel allowing us to cut off the end of the peninsula by wading through it to the other side (where there was another enormous beach!). Rafa took pictures while I worried about having left our bags in that crummy cabin, and our wallets on this seemingly deserted beach. [ Photo Coming! ]

Anyway, as the sun began to sink a little lower, we headed back to Lilies and the shack in which we would be sleeping that night. In a truly grubby bathroom, we showered in what we had been told was rainwater. Apparently they save it in tanks all rainy season, and ration it out during dry season. A drag for those "tourists" who show up in April at the end of the summer if the previous tourists took long showers. After a fair lobster dinner at Lilies, we asked her if maybe she had a sheet or two so as to protect our bodies against, well, I would rather not have thought about it. She did, and she also gave us mosquito spirals and showed us how to light them. These spirals sit propped on little frames and burn slowly all night to keep away the mosquitoes.

There is, oh luxury of luxuries, electricity, so Rafa and I scribble postcards out at a furious pace. Each of us believing that if we lie to people on these little pieces of paper, maybe our situation would become like what we are writing ("weather is here, wish you were beautiful")! After putting away something like 40 postcard between us, I tell Rafa I can't stay awake any more, and I light a "spiral" and promptly pass out. I have no idea what he does, but I know that when I roll over at 7:00am and look at my watch, he is still lightly sawing wood.

October 3

Rafa wakes as soon as I begin to move around, and asks the time, and is amazed when I tell him. He says he hasn't slept 10 hours straight in something like 30 years! Hey, welcome to the vacation, besides look around us, there isn't anything else TO do!

So we grab beach things and put on the bathing suits. I leave the porch (all the buildings in this area are raised like the ones we used to see along the outer banks of North Carolina when we were children) and am down the stairs when I hear Rafa jumping and pounding on the porch. I turn and look and ask what is going on, and he is looking at his calf and telling me, "scorpion (alacran - in Spanish), it just bit me, but I got the little mutha', look." Sure enough, there it was, all 4 inches of it writhing in pain after Rafa's foot had erased its middle.

Wonderful, I am standing there thinking about how many kilometers we are from anywhere and how I am really going to hate explaining to people how Costa Rica is really nice if you don't minding losing a friend there every once in a while. He looks at me, obviously nervous, and says, "what happens now?" Oh, hey, like I'm the expert, right?! I tell him that Lilie will know, and maybe she'll have something to put on it. We cross the gravel, and Lilie, who is holding her child and apologizing because she can't get us coffee this morning, says very nonchalantly, "a scorpion? too bad." TOO BAD?? Shit, I was trying to figure how I was going to get a drugged-Rafael on a plane and home, as well as how much we were going to be penalized by changing our restricted airline tickets.

"No, I don't have anything. It'll burn for a while - probably all day. He got you twice in that calf, both square shots. Your fingers and toes will numb later, and you'll probably get a headache, but you won't die." Lilie was really nonplussed by the whole ordeal and it brushed off on Rafa who was beginning to see he was going to be okay, and he might even be able to milk this story. Shrugging, he says, "Huh...... well?..... let's go to the beach." Hell, I'm game, I mean I'm not exactly thrilled at the prospect of driving 50 kms to Bribri (the closest "civilization") to have some doctor tell us the same thing Lilie just had. Lilie tells us she is taking her Great Dane (don't tell me this is not weird) to the vet so she wouldn't be able to serve us breakfast, but there was a place just down the next drive, so off we go!

Feeling like Hansel and Gretel in a "grim" fairy tale, we trudge off down the next drive and sure enough there, just off the beach, is another wooden shack (when I call these things shacks, I mean SHACK) with funky misspelled signs (in English) announcing gourmet breakfasts. We order coffee and toast from the old man behind the counter. We notice the construction of a concrete foundation and some walls - perhaps this is the beginning of a new tourist venture here.

We polish off the breakfast, and Rafa remarks that the sting is much easier to take when he is moving around. It is the standing or sitting still that makes it throb. The beach is a splendor. [ Photo Coming! ] The most beautiful I've ever seen. And we were THE beachgoers - no one else for as far as the eye could see. The sand is littered with this season's hurricane leftovers (branches, an occasional tree and coconuts - the big green unripe ones called pipas). While the sun is very hot, the shade under the palms is very reasonable, and a hammock rigged between two of them would make a delightful resting spot. Rafa and I sunned and swam and chatted. We found the back side to the tunnel we had discovered the day before, and a new tunnel in the making which is still just a neat cave. After an hour or two (somewhere close to 11:00) we began to visibly notice the sunburn and we are hot and thirsty. Rafa trots off to the shack looking for coconut milk and he returns with two pipas. He says," I asked the guy for coco and he tells me what I mean is pipa so I nod. He grabs two pipas, whips out the machete, has the top off in three whooshes, sticks a straw in the top of each, and hands them to me." I am amazed. The milk is sweet, but not too sweet, and there is quite a bit in each pipa. Rafa tells me he chatted with the old man and asked him how long he had been there. The man told him thirty years, with his son and a friend. THIRTY YEARS? and all they have up is the foundation and some walls?

We decide that we'll fry if we are out any longer and besides we are looking forward to other sights in other parts of the country so we pick up our towels and head out.

We get back to the scene of the crime, and the scorpion had been removed (or eaten - by something. I will NOT miss this place) and we each showered under the rainwater in that grubby bathroom. We shake out our bags (we'd really hate to meet two scorpions in one day) and re-pack them, scare off a couple of little lizards hiding in our things, and leave in the direction of Limon. We stop every once in a while to snap photos and to step out of the car in order to fully appreciate the fact that it was air-conditioned.

Limon really is the armpit of the world; the streets are dirty, the people are dirty, the air is dirty, everything - everything is filthy. It was hot and muggy in the streets, but after saving a bundle on last night's accommodations, we figured - let's go for a decent meal. We ask a local where the best restaurant in town is, and he points and starts talking meters and all. We find it without too much difficulty; the town's self-proclaimed "best" restaurant - 8 tables in the front half of a large grocery store. The scene?.......picture some foreigners and big-time Limon business types - ALL sweating gallons as they polish off baskets of greasy french fries, milkshakes, and undercooked hamburgers. Well! We couldn't pass THAT up and besides the post office wasn't open until 2:00 and we were hungry. So, we sat down and swallowed what we could.

We finished up in Limon that afternoon by buying another 3 million postcards and spending an hour at a tiny table in the post office pasting stamps all over the 40 we'd written the night before. It costs 16 colones to send a postcard to the USA - the woman behind the counter only has 10, 5, and 1 colon stamps - and they are HUGE, each of them. We OBVIOUSLY hadn't anticipated using that much room for the stamps when we'd written the damn things in the first place so we had to squeeze the stamps on anywhere there was room - I'll be amazed if half of them get through.

Finally got on the road for San Jose (considerably later than planned - so much for seeing the volcano at Poas today) and arrived in the city at about 5pm. We found a hotel (Hotel Presidente), centrally located, and more than I wanted to spend, but I was tired and didn't care. We dumped our stuff, took quick showers, and left to case the town. San Jose is a neat little city. It is kind of how I imagine Lima (Peru) was once. There were more shops selling more JUNK than if it had been a flea market. We passed by the National Theater (Jorge told me that this was worth at least taking a tour of - it was that beautiful) where I'm hoping we have time to see something on Saturday.

Rafa kept trying to find a place that offered Mexican "trio" music. We passed a place advertising Mariachi bands, but he insisted that that was not what he wanted. We passed three older men in the street, dressed as if to play, and he asked them where they played. All over, they said, traveling to different restaurants. Rafa asked if they played in any close by. And they pointed to one around the corner and told him that they would be there in half an hour if he was interested (which of course, he was). So we headed up the street and went into said restaurant - "Chips" - for dinner. Boy, was this place a "joint".

My filet mignon (for $4 - that's a clue right there) was sliced in half (horizontally!), fried within an inch of its life, covered with mushrooms, and as tough as shoe leather. Rafa had very "fishy" tasting shrimp, which he insisted weren't too bad. And while we waited and waited for these three guys to show up and play, this wrinkled old man walks in carrying his guitar. He is little and poorly dressed, and before we can fend him off, he stations himself at our table and begins to play - and then, to my horror, he begins to sing.

It was a song I actually recognized (from the last time I was in a restaurant somewhere with Rafa - go figure!) and he sang it dreadfully loud, missing chords on the guitar and missing notes in the melody. I mean to say it was PAINFUL. After the interminable finish of this ordeal, Rafa, to add insult to injury, gives the guy almost $2 - AND THIS GUY BEGINS TO TRY AND TALK HIM INTO MORE!!! I will never cease to be amazed by the power of human tenacity.

We leave "Chips", rather disappointed to have missed the "trio" music, and I ask Rafa if he is going to write postcards - and he says he is and that they are all in his gray carry-on. So I glance around the hotel room and see no carry-on and suggest to him that perhaps it is in the car (which has been safely stored in the hotel parking area). "No, no, I remember holding it when we checked in, because I almost took out my passport - thinking they needed both there, at the front desk." So we asked at the front desk - no bag. Rafa goes out to check the car (twice) - no bag. So I began to re-plan our tomorrow - anticipating long visits to the Embassy, the American Airlines office, and anywhere else we'd need to go to re-coop what had been lost in that bag. What a shame!

"WOULD WE EVER SEE POAS? WOULD THE PACIFIC STILL BE HERE NEXT TIME WE VISITED COSTA RICA? WOULD THE EMBASSY GIVE RAFA ANOTHER PASSPORT (his third in as many years!)? STAY TUNED........

The bag is nowhere to be seen. Rafa is a little unhappy - although he is mostly upset by this American jerk downstairs who has picked up a local whore and who immediately makes me think of Hunter F. (a sleazy consultant I knew at my last place of employ), and cringe. So Rafa, who has decided that he wants to learn to draw and this is the trip for his first lesson, uses my ink pen and the hotel stationery and sketches Lilies shack and the scene of his scuffle with the scorpion, and promptly passes out around 9:30.

October 4

We dig out early and have breakfast in the hotel restaurant under an unusual mural which depicted Costa Rica florally and fauna-ly, and yet geographically at the same time. Don't ask. Breakfast was fair. The pineapple was awesome, the strawberries old and bitter. The coffee continues to be amazing, and in an effort to appease Rafa, the waiter this morning tells him, well, yes, they do add sugar cane before it's ground.

Off we go and walk 8 blocks only to discover they have moved the Embassy but have failed to alert the guidebooks, and since American Airlines have taken over Eastern's old routes, and are new in town, their offices are located somewhere near the Nicaraguan border. We are not thrilled and choose to head back to the hotel, pack up, and approach these necessary errands with more resolve (and the car). And back in the hotel, we begin to collect our things, and I pick Rafa's white shirt off the back of the desk chair, and lo and behold, there, before my very eyes, is the lost gray bag - contents intact.

SOOOOOO...instead of making tracks for Poas National Forest at 8am we mosey out of town in that direction around 11. On our way out of town, we travel through Alajuela where Marco's brother (a friend we play ball with) is rumored to be living (Rafa confirms that his name is Alberto and he is, indeed, there).

We climb and climb and climb past all these beautiful little villages which look almost alp-ish. The crappy 4-cylinder engine in this Nissan sounds like the little engine that might not ("I think I can, I think maybe...") The flora changes dramatically and is quite different from the mountain flora we have seen previously. And here, we discover, is where the coffee is coming from. Rafa swears he sees a marijuana plant or two in those fields (so that's how they make it so sweet...) We somehow manage to arrive at 9000 feet (no hill of beans - as far as Costa Rica and its roads are concerned) where it is cool and cloudy and just a tad drizzly, and the poor Nissan is one cylinder from a nervous breakdown, and suddenly…. VOLCANO! [ Photo Coming! ]

Not just your ordinary live volcano, this one has a parking lot! We pull in, re-load the camera (Rafa's camera has duct tape holding the back on) and begin to walk. We trudge along on a slight incline along what was once a road, and which is currently host to more wild, primordial, spore-reproducing plants with huge rough leaves and feathery, red spore "pods". [ Photo Coming! ]

At the end of the trail, with the clouds below us, I feel like Columbus - screwing up and arriving at the edge of a flat world. I experience a little vertigo but Rafa goes bounding over the fence (which is OBVIOUSLY there for a reason) and plops himself down in a spot that no decent park service ranger would ever allow, and he takes out his sketch pad. The pencil comes out also and I indulge him (the other tourists also indulge him - mostly because they cannot figure out what he is doing) and he has fun. And I sure hope the photographs we took develop well because I'm not sure that people back home will get the idea if all I show them is Rafa's rendition!

After the walk, the sketch and the gargantuan leaves, we jump in the car for the mountain town of Sarchi for which, by this time, we have great expectations - as a grand arts and crafts spot. Ha Ha Ha, the joke's on us. Even though the ride is pleasant through the mountain towns and the surrounding landscape, Sarchi sports nothing more than a couple of cooperatives selling overpriced rosewood and mahogany "trinkets" (dishes, bowls, boxes, clocks, chess boards - you know, third floor MACY*S) and lots of furniture manufacturers (Huffman-Koos these ain't).

The crafts were significantly more expensive then I had seen them for in El Salvador in March, and I couldn't bring myself to buy any more than a token porcelain toucan and a little mahogany box - Rafa, on the other town, dropped $85 and filled some of his Christmas list. Guess I'll just have to go home to my Pueblo-to-People catalog where I can get the stuff at 1/3 the price and free delivery!

As we leave Sarchi [where we did manage to buy bread, pate (strong!), cheese (unsalted and hole-y), and two little bags of Perugina candies (civilization has its pluses)] we begin to feel good because we realize we have re-embarked upon that journey - no, QUEST - for the perfect beach. We have both commented this week, at various times, on the strange visceral need to return to the sea. I admit that I will always prefer fresh water (lovingly called "sweet" water in Spanish), but the beaches we have seen so far have been pretty impressive....and the Pacific was, at that very moment, calling us to join it. I liked the idea of being able to drive from the Atlantic - ok, the Caribbean - to the Pacific in a matter of a day, to swim in each.

We fought the kilometers of really poor gravel roads from Atenas, through San Mateo, and down the coast to Jaco. I kept myself busy at the wheel (when I wasn't doing the slalom around the lake-sized potholes) by playing cat and mouse with some surfer boys in a red taxi from San Jose (which, I might add, I beat to Jaco).

We had originally decided to travel south along the coast to the town of Quepos where, Jorge told me, two gay Swiss ran a classy, expensive bed and breakfast. It began to really pour, however, and as we sloshed into Parrita and filled the gas tank, we began to see signs for La Isla - on Isla Palo Seco (Dry Stick Island?) - an "aparthotel" (that was their way of mixing apartment and hotel - which was exactly what they meant!). "Let's go see," Rafa and I agree that with the night fast approaching and Quepos another 30 kms on gravel road, this might be the best we can do.

We leave Parrita, cross a one lane, humming bridge, turn right at the sign and drive out along this strip of land (peninsula? island?) in the rain and in the dusk. We slowly inch our way down the gravel path and pass an occasional building (not the shacks of the Caribbean coast, more like primitive versions of the beach houses on Long Beach Island, New Jersey) and follow the sea, which is rough, but gorgeous. Just as we are about to turn around and head back to town for fear that La Isla is the figment of a billboard's imagination, I spot a yellow light in the distance. As we near it, we see a small group of buildings that remind me of my old 4-H camp, and sure enough, it's La Isla.

We pull up the drive and are greeting by a jolly heavy woman on the porch of a building that is obviously not one of the aparthotels. She tells us that they have been working on this place for two years, and she has just officially registered with the Ministry of Tourism, and is open for business on this excellent location on the beach's very edge.

She tells us that the off-season rate per night is $36. This will cover the beautiful new apartments that sleep six, have a fully equipped kitchen, and other amenities. They will bring to the apartment whatever we decide to eat (from an extensive menu), and if the rain dies down, they'll turn on the waterfall jacuzzi - all we have to do is ask. OH BABY, AM I LIKING THIS ALREADY!! We are a stone's throw from the black Pacific sands, they have two brand new pools (they apologized profusely for the fact they didn't have the tennis courts in yet - never played in my life so I guessed I'd get over that!), and between the two families who manage this place, they treated us like royalty.

We walked the beach as the drizzle fizzled out, and waded in the water - which was marvelous and scary under the lightening flashes. It seemed such a shame that it had to get dark - there was so much to see, and waiting was going to be awful. We returned to the apartment where we received the best meals we have had yet on this trip. They had also stocked our refrigerator with beer, vodka, orange juice and Sprite (diet - yeah!) while we were out. They had four buildings completed; four apartments in each, with two buildings yet to be completed. The brick red tiles on the floor stained the bottoms of our bare feet red since the stain from the grout they had used was still so new.

After the late, scrumptious dinner, Rafa chased mosquitoes and spiders and I wrote. The roar of the waves is going to put me right to sleep and promise me a new adventure tomorrow.

October 5

Awoke to brilliant sunshine at 6:30 and drifted in and out of sleep until Rafa woke up. He had moved his bed into the middle of the room the night before because there had been spiders on the walls (well...one anyway, and he killed that one).

We put on our suits and took a pre-breakfast dip in the pool. It is so amazing to be so far from EVERYTHING in the world, and not be around a soul. No tourists, no one on the beaches - for miles and miles in both directions - NO ONE! It was luxurious.

Breakfast was as incredible as dinner had been last night; they must have used 8 eggs for each order of "scrambled eggs" and the bowl of fruit alone would have fed 6. Rafa had a "tico" breakfast with "gallo pinto" a mixture of beans and rice which Costarricans eat a great deal as a staple. After breakfast, we went right down to that black sand (which is hot as hell!) and waded into the water. It wasn't quite low tide, but the drop off on this beach was very slight, and as a result, we had to walk a ways from the towels to get into water up to our middles. The waves were splendid. This is serious surfer heaven - 15' to 20' waves easily (radical, dudes) and at the depth we were - perfect for body surfing.

[ Photo Coming ] We wore ourselves out and after some time, crawled back onto the beach to sun. Rafa slept and I read. We are the only human beings out here (and the beach is visible for miles in both directions). After a quick lunch of the leftover fruit from breakfast and some leftover bread from dinner last night, one of the guys saddled up a couple of the horses and we rode down to the beach! It wasn't a long jaunt, I knew what my arse and thighs would feel like after too long a trip. Rafa rode a pinto - a very jumpy one - and I rode a dark mare. They were on the small side and seemed very unsure of us (of course, because we were unfamiliar) and were not comfortable with each other.

After our ride, things were a little cloudier and we were reddening nicely from the morning's sun trials, so we headed into Parrita. We found a general store (which, I swear, was right out of small town U.S.A. 50 years ago) and bought film, hand cream, M&M's (!), and Rafa bought 50 Costa Rican cigars for $1.25 (ooooh, we are talking qua-li-ty, baby!). He swears he never smokes, but wants to buy a Costa Rican newspaper, roll them in it, and pass them out as cheap (no kidding) souvenirs. This is all assuming they let us through customs with them!

The young man who does handy work around La Isla had said he would take us out on the bay and its inlets at 2:30 - so we hurried back from town and arrived just as he was ready to go. He strapped on that new motor, and off we sputtered! What fun! Imagine the inner waterways off the Chesapeake Bay - minus the buildings and the people, and with the tropical flora. Osprey, egrets, storks, and lots of unidentifiable birds roamed the watery trails. They dove around us and sat on the branches of the huge rhododendron "trees" which lined the paths. These trees are wild and have pseudo-branches/roots that both supported and fed the tree. We never actually saw any terra firma - these things grew in plena agua! Really neat! Three-quarters of the way through the trip, the skies opened up and the showers poured upon us. Rafa hid the camera under the front tip of the boat, and we passed his sunglasses back to poor Santos who, in order to steer the boat, was forced to face the driving, pelting rain.

After we got back to La Isla, we figured, since we were already soaked, we'd go down to the ocean and scavenge, and we did! Boy, when they talk driftwood down here, they mean serious and beautiful chunks of old trees. Very artistic actually. We walked along in the pouring rain, hardly noticing it for the fun we were having. We had begun to dig up these gorgeous shells (which, unfortunately were still inhabited by their owners). Rafa gleefully explained we could fix that. I was game. So we see one as the current wave descended back down into the ocean, and Rafa would grab it and quickly pull off the foot (or tongue, or whatever - YUCK) and be built ourselves a little collection.

After a good while, I began to get a little chilled so we headed back. I went on into the apartment but Rafa, who is light sensitive, loved the dim light and cool air, and went back down to the beach to ride waves until it got too dark and he returned, hungry.

For dinner Rafa wanted to get out, and so we left La Isla even though last night's meal had been great, and headed into Parrita (population 300?). We drove almost out of the town when I saw a little restaurant and got Rafa to pull a "u"-y and drive in. It was called "La Taberna Familiar Estribo" and it turned out to be divine. A succulent cebiche, fried tortilla, filet mignon (for real), lomo al parrilla....right down to the coffee which was served in these flea-market-pseudo-mother-of-pearl-orange cups (I know you know exactly what I mean!). Rafa is wearing his Shuck Me-Suck Me-Eat Me Raw T-shirt from some oyster bar in Florida and there are two girls and a guy sitting across the room from us who cannot contain their laughter every time they glance over at Rafa. He is enjoying it, but it takes him a while to figure out that it's the shirt they think is hysterical.

During coffee, our waitress approaches the table with a piece of paper asking if we were interested, and after a quick look, I pointed to Rafa and said, "he is." Five acres of land, two buildings, electricity, running water and telephone. And the list went on. Some elderly American was selling his paradise retirement out on Isla Damas, the next peninsula down from Isla Palo Seco on the coast. $100,000 net. To him. Whoa! Rafa has slammed on the breaks all week every time we passed a sign that said "se vende" (for sale) so maybe he'll contact this guy, who knows?

We wend our way back to the island after dinner, trying to avoid squashing frogs along the gravel road (they are huge and they are everywhere). When we get in, the shells we'd found (now each with half an inhabitant in it) were beginning to smell and I ask Rafa what I have to do to clean them. He insists that they have to be boiled, so I heat up the hot plate, put a pan of water on, and toss 'em in when the water starts to roll. It doesn't work. All that happens is that I realize I have permanently bound whatever flesh was left in each, to its shell. Rafa thinks this is close to the funniest thing he has ever seen and is laughing so hard he can barely contain himself long enough to snap a photo of me with a utensil in this pan, futilely moving these shells around.

As it turns out, the management has re-stocked the refrigerator so we make screwdrivers and while I write in here, Rafa chases a HUGE fly around the room, kills it with my sandal and falls asleep shortly after his drink does. Tomorrow is Saturday - how sad! It is almost over.

October 6

Rafa, who has been sleeping like a fiend all week, woke at 6:30 and decided that even though it was cold and pouring rain, he wanted to ride the surf for an hour before breakfast. I, on the other hand, being of sound mind and body, said forget that and rolled over to sleep some more!

After I was up and showered later, I read and waited for Teresita and Rocio to bring breakfast. Rafa came sloshing back through the apartment all excited at having "discovered" live sand-dollars on the beach. He wanted to keep them so I wrapped them up for safe-keeping. I remember collecting them as children on the Carolina coast...he thinks he wants to save them but just wait 'til he opens his suitcase and takes them out - WHEW!

Teresita comes to "check us out" of La Isla, and after much fanfare and exchange of cards and names, we bid farewell to all our dear keepers (who were now our friends and who crowd around the car in the rain to shake our hands and say goodbye. Anyway, I hope they enjoyed us (since we were so weird - playing in the rain, and bodysurfing at dusk and in the early morning rain) as much as we enjoyed being there.

We head north after leaving the island, to get to Puntarenas - just to see it, and to get to a better roadbed for the trip back to San Jose. We planned to pass through Barranca instead of that miserable route through San Mateo. Puntarenas is a plain, dirty little coastal city - nothing spectacular. Although I'll be honest, I am sure that this place is more attractive in the sunshine of December than in the gray skies of October.

Travelling through the mountains of Costa Rica is a pleasure when the roadbeds are smooth. Rafa did a splendid job missing all the demented little dogs which jumped out into the road during the entire trip (too bizarre) and which did not respond to either the horn or our voices screaming at them. And of course I am still amazed that after the tremendous (speaking of both quantity AND quality) potholes we have encountered on all surfaces in this country, we have not yet done in an axle or a tire. Rafa put it best a couple of times when we'd get over a particularly bad one, he'd shake his head and say, "boy, we really got our money's worth on this rental." And we REALLY had.

We stopped once to have coffee (Rafa) and buy honey (me) and I bought a bag of banana chips (dried and lightly salted) at whose incredible thinness we both marvelled. We decided that maybe they sliced them real green, or cooled them first. Rafa suggested that maybe they aren't really thin to start, but that the frying process reduces away all the liquid in them.

Arriving in San Jose under gray skies at about 2:00pm, we re-enlist in the Hotel Presidente a-la-fleas, dump our bags and the car, and SHOP, SHOP, SHOP!!! We walked all over, hit all the artisan areas....and bought "things". Watercolor "things", wooden "things", t-shirt "things", and jewelry "things", ARG! But...they were "things" we knew our friends and loved ones would like (we hoped).

Unfortunately, the true jewelry stores had been open only during the morning so we missed our chance to by inexpensive (relatively speaking) emeralds - in from Colombia. So we had to settle for the other goodies. It drizzled all afternoon, and only seemed to really pour when we found ourselves leaving a shop.

I found some Spanish Agatha Christies for a real good price and put them on a credit card. Rafa searched in vain for a jacket he had seen in a display window (which had been the last one and the wrong size). When we realized we were both starving, we stopped in a cafeteria to eat some lunch. Salads, rice with shrimp, and black bean soup with EGGS (!) floating in it. The waitress brought the soup and I asked her in Spanish what that stuff was floating on the top and she looked at me like I was nuts and said, "why, eggs of course." Of course. How foolish of me. Everything was delicious and we were famished, so we failed to notice all the clientele staring at us until we were finishing up. It was then I realized that it was 4:00 and everyone was downing coffee and churros. We must have looked odd, eating a full meal square in the middle of the afternoon.

Back at the hotel, we spent some time re-packing our bags to accommodate all the trash we'd bought - stuffing things into any and all available corners. Between the two of us we had some $30 left. "Let's get a drink," says Rafa, and we head out. Just around the corner from the hotel is a leather shop, no, it's a BOOT shop - cowboy boots. Rafa wants to go in and we do and they have shelves and shelves of gorgeous boots but all mens sizes. The prices are incredible - $30 for a handsome pair of real quality leather boots. While Rafa tried on a pair with cockroach-killer tips, I saw a small pair of dark brown brushed leather ones. I must have looked longingly at them because one of the other salesmen pulled them off the shelf and insisted they would fit me. They did - to a tee. And while I sat there and debated, Rafa leans over me and in a hushed voice says, "come on!! these things are thir-ty dollars!." Well, he certainly had me there, and I had no choice. The problem is, that we don't have quite enough money - and my credit card is in the hotel, and besides this guy tells us he doesn't take credit cards. But of course he sees that we are crest-fallen, and he tells Rafa he has an idea. As he takes Rafa across the street to another boot vendor he tells him it has been a slow day, and he'd really like this sale. The other vendor (who does take credit cards) rings up the sale as if it were his own, hands our vendor the cash, and we have the boots.

Having bought the boots, Rafa cajoles me into a "quick" beer around the corner in this latino-version beer garden where fellows visit the tables playing their guitars and singing. We sit down, order a drink, and soon "Geovanny" asks if he could sit down, and play us a tune or two for a small fee. Rafa thinks this is just grand and Geovanny obliges. Geovanny plays and sings, and Rafa sings along - hitting the notes occasionally. As he sings, Rafa picks apart his napkin and rolls the pieces into little balls to keep count of the number of songs he would have to be paying for later. It was fun, Geovanny sang well, and even though he advertised Mexican, Cuban and Costa Rican, he was crafty and knew Rafa wanted to hear the Mexican ones. Poor Geovanny - he put in three and a half hours with us!

10:00 rolls around, and I tell Rafa to stay, I'm going back to the hotel (we have to get up at 5:00am to make tomorrow's plane, and I didn't get half the sleep he had the night before). He says he'll go too, and between us we dig all the money we have left out of our pockets, and we are short 3000 ($3) colones for Geovanny (Rafa paid the drinks and munchies on a credit card). No problem, he also takes dollars (oh, big surprise there) and Rafa has a few of those left, too. We get back to the room, and I step in the bathroom to brush my teeth and when I leave the bathroom to pick up my book, Rafa is snoring in his bed.

Somewhere around 3:00am, my belly begins to erupt (my body must not have remembered until now that I WAS in Central America) and I just make the bathroom. I head back in the dark - feeling my way along the ends of the beds, and Rafa suddenly sits up and exclaims, "Oh, Oh, you scared the shit out of me (NOT the word I might have chosen at that moment)," followed by a quiet couple of moments. And I lie there and listen and feel the boom, boom boom, boom, boom boom of some nightclub close by (close by? - felt like it was under my mattress).

Rafa was obviously listening, too, because all of a sudden he says, "would you mind if I left you?" "Left me?...No, I guess not," I answered, and before I finish my sentence, he is clothed, shaved and three blocks from the hotel. It was just as well. My southern hemisphere wasn't stable enough to be doin' any dancin', and besides, I knew Rafa. He couldn't stand the idea that someone, somewhere, was having a good time without him - so he HAD to find them. And he did.

And I lay there in the dark wishing desperately that my belly would calm down, that my head cold would subside, that the flea-bites all over my body (I suspect they live in the rug in this hotel) would stop itching, and that the human beings in ALL the nearby rooms would stop receiving wake up calls. The calls had begun at 4:00 and continued every 10 minutes in different audibly close rooms until I got ours at 5:10. I got up and glanced over at Rafa's empty bed, and began to assume that he would not make this plane (I gotta stop thinking this way about him and planes).

In he waltzes at 5:30, whistling and "happy" telling me about all his new friends and his barroom close-to brawl. I managed to calm him down and while I finish drying hair and packing, he sits himself down to write his daughter a letter. I tell myself that I am leaving for the airport at 6:00 whether he is ready or not, he's got his ticket. I take the elevator down to check out and I get the car out of the hotel garage and I wait. I tell myself, okay, I'll wait until 6:10 and then I go. He manages to surface just in time and we leave for the airport. He begins to repeat the same stories he told me earlier - must be the margaritas!

We arrive at the airport with time to spare and we say good-bye to the little 4-cylinder Nissan (oh, I PITY the poor soul who gets this car next - I am so sure that the very next pothole will render it useless!) The San Jose airport is tiny, but they have managed to make it very confusing - tourist card lines here, baggage lines there, customs-type lines there, lines everywhere. We are standing in these lines with 3000 Costa Rican families (I mean strollers, dogs, grandma, whew!) all travelling somewhere on Sunday at 6:30am (bizarre? I vote yes.)

We get into Miami uneventfully, and a little sad I think. We know that this has been a crazy trip (from conception to completion) and an adventure, but we'll miss it. I'll miss Rafa. He is an awfully good sport, an all around gentle human being, and a little boy - all rolled in one. I am kind of sorry that I have to "give him back" to the many people who demand his time. But I am glad we did this.

What a trip!

Copyright © 1989 by Rachel Peterson

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