Whilst on our separate gap year adventures in south east Asia, Lucy and I attempted to find each other in Thailand. I was on Koh Pha-ngan and Lucy was just about to start her volunteer work at Wildlife Friends Foundation Thailand in the middle of nowhere. It very quickly became evident that getting to the middle of nowhere was going to be tricky and it would take longer to get there than I probably would have spent there. That was in 2008. Since then the topic of a possible trip together popped up every now and again. In 2015 all the talk became a reality. After much deliberation, Costa Rica was chosen as the destination. We left four years ago today.
Day 1
I had never travelled in a westerly direction before, except for when I have returned from an easterly one, so this was something new for me. It started off well when we arrived at the airport check-in desk to be told our flight to Miami was already boarding. Our flight times had changed but we weren’t notified. Well done American Airlines. There was another flight leaving shortly that their supervisor could move us on to but said there was no guarantee we would make our connecting flight on to Liberia (the Costa Rican City, not the African country) with the time we would have in-between. It was better than nothing so off we went without enough time to even grab a drink or croissant, which, as it turns out, Lucy says weirdly. My judgement gave American Airlines another broadside when I explored the in-flight entertainment. I don’t want to sound ungrateful that there was an entertainment system on an 8-hour flight but it wasn’t the most modern system I had come across. Yes, there were new films on there but the range was limited and they had set start times with no way to pause or rewind them if you went to the loo or accidentally fell asleep. Other than that, the seats were acceptable and the food was good. Lucy and I entered Miami Airport 10 hours later with the plan to run through and to see if we could find someone to get us to the front of the queue so we wouldn’t miss our connection when we got to immigration. The running part was fine, but when we got to the longest customs queue that I have ever experienced to date we were far too British about trying to push forward and our flight left before we made it to the front. Another trip to the American Airlines Customer Service Desk. We thought we might need to spend a night in Miami before we finally got there but they managed to get us onto another flight to Costa Rica that day. The only problem was this flight was going to the capital, San Jose, rather than Liberia where we had booked our accommodation for the night. This threw our plans into disarray and the vein on Lucy’s forehead was getting increasingly bigger. We collected our bags, dropped them off again for the connection, boarded the plane and were at least on our way to the intended country. I had remained as calm as I could be considering the number of obstacles in our way, so stressing about it was not going to change the situation, but what nearly threw my emotions over the edge was when we arrived at immigration and final bag check, and were stopped at both. It appeared everyone but us had received an immigration card or baggage form to fill out. I can only assume they were being handed out when we were sleeping on the flight. The only good thing to come out of this was when we had to go back each time to collect a new form we got talking to another brit, a girl staying for 3 months on an eco-farm but the airline had lost her bag, who recommended a place to stay.
As we had not booked anywhere in San Jose, any suggestion was welcome. We fought our way through the taxi and hotel touts to once again speak to our bagless brit friend to see if she wanted to share a lift into town. She was already taking an arranged shuttle to the hostel she was staying at, and they were apparently fully booked. We were back to square one. We went back to talk to the hotel touts we had previously ignored and settled on one who found us a room at the Costa Rica Guest House. We shared a lift to the area with a Dutch couple and an American student who was going to be working in a hostel as part of their course. After checking into our room of four bunkbeds that we had to ourselves and a ceasar salad later, the longest 2nd of February of my life came to an end.
Day 2
I woke up a couple of times during the night for various reasons, the main one being the Costa Rican habit of honking their horn at any time of day for any reason. I was finally up at 7.20am, Lucy an hour later. After a shower, a hostel breakfast and making sure we left nothing in the room we made a reservation for that night at Pangea Backpackers, part of the Costa Rica Hostel Network and the place recommended to us by our airport friend. We then proceeded to walk there through the centre of San Jose from our current guesthouse. After finding our bearings it was a rather pleasant walk through some parks and pedestrianised streets before braving the congestion of the centre. It took us both a while to realise the bird noises we were hearing were coming from the pedestrian crossings and not actual birds. Daft idea in my mind when you have actual tropical birds about the place.
The Pangea Hostel was incredible. There was a security gated entrance, murals on every wall, wifi, charge points in communal areas, a pool, funky communal bathrooms with many scantily clad girls walking around them, on-site restaurant, self-cooking facilities and a great roof top bar complete with pool table, dance pole and fantastic views of the surrounding mountains. It was too early to check in when we arrived but we were allowed to leave our bags there so we headed out for lunch and an explore. On the surface San Jose seems a little boring with different shops and street vendors selling the exact same thing as down the next street. TV remotes and back-flipping dog toys appeared to be in high demand based on the number of people selling them. But when you dig a little deeper, you find that San Jose really is boring with different shops and street vendors selling the same stuff on every street. There were a few nice colonial buildings and a zoo, if you really wanted to visit one of those in the most ecologically diverse country in the world, but I enjoyed the hustle and bustle of a different city. We ended our walk through a rather dodgy part of town with large groups of men following us down the street asking for money. Apparently is was the Nicaraguan part of town.
We finally returned to the safety of Pangea, threw the bags in our room and headed to the rooftop bar, got a Pilner beer and swung from the hammock chairs in the sun. We eventually got chatting to a Canadian couple, Dave and Elisa who worked as landscapers but got the winter off to travel. They were from a town called Oliver which apparently is a desert-like environment. Never knew Canada had that. We spent the rest of the afternoon drinking more Pilners and playing pool with them.
A quick nap later and briefly meeting our dreadlocked, walking cliché hostel hippy dorm mates (nice people though), we headed up to the restaurant for dinner and card games. Lucy thrashed me at snap, I finished off her disappointing burger, then we left the comfort of Pangea to have a drink at a local bar on the corner of the street we had seen during our earlier walk. That street corner seemed to be the drop of point for ladies on the night shift, if you know what I mean.
Day 3
It was a slower start to the day than intended due to sleep riddled with the disruptions of other roommates. When we did get up we discovered we were sharing a room with Sally, 27 from Guildford, who was also in the process of trying to catch the 8:00am coach to La Fortuna. She worked with polo horses in the UK and Argentina where she spends six months of the year with her Argentinian boyfriend so her Spanish was on point. This was a skill that made her a valuable new member of our group, even if it was only temporary. Before leaving to catch the bus, Lucy and I ordered a breakfast of fruit and toast. For reasons that still remain a mystery it took 20 minutes to prepare this, leaving us no time to enjoy it so it was thrown into a plastic bag to have on the go. The toast had cinnamon on it which made up slightly for its tardiness. It took just over four hours to get to La Fortuna from San Jose taking in spectacular views as we travelled over the mountains and through the clouds. It was a short walk from the bus terminal to the Arenal Backpackers Resort, another member of the Costa Rica Hostel Network, with the Arenal volcano framed perfectly walking up the street. La Fortuna was mostly made up of restaurants and tour operators all selling the same trips but I really liked it. I liked the layout, the way it looked and the way it felt just moving around at your own pace.
Resort was an odd choice of word as it was a backpacker hostel but it was dreamy with a pool featuring a slackline across it and a bar you can swim up to, a trampoline that was broken, volleyball court, a large outside but covered communal area, really helpful staff, lots of interesting people to talk to and an atmosphere that could not be more relaxed. Even if the volcano went off on one I imagine most of the people there would just carry on with what they were doing rather than evacuate. Sally just so happened to be staying there as well so after we all checked in and had some lunch we strolled into the centre to buy some alcohol to consume in a geothermal river we had decided to spend our evening in. The river was located on the other side of the volcano, past many fancy spa resorts, and was popular with all the locals in the area. It was a really lovely evening just sat in hot river water, drinking mojitos in a can, chatting away and getting to know Sally. What it made it really special was Lucy and I saw our first ever wild hummingbird that wasn’t on the telly.
Dinner was had in town at the Lava Lounge accompanied by the local reggae band and their Rastafari following. It may have been a bit of a tourist trap but it was a decent place and my arroz con pollo (rice and chicken in the shape of a volcano) and beer really hit the spot. Sufficiently fed and watered, we returned to the hostel and found our bunks. Hardcore I know but we had a volcano to climb in the morning.
Day 4
Lucy was still finding sleep difficult but I had found my rhythm and no amount of noise was going to get in the way of my sleep. Breakfast consisted of pancakes, a ridicules amount of fruit and a ludicrous number of cats looking on in envy. It was time to assemble for the volcano trek. The trekking party consisted of myself, Lucy, Sally, our two Swedish dormmates Andrea and Lisa, two Canadian friends Taylor and Laurel and two French Canadians we didn’t get to know as they were from another hostel. I was on tour with eight girls. I needed wellies as I was knee deep. Our guide was Koren Bella Bella and everything was “100% absolutely totally amazing”. He was 100% absolutely totally enthusiastic and seemed to have done an impressive amount in his life. He showed us various edible plants like the Jackass Bitter, told us about their various medical properties and showed us how to press raw sugar cane juice. That stuff was dangerously good! Scattered around Arenal National Park were props left from Will Smith’s After Earth film which seemed to fit naturally in the Jurassic Park like landscape . I’m not sure how the trip was advertised to people but a few, myself included, seemed disappointed as it was more of a mildly exertive stroll to a view point of the volcano rather than an epic hike to the crater that we were hoping for. This trip was the only reason I brought my heavy hiking boots along. Could have done it in a pair of trainers. Either way, we got some decent views of the volcano and Arenal Lake.
When we got back Lucy and I planned to go and see one of the waterfalls in the area, so we walked into town to find a taxi. We thought the driver understood where we meant until we were dropped off somewhere that wasn’t our intended location. Our first trip without Sally in a few days and we failed to get where we wanted. Go us. To be fair there was a waterfall with a rope swing but Lucy’s heart was set on another one that was bigger and more accessible to casual swimmers. It cost $10 to get in to the one we wanted and they stopped letting people in at 4pm. Time was not on our side. No taxis past us during the long walk back into town and it was exactly 4pm by the time we got back. Having missed the waterfall opportunity, we returned to the hostel and had several beers in the pool.
Our entertainment while in the pool was an American hippy called Tyler making himself a full body party balloon suit. One can only assume he has done it before because it didn’t take him long and made it look very easy. When he finished and jumped in the pool with it on, the slackline competition began. Participants included Tyler, Laurel, two Canadian guys who we met the night before (one was called James) and a German fellow. It was an unofficial international competition. I’m fairly sure none of us made it across so we all gave up trying. During a lull in the excitement I headed back into town on my own to find somewhere to get a hair cut. I found a place down one of the back streets and it became obvious quite early on that this place was not used to having tourists walk through their doors. I got the impression the barbers we purposely taking their time with their current clients because they knew the first one to finish would have to deal with me. I knew my Spanish was not up to the task of describing what I wanted done so I came armed with a bit of paper explaining what I wanted, kindly written in Spanish by one of the guys at the hostel reception. My barber found this amusing enough to pass round to the rest of the guys working there and it must have read well because he did exactly what I wanted. When he finished and I said I was happy with it, I got hand shakes from all the guys working there which I quite liked. I returned to the hostel with a fresh trim.
Tyler, who had quite clearly become the life of the party, started going around the hostel trying to organise everyone to go to the heated river that evening for a drinking party in the dark. Credit where credit is due, he got 37 people to go. Lucy and I opted for a quiet night with dinner in a massive thatched tepee in town and a couple episodes of Family Guy before bed. I’d liked to have gone to the river with everyone else, partly for the atmosphere I imagined it would have and partly to see Laurel in a bikini again, but Lucy wasn’t that interested. She said I was welcome to go without her but I came on this trip with Lucy so was going to spend it with her. I wasn’t that devastated I didn’t go.
Day 5
Lucy had another poor night’s sleep, even after our early night. About half the hostel were heading to Monteverde that morning including the four Canadians we met. Laurel and Taylor were heading to the same hostel as us, while James and his friend were off to one called Sloth Backpackers. We were leaving Sally behind which was sad as she had become part of our daily lives for the last few days. Some of her friends she was about to go traveling with arrived the night before so I’m sure she would be fine without us. We all booked the “Jeep – Boat – Jeep” way of getting to Monteverde as it was the quickest and most efficient mode of transport. You can imagine the bitter disappointment felt by all when the jeep cleverly disguised as a Toyota minibus arrived. To be fair, so it made sense you would need a lot of Jeeps to transport the sheer number of people. About half an hour on the mini bus and then we were at Arenal Lake ready for the boat section. Shortly after setting off from the jetty we had to go back because for a set of identical twin sisters. No set of twins have ever been so similar. They had about 20 bags between them and the chaos that caused on top of having to go back for them didn’t help their chances of being voted the most popular passengers. Ten minutes after setting off the second time and we had to stop on the water to assist another boat with engine trouble. Tool box handed over and we were ready to make some decent progress. Views of the volcano from the lake could be phenomenal I reckon, when its not shrouded in clouds.
The Jeep waiting for us on the other bank looked like it came from the same gene pool as the first. The views from the lake to Monteverde completely eclipsed the disappointment of absent jeeps. They were spectacular with many large gap between the trees, offering uninterrupted views across the hills and valleys as we climbed steadily higher. Monteverde is a cool little town clinging to the hillside. It was notably colder with moisture in the air and an ever-present wind blowing. I loved it here.
We were dropped off just outside Monteverde Backpackers, our hostel for the next few nights and the last of the Costa Rica Hostel Network ones we would be staying in. It was small and cosy place but looked like it would fall apart if the wind got any stronger. We reserved our bunks with our bags and because we had lost a day here, due to the flight kerfuffle, we were keen to get started and book several activities through the hostel. We kicked off with a hanging bridge tour of the Monteverde Cloud Forests Reserve. Being able to walk at your own pace through a relatively untouched forest and listening to the sounds it produces without the disruption of mass tour groups was incredible.
We saw two more hummingbirds as a result. A word of caution for those with a thing about heights. Some of the bridges are very high above the canopy. It’s also worth mentioning for those lacking a certain mental disposition that because it is a cloud forest it is a bit damp up there. This was one of my favourite activities we did and didn’t really want to leave. We did eventually catch the last bus back to town.
Back at the hostel a BBQ was being prepared by the hostel but the ingredients had to be provided by the dwellers so we quickly popped up to a shop a few minutes’ walk away to find something to put on it. The selection was limited and there was strangely a DJ in there for the entertainment of a few shoppers. Clearly the place to be on a Friday night. We returned with items to make the imaginative Fajita Hotdog. In my mind this could be the next big thing, provided the cheese is a little better than the mass-produced orange rubbish that we had. We got chatting to an American couple, Dave and his wife, who’s name I failed to write down, who were on their honeymoon and also staying at the hostel. Throughout the trip Lucy and I had been mistaken as a couple, a fair assumption when it’s a guy and a girl travelling together. I don’t know what vibe we were giving off here that was different from everywhere else but they presumed we were on our honeymoon as well. I think we can all agree Lucy would be punching above her weight if this was true. She did have a tendency to move the rings on her fingers about so that could be one answer for this confusion.
After the BBQ it was time for the next activity, The Night Tour where we were driven to a rangers lodge outside of town. These can be a bit of a gamble as you can never guarantee any of the animals will come out to play or if they are still in the area. In our case we won the jackpot. We saw a kinkajou, a white nosed coati, a red kneed tarantula, red eyed tree frog, rainbow billed toucan, emerald toucan, side stripped pit viper, along with a few other birds including a sleeping hummingbird to complete our humming hat trick in Monteverde. Who knew walking around in the dark with a torch could be so exciting. It did make me wonder what would happen if we came across a jaguar? I was quietly confident in my ability to outrun Lucy if required.
Upon returning to Monteverde Backpackers and describing the triumphant accounts of our night time jolly we headed straight out with Taylor, Laurel and the newlyweds to Amego’s, the bar around the corner from the hostel. We were the only non-Ticos (the local term for Costa Ricans) in there. They had an inhouse band playing salsa music and when they got tired they turned on the Spanish club music. We attempted some salsa dancing and succeeded in lots of drinking. Dave exceeded at both. We all stumbled back down the hill and to our beds.
Day 6
To finished our time in Monteverde before heading back to San Jose and the Pangea Hostel we did what almost everyone else does when they stay here. We went ziplining. Out of the many companies that offer this experience we chose 100% Adventura as the people to keep us plummeting back to earth. They didn’t have the “fastest zipline” in the area but did boast a “Mega Swing” and Latin America’s “Longest Zipline” at just over a mile, according to some sources. Lucy had to be slightly convinced that she would enjoy it and was adamant she wouldn’t do the mega Tarzan swing or superman zipline, named because you go face first. After a pep talk from one of the instructors she was kitted out for both. It was set up well with the short, low (ish) lines first that got gradually longer and higher as you moved through the trees, with some optional reppels thrown in there as well. As I was at the front of our group, I felt I had to lead by example and do them all. It also made Lucy have to do them. When we finally got to the superman lines Lucy felt like she could handle them. This was good as she was selected to go first. I can’t speak on behalf of Lucy, 50 Shades of Grey had become quite popular by this point, but this was the first time I had been hung up in such a way to hurtle face first above the trees towards a hillside. It was a very surreal experience being hung up from the back and having a very large and more than likely fatal drop beneath you but after emerging from the tree line and initial fear of falling to my death had faded, I was awe struck by a view from a perspective reserved for those lucky enough to be born with the gift of flight. Fear then swiftly returns at the other end when you are praying that the guy in control of the belay breaking device is paying attention, otherwise you end up looking like a pug with an imprint of what your face used to look like in the tree ahead of you. You then get to experience it all over again for the longest zipline in Latin America. It was now finally time for the Giant Tarzan swing and again it was time to lead by example. I regretted that decision as soon as I walked along the bridge to the end of the platform. It was high. Very high. Debatably the worst bit is when the heavy ropes get clipped on to you and the instructor opens the gate and you feel the weight of the ropes trying to pull you off the edge. At this point I wanted to abort. I was asked to bend my knees and before I knew it he used his own on the back of my legs to knock me off. At that moment I had never hated anyone quite as much. Lucy says she heard a small yelp which I will happily accept as the inside me was screaming like a 12-year-old drama queen. I’ve panicked a few times in my life, most involving failed attempts at California rolling dinghies too large to really try it, but this was the scariest thing I have ever done.
Having survived, we returned to the hostel, packed and said goodbye to the girls and the newlyweds. We stopped at a place called Taco Taco for lunch and visited a reptile centre opposite the bus station we were heading to as we had time to kill. They had an impressive variety of reptiles to look at for a small space, which we had to ourselves, and a game of spot the tree frog could pass a lot of time but I thought $13 was a bit much for it.
On the bus we met Marco Molina, a 19-year-old freelance illustrator, photographer and journalist. It was really nice to talk to a Costa Rican about more than just where to go and what to see. For his age, Marco was very switched on and I was very impressed with his attitude and maturity. He tried to teach us a bit of Spanish and told us about the issues in Costa Rica that your usual tourist may remain unaware of. Marco was a practicing Christian and invited us to join him that evening for a church service that was conveniently around the corner from Pangea, near the drop off point for the late-night ladies. At this point alarm bells started going off for me. It seemed all to convenient, ending up like some kind of “Taken” situation but neither of our dads being Liam Neeson to rescue us. We said we would go to the hostel first, sort our lives out and maybe see him later if we were feeling up for it. When we got to our room, I discovered that Lucy had the same alarm going off in her head. With that in mind we left the safety of the hostel and went around the corner to scout the place out.
As it turns out we had nothing to fear whatsoever. Hosted by the New Life New Glory Ministries, this was one of the friendliest and most casual church services I have ever seen, filled with people who just wanted to share God’s love and not rob us blind and dispose of our bodies in a ditch. Marco was so happy to see us and it appeared that he saved us two seats right at the front with him. I felt bad walking past everyone in the middle of the service. It was being led by a very charismatic American called Sam Wingenbach who had been living in San Jose for the last year and Chile for two years before that. He had a Spanish interpreter but some things got lost in translation with some of Sam’s more obscure metaphors. Towards the end of the service, when everyone else was doing their final prayers, Lucy and I were looking around not sure what to do. We reckon Sam clocked us as non-believers (along with turning up very late and being the two whitest people in the audience) and came over to say hello when it was finished. He was a really nice guy and very easy to talk to. Before we left, he said a little prayer for our safety on our trip and to see lots of “awesome stuff”. It was back to the hostel for dinner. One of our Swedish dorm mates from La Fortuna was there in preparation to fly home in the morning. A few games of snap later and it was bed time.
Day 7
The night before we opted to go for a private room and although it wasn’t fully utilised because of another early start, Lucy had the best nights sleep of the trip so far. The bus for Puerto Viejo left at 6am and even though we didn’t have Sally with us it all went very smoothly. Lucy and I had booked ourselves into a posh hotel that night and was our only bit of luxury during the trip so we wanted to get there early to make the most of the experience. The bus arrived in Puerto Viejo quite a bit earlier than expected which was good as it was a bit of a walk from the bus stop to the hotel and there was a lack of sign posts to lead the way. I asked a guy called Eric for directions who, as fate would have it, just so happened to be driving in that direction and offered to drop us off. Eric was known by everyone in the area because he was a member of the largest of five “true” Caribbean families in the area. I had never heard a West Indian accent in real life before and apart from banging my shin on his trucks toe bar when loading our bags in the back, I was excited to be in his company even if it was just to hear him talk.
The Banana Azul hotel was everything we hoped it would be and more. It was a beautiful setting with landscaped gardens, private beach with volcanic black sand, a pool and jacuzzi and an artificial stream with fish and turtles that will swim past you as you have your welcome drinks in the open plan restaurant and bar. The place reminded me of the film Fern Gully, but with a cocktail menu. Although the room didn’t look like the photos we saw on the website it was lovely. We soon changed that by throwing our bags through the door and making the place look like an exotic wooden hostel dorm room. We had a walk around the grounds looking for wildlife, had our welcome cocktail while watching the turtles and then went to the beach for our day of luxury beach lounging. Sadly, we arrived at a time when the storm that screw up our flights had passed but the blanket clouds still lingered.
While it was warm, we gave up on the idea of lying in the shade so we borrowed some of the hotels bikes and cycled back into town for lunch where we saw the girl from baggage claim walking around. It would have been nice to see how she was getting on but was only alerted to her presence when the only option was to chase her down the road like a creep and I wasn’t feeling that. I liked Puerto Viejo, even though it was advised never to be out after dark, talk to strangers or do anything fun. The place did give off the impression that it wasn’t sure what it was and was stuck in purgatory between the hell of a Jamaican theme park run by Disney or the heaven of the real Kingston town and getting a hug from Bob Marley.
We had dinner back at Banana Azul then returned to the room to catch up on trip notes on our balcony overlooking the gardens before bed. Lucy was looking forward to continuing the streak of good night sleeps. Nothing is quite like the sound of the jungle in the background.
Day 8
It may have been the environment we were in but we both had the best sleep of the trip that night. Breakfast was inhaled, the bags were repacked and after we had recovered from the shock of the bill it was tour time. When planning the trip, we booked a Jaguar Rescue Center, Chocolate Lady and Waterfall tour with Gecko Trail and we were the only two on the trip! First destination, the rescue center. It’s called the Jaguar Rescue Center because that was the first animal it took in but it does cater for a wide range of other animals. Our guide was an American volunteer who had to go home in a couple of months for a friend’s wedding and was unsure whether to get a return ticket or not. It was an understandable dilemma, the sanctuary had its volunteers look after sloths, monkeys (including babies), birds and other forms of Costa Rican wildlife that find themselves in need. They also took baby jaguars for walks! Lucy’s favourite was a baby anteater being carried around on a cushion. I was tempted to apply.
The next destination was the “Chocolate Lady”. It might sound like old fashioned racism about the colour of her skin but is in fact the name given to the women of a native Indian family who make chocolate in the traditional way from coca pods grown in their back garden, which was the forest. We got to taste the chocolate through all stages of the process from seed to the final product. I found the whole process very interesting. At the end we tried all the different varieties they made, my favourite was the low sugar and Lucy’s was the coconut. We were also shown a red paste called achiote which is used in lots of traditional cooking and smells like the best thing you have ever smelt in your life. It’s made from the red pigment that covers annatto seeds and is also used to make red body art. With that in mind I gave myself a shaman lightning bolt on my arm which didn’t come off for two days. After our brief insight into chocolate production it was on to our final stop, the waterfall.
Before walking down to the waterfall, we had a coconut drink with the people we presumed to own the land the waterfall was on and listened to the story of how they ended up with a jaguar pelt on their wall. It got hit by a truck apparently. Costa Rican road kill is in a different league to back home in the UK. I had never been a fan of coconut or anything coconut flavoured. Being late to a box of Heros only to find Bounty bars left was devastating. This coconut was different, it was good. It was very good. The guy with the massive machete then cracked it open and the white fleshy part inside was good to. What a crazy world we live in. The waterfall was actually two waterfalls, one low and wide, the other further up stream was taller and narrow. Each one had its own small tour group but both scarpered shortly after we arrived, again leaving us to have our own private waterfall experience. We could have had one waterfall each if we wanted.
We returned to Banana Azul where we spent an uncomfortable amount of time trying to work out where to stay for the next two nights. My suggestion was a place in the centre of town, quiet, chilled and with a kitchen we could use. We ended up going to a place recommended to us by Banana Azul that Lucy liked the sound of. A ten-minute walk from town is Rocking J’s, named so because it is owned by an American called J and is filled with hammocks, which rock. It was a very interesting place. Every inch of the place was covered in either mosaics or paintings, cheesy quotes and signs only appropriate for those 18 or over. It was meant to be the party hostel but both nights we were here it was a little dead.
After lunch and a walk around town looking at shops we went back to the hostel for a nap. Mine lasted longer than intended, probably due to my run in the morning in a vain attempt to keep my fitness up. I finally got up with the help of Lucy talking very loudly outside our room. She had made friends with our attractive German roommate (another name I forgot) who was 30 but looked 22, a Ukrainian who lived in Canada called Andrei and two more Germans called Danny and Felix who our roommate met on the plane. The evening went on through a few games of beer pong at the hostel, a disappointing all you can eat Chinese buffet in town, walking away from empty bars and returned to the one back at the hostel. It became clear that Danny had a little soft spot for Lucy and was never too far from her. This was until we met some Argentinians called Marcelo and Gerado who beat Danny and Felix at pool as revenge for the 2014 football world cup final and Lucy started talking to them instead of him. There were some disco lights on the beach but after further investigation and finding they were just for show and didn’t actually represent a disco we all called it a night.
Day 9
So today was the day that led Lucy and I to be in Costa Rica in the first place to see my spirit animal. It was S Day. Sloth Sanctuary Day. We had seen some the day before at the Jaguar Sanctuary but this was going to be exclusively sloths. After realising how bad our hangovers were and having a quick breakfast, we headed into town to find the bus that would drop us off right outside the sanctuary. Various things got in the way of this running smoothly. First off, after 5 minutes into the walk Lucy realised she left the booking confirmation form back at the hostel and had to go back to get it. I carried on to get the bus tickets. The second thing to go wrong was that we failed to check the bus times and missed one by 8 minutes and of course the buses are never late when you need them to be. Without much thought I bought tickets for the next bus that would get us there in time to be very late for the tour. Lucy pointed this out in a very “what was going through your head to do such a stupid thing” attitude, toned down a little bit to protect my feelings. Of course she was right and what made it worse was that they couldn’t be refunded or exchanged for return tickets from the sanctuary. Normally that would have crippled my mood for the rest of the day as I mentally punished myself for being a twat by making a very human mistake, but today was sloth day. We didn’t have time for that crap. So another method of arrival had to be found. A taxi with a price negotiated by Lucy was to be our chariot. After the ticket blunder, Lucy decided I was too irresponsible to be part of the process and I was relegated to the bench. For those unaware, taxis in Costa Rica are red, they have a taxi sign on the top that says “taxi”, a meter and radio inside connected to an unnecessarily large aerial on the boot lid. Our “taxi” was silver with none of the tell tail signs that it was official. That is because it wasn’t. It was just some bloke’s car personal car that looked like it had led a hard life similar to that of a cold war communist block pack horse. For all we knew it could have been another Taken situation and if it was, he was not very good at it because we were dropped off at the sanctuary with plenty of time.
We splashed out for the Insider Tour which included some behind the scene bits the normal tour didn’t involve as well as lunch. While we waited for it to start while having a cup of tea in the company of Buttercup, the resident lunch time sloth and watched a dozy bat that kept flying into a ceiling fan. He was fine. Our tour guide was the grandson of Judy Avery-Arroyo who founded the centre back in 1997 with Buttercup being the first sloth. The tour started with a canoe trip down a small river spotting wildlife like a small caiman and three bats all cwtched up under a log stretched across the water. The most interesting part I thought was learning about banana tree flowers. On a whim I asked if they would let me paddle the boat and they did!
After lunch with Buttercup and the four Australians also doing the Insider tour it was finally time to meet the rest of the sloths. We started with the hospital area and all the sloths in different stages of being released. Then it was upstairs to the nursery. A room full of baby sloths, you can only imagine the reaction. As we were there one of the carers came up because it was feeding time. More jaw dropping cuteness. I did ask if they counted them all after we left to make sure none of us snuck one into our bags. They didn’t so that was an opportunity missed. After a tough goodbye to the babies we headed to the final part of the tour in the educational section and it was certainly educational. After it finished, we waited at the bus stop with one of the Australian couples until their bus turned up and then they were replaced shortly after by an English couple who had just finished the normal tour. They were very envious of our experience and I advise you if you ever get the chance to go to the sanctuary to splash out a bit more for the insider tour.
Back at Rocking J’s we cooked ourselves dinner and I managed to cover myself in dirt and grease from a kitchen where I would advise you to clean the communal cooking equipment before actually using them. The war paint I gave myself took a while to get off in the unheated shower, which I’m sure didn’t help. Our plan to go out and try again to find a bar with more than the bartender in it resulted in us just drinking at the hostel and playing more cards. I was starting to become a mild challenge to Lucy at snap by this point, in the same way that having to step over a stick in the middle of a path adds a challenge to you everyday walker. It slows them down for a brief second before being instantly forgotten about. Great metaphor I know but the stick was growing bigger with every game. Marcelo and Gerado joined us and we taught them how to play snap, and then Irish snap and then started playing Irish snap in Spanish. Gerado’s English was limited. It was a great addition as it slowed Lucy down to the point where the rest of us could compete on an equal level. The Argentinians learnt a new game and Lucy learnt Spanish numbers. We played close to three hours before we called it a night and it was one of the best nights we had out there. All good things had to come to an end which was reinforced by our return to San Jose the following day.
Day 10
It was our last day in Puerto Viejo and as the destination was the dreaded San Jose again, we opted for the last bus which left at 4pm so we could make the most of where we were. We packed, had breakfast and went to the beach. It was the first proper tanning session of the trip. We managed to find a spot just down the path from the hostel which we had to our selves apart from a troop of howler monkeys who decided to have their lunch above us. During our time in Puerto Viejo we never actually went swimming in the Caribbean but we sat in it.
After a couple hours of soaking in the sun and playing with hermit crabs it was back to the hostel for a shower, a snack and the walk to catch the bus. As bus rides go it was very straight forward, I even managed to have a nap. When I woke up my mood had completely changed. I felt more tired than before I had my nap, I felt irritable and then realised I had burnt my back on the beach and poor Lucy had to put up with me. We took Marco’s advice of getting a taxi away from the bus terminal where all the taxi vultures were waiting for all the tourist to get off the bus. We decided to have a change of scenery this time and chose to stay at Casa Ridgeway. It was nice enough but the problem we had was the lady who ran the place didn’t speak a word of English, which I thought was a bit daft for someone running a hostel, and my Spanish was not up to the task. This went well with the mood I was in. It could have been a lot worse. The girl in the room next to ours seemed to be confronting her, what I can only assume to be her now ex-boyfriend, about cheating on her and demanding that he tell her he didn’t love her anymore. Just like he apparently said to the girl he was cheating on her with. The walls were paper thin so it was hard not to eavesdrop. Genuinely felt sorry for the girl as she was not a happy bunny. The radiator within my back was nothing compared to that. It probably ruined her trip.
Day 11
The night before, as I was forcing Lucy to put moisturiser on my back for the one hundredth time that day, we decided to alter our original plan of going to Puntarenas to going to Manuel Antonio. This was because of reports of the festival we saw online didn’t actually exist and because Manuel Antonio represents the picture postcard image of Costa Rica. An un-photoshopped paradise. We got to the bus station early but the bus we wanted was full so we had to wait around for an hour and a half for the next one. While Lucy was the queen of snap, she couldn’t touch me when it came to the Pointless Travel Edition. The bus journey was like every other and every time I changed seats to stay out of the sun, the bus would change direction to put me straight back in it again. The other passengers must have thought I was a right weirdo. I introduced Lucy to Quizoid app on my phone and that kept her entertained for the rest of the journey.
We got dropped off in the area closest to the national park with no real idea about where to go. Backpackers Manuel Antonio was where we originally going to stay but decided against it when the 2km distance, as suggested in my Lonely Planet, between the hostel and the national park was in reality a twenty-minute drive. Luckily for us there was a hostel in the area and one of the local beach bums pointed us in the right direction of Backpackers Paradise Costa Linda. While walking the very short distance between the beachside bus stop and the hostel I saw a sign for another hostel that was the same price, looked better and had a pool. I wanted to have a look for it which Lucy was a little reluctant to do because she thought it was the same place as they both had “backpacker” in the name. Stupid argument but I kept my mouth shut and let it slide. We had been getting on so well until this point so there was no sense in ruining it now. Regardless of who was right we were unable to find it so checked ourselves into Costa Linda. The rooms defined basic but were clean, the on-site restaurant was popular because of the portion sizes, cheap prices and was the only place we had come across that included all taxes and service charge in the price so we didn’t have to do extra maths when eating out. The only negatives were the toilets. Ones in a Siberian gulags would have got a better TripAdvisor review than these.
I was starving so in our traditional fashion we threw the bags in the room and went to see what this small little area could offer us. Not much as it turns out but we chose the one on the corner of the main road and the street our hostel was on and we choose well as it was having a happy hour on passion fruit daiquiris. It wasn’t the best idea on an empty stomach. The food was good, the daiquiris were great. As we rushed back to the hostel to grab towels before the sun dipped below the sea, we got very distracted by a troop of squirrel monkeys loitering outside the restaurant. They attracted quite the crowd. We missed the sunset but there was still a beautiful glow beyond the horizon and the sea was incredibly warm. The novelty of that never wore off. The beach itself was quite impressive as well. It was long, fringed with palm tress and had an unnerving number of people wielding machetes walking around along signs warning swimmers of crocodiles at the end closest to the national park. The HSE back home would have a fit.
We had some very exposing showers and dinner back at Costa Linda then returned to the beach to see if there were any signs of life. There was none. To find the party we needed to get a bus to Quepos where all the bars were which we were a little reluctant to do. There were a few locals around a bonfire on the beach and thought if we walked a casual distance past them we might get invited to join in. We were not. Disappointed we returned to the hostel for an earlier night than planned but it meant we could get to the national park earlier the following morning.
Day 12
The early start never took off. Lucy wasn’t feeling very well with some kind of stomach bug and her sleep was disrupted by loud noises during the night. I was completely oblivious to these supposed noises. As she tried to sleep it off during the morning, I started the book I brought with me, Peter Moore’s Vroom With a View. I didn’t want to put it down. With the book in hand and a furnace on my back I was quite happy to spend some time relaxing out of the sun. I might have even have had a quick nap myself. We briefly left the room to walk to the shops by the beach to find something we could eat back in the room that Lucy could manage. The mention of yoghurt had Lucy dashing back to be sick. I took my time and had a look in the souvenir shops for something interesting. There was nothing I wanted or could justify getting, not even the overly priced sloth toy. We had our packed lunch in the room, then Lucy went back to sleep and I went back to my book. To some this may sound like a complete waste of a day and they would be right, but we had been on the go, almost none stop since day one so we deserved some down time. Lucy found it more frustrating than I did. Being ill is obviously a bit crap but I think Lucy also felt bad for being responsible for wasting one of our limited days. I told her it was fine but she was still annoyed with herself. We managed to leave the room again late in the afternoon for some time on the beach and witnessed one of the best sunsets to date. We had a quick swim, walked along the beach and watched as the sky changed through every shade of red, yellow and orange on the Dulux colour chart before becoming the deepest of blues.
Lucy wanted to have dinner back at the place we had lunch the day before, she didn’t trust the food at the hostel. The waiter from the day before recognised us so the service was good but he could not magic up Happy Hour for me. We got our torches out on our phone for the walk back in the hope we could find, spiders, lizards and snakes in the bushes. We found nothing, so you guessed it, we went back to the hostel, Lucy had an early night and I read my book.
Day 13
My turn to have a disrupted nights sleep by what sounded like a herd of zombies outside in the early hours of the morning. I really needed to pee but also wanted to keep my brain intact so crossed my legs until I could be bothered to find a suitable weapon. Lucy’s wash kit was big enough to concuss an elephant seal so I took that with me. As it turns out they weren’t flesh addicts who had never seen the sun but were actually howler monkeys.
Lucy was feeling better so we walked down the road to the Manuel Antonio National park. It was a good thing it was in walking distance as driving and parking down the narrow road towards the entrance looked stressful. During the walk we nearly signed ourselves up to a tour but decided against it for several reasons. 1. To save money. 2. So we could walk around at our own pace. 3. The tour guides stop to look at wildlife so if we saw groups stopping, we could just stop where they were and look in the direction the guide was pointing. This wildlife spotting thing was easy anyway, at the entrance there were two iguanas, a beetle with funky legs and a grasshopper, the size of my forearm, which looked fake. Apart from the wildlife, the main attraction of the park are the beaches, which although busy are just how you would imagine your standard issue paradise beach. We managed to acquire some prime real estate under the shade of the trees that contour the sea, which my back was thankful for. Had it been Christmas I could have replaced Rudolf at the front of Santa’s sleigh if I faced the other way. It was also close enough to the water where we could go for a swim without worrying about our effects left on the beach.
After a large family (in both senses of the word) tried to invade our territory and were sent packing, Lucy and I went for a walk down the beach and around the peninsula. We arrived on the beach at the other side of the peninsula which in my view was much better than the one we spent our time on. Mainly because there were fewer people. One thing that made the beach more interesting was the white-faced capuchin monkeys investigating bags left unattended and the soap opera style dramas of the park rangers arguing with people feeding them. Strangely they were all stupid locals, not stupid tourists. As we left the park, we noticed the gigantic grasshopper was not where we left him so maybe it was real.
We were heading to Montezuma the next day so to make our lives easier we headed up the road to Quepos, the main town in the area, as it would be easier to get a bus straight from there to Jaco where we would catch our boat across to the Nicoya Peninsula. We were clever about it this time as we booked our bus tickets for the next morning as soon as we got to Quepos. We stayed at the Wide Mouth Frog Backpackers in a private room as that is all they had left. The first thing to do was the standard bag drop, quickly followed by the second which was to jump in the pool. I was due to have lifeguard training shortly after my return home so I practiced support tows and spinal rescues on Lucy who shares a striking resemblance to Cousin It from the Addams Family when her hair is wet. A salvage operation to recover Lucy’s lost ear ring, a chat to a poolside American about his travels and another cold shower later we left the hostel for a wander. It was suggested to us that there was a local food market going on by the waterfront which we thought strange considering it was fast approaching early evening. Our suspicions were confirmed upon arrival due to an absence of market stalls. We carried on down the waterfront for a bit of a stroll past various groups of youths. They were easily identifiable as different tribes. You had the skaters, the BMX bikers, the dancers and the ones who couldn’t do any of those things. As we were about to cross a bridge to a slightly less well-lit part of town, we noticed something very odd in the water. It looked like a cross between a turtle and a jellyfish. For all we knew it could have been an alien or a plastic bag but it was too dark to tell. We nearly finished crossing the bridge when we decided to turn back as it looked a little too dodgy for us and noticed the plastic bag thing had swum away.
As it was Valentine’s Day and the only thing I would be spooning in Costa Rica (or back home) would be a tub of ice cream, I treated myself to a large bottle of Pilsen beer to go with dinner. As we started cooking we realised we forgot some ingredients so I returned to the shop around the corner to fetch the forgotten items only to be divebombed by what I thought was a bat. Turns out it was a grasshopper the size of my forearm. After dinner we moved upstairs to the roof terrace. Other guests were lounging on sofas or hammocks watching what looked like the Costa Rican version of 24. We were up there for just over an hour talking about everything under the sun and watching a girl’s football match on a football pitch in the distance as I slowly drank myself into a state of deceptive drunkenness. It was a lovely evening.
Day 14
Getting from Manuel Antonio to Montezuma was the only really, but minor, disagreement Lucy and I had during the trip. I wanted to take the various forms of public transport. It would take longer but it was cheap which was a very appealing prospect for someone who’s earnings weren’t much to be admired. Lucy earned a lot more than me and was happy to opt for the more expensive but quick speed boat from Jaco. She did very kindly offer to pay for my ticket, but that was something I could not allow on multiple levels. Lucy eventually won the debate by pointing out the speed boat would offer opportunities to see sea turtles and dolphins. The meeting point for the speed boat was a bakery in Jaco and it wasn’t hard to point out other travellers waiting to be picked up.
On the minibus we got talking to Ameir and Hamed, two Iranians who live and work in America and had done for a while based on the strength of their accents, and Ashley, Hamed’s half Swedish/Lebanese girlfriend. They didn’t have long left in Costa Rica but were finishing in style by renting a beach house just outside Montezuma for a couple of days.
Shortly after getting on the minibus we were informed, because the sea conditions were too rough, we would be taking the public ferry from Puntarenas. Apart from another airconditioned mini bus waiting for us at the other end rather than a public bus, we were doing the method I wanted to do but paying over double the price for it. Lucy was feeling quite sick again and bringing that up would not have helped. We sat on the top deck next to what appeared to be the only speaker on the boat, blasting out cheesy Latin American pop music which was bound to make Lucy feel better. Next to us was a group of American school girls who where on their Spanish class field trip. Had I known that is what they got to do in language subjects I may have tried a little harder to learn one. We eventually moved to the other side of the ferry where there was no speaker and a refreshingly cool breeze in the shade. Back on the air-coned mini bus for the final leg to Montezuma. On this section of the journey we sparked up a conversation with James and Lee, an English couple who had been travelling around Costa Rica for a while and were heading to a fancy hotel just outside of Montezuma. When we got to Montezuma we said goodbye to James and Lee and arranged to meet up with the Iranians at Chico’s Bar later on that evening. Hotel Lucy was an accommodation contender for obvious reasons but didn’t review well in the guide book so we decided to stay somewhere else. On the way to our selected hostel Lucy found great enjoyment in me confidently declaring I knew where I was going only for the Lonely Planet to fail me with its maps again. We weren’t convinced where we were going so asked for directions outside of Downtown Montezuma Hostel and to make life easy we decided just to stay there. The place was owned by Elena, a Russian who spent time learning yoga in Israel before moving to Costa Rica. The place was small but clean and friendly and even though Montezuma was small it was in a great location.
You will never guess what we did next? That’s right, you got it, we dumped the bags and headed out. We tried to visit a bunch of butterfly gardens but failed every time so this was our last chance. It was also near a waterfall so double rainbow right there. It was this excursion that set my life on the path of hunting down whoever is in charge of the Lonely Planet maps and put them through an equivalent amount of suffering. What the map suggested would be a 10-minute walk to the gardens was closer to 40 up a very steep hill. After a muay thai class I did in Thailand it was possibly the sweatiest I have ever been. We required a couple stops up the hill but eventually found ourselves opposite the gardens which was part of a Mariposario Montezuma B&B run by two rather attractive girls only wearing baggy vests. It was great. Refreshing beverage in hand and we were pointed towards the entrance of the gardens. The place was teeming with massive blue ones we hand only got rare passing glimpses of in the wild, along with a selection of other species. The place also had its own education, research and nursery block. It wasn’t the largest place on earth so we walked round it a couple of times just in case we missed something and its amazing how much more catches your eye the second time round.
It was a narrow, twisting path that led the way to the waterfall through dense vegetation. I felt like a Spanish conquistador, minus the language ability. We made friends at the waterfall with two Americans and one of their Costa Rican girlfriends. They worked in software for mobile phones and were on a business trip to one of their offices in San Jose and got distracted. One of them was an absolute nutter and continued to jump from higher and higher ledges up the waterfall into the pool bellow. The more sensible of the Americans and I chose to jump from more modest heights. The pond was deep. Very deep. So deep in fact that the nutter threw a full bottle of whiskey to his friend and it sank to an unreachable depth. He was not impressed but they still had a bottle of wine they were happy to share.
We cooked ourselves a dinner of pasta and chicken dippers before heading to Chico’s. Just outside the bar was a bustling night market with most of the vendors selling slight variations of the same things. One of the vendors did have a really nice hummingbird necklace that I considered getting Lucy but passed on it thinking if she was back again the following night I would probably get it. She was not as it was a weekend market only and I kicked myself for not getting it at that moment. I didn’t have to get Lucy anything (a trip with me is gift enough) but it would have been a nice memento and the hummingbird was the animal emblem of our trip. We found the Iranians at the end of the road, popped into the corner shop for some cans then sat on the beach. It was the best nights sky I have ever seen in my life. The Milky Way was clearly visible and stretched across the entire sky. The sheer number of stars was unfathomable and was one of those genuine moments where you appreciate the size of the universe and how insignificant you are within it. We had had a few by this point. We talked about anything and everything but eventually the time came for them to be picked up by their driver so we arranged to meet up the following night and returned to the hostel.
Day 15
The Costa Rican peninsula is notoriously difficult to get around due to a lack of proper roads and seasonal rains wiping out the ones that are there. While in Montezuma we tried to find a viable and inexpensive way to get to Playa Tamarindo (Tamagringo as the local call it because of all the tourists) and from there it was a short trip to Liberia where we would fly home. There was no public transport to get you from one side to the other at the time so most people rented small 4x4s. This was not really an option for us. We talked to Elena and other travellers but without a car it was not possible. There was also a lack of car rental places in Montezuma. We gave up on Tamarindo and chose Santa Teresa instead as it was down the road and around the corner. To get there we rented an ATV but before setting off to the other side of the peninsula we heard of a place down the beach that released baby turtles into the sea in the evenings. It took longer than it should have to find the place and they didn’t even have any turtles. They said to come back in few days but we didn’t have that long.
It took me a while to get the hang of smooth gear changes but it was a lot of fun zooming about. We briefly stopped off at a beach to watch hundreds of pelicans bobbing around and divebombing the water before missing the turning for Santa Teresa and ending up at the start of the Nicoya Peninsula National Park. As we looked at the map to work out where we went wrong, a Tico couple were loitering by the entrance on their bike. They revved their engine a couple of times to set off the howler monkeys resting above us we would have otherwise have missed. Lucy then gave driving the ATV a go. She picked up the smooth gear changing quickly but proceeded to hit every pot hole we came across. We swapped round again when we got to the Santa Teresa turn off. Lucy was glad for this as the road (I use the term loosely) looked more like a series of craters that had been linked together through the jungle. I quite enjoyed the road, bouncing about and taking evasive manoeuvres to try and find the smoothest route. It was a mildly uncomfortable trip because the straps on my bag were a little on the loose side and it kept bouncing on the crown jewels. We did eventually make it to the other side of the peninsula and after working out which town was actually Santa Teresa, we stopped for lunch. We chose a surfer’s backpacking hostel much to Lucy’s pleasure ogling over all the skinny surfer boys. I didn’t see it myself, they needed more meat on their bones. We got chatting to a guy from England who worked there with his brother. They were looking at setting up their own surfers’ hostel as Santa Teresa was rumoured to be the next big thing in Costa Rican tourism. When I finally dragged Lucy away from the anorexic hippies we went to the beach. I had never seen a beach that big before. It was wide and stretched further than the eye could see. It could have been because of its size but it didn’t appear to be that busy. Even still we took it in terns to swim. We watched the surfers, danced to Rhianna on the iPod and watched another spectacular sunset. We stayed for a few minutes after the sun fell below the horizon and then thought it wise to get some of the road under our belt before we lost the light completely. Driving in the dark concerned us both so Lucy opted to drive first while we still had a “proper” road. She still hit every pot hole. We miraculously managed to find the road back through the jungle towards Montezuma. Halfway down the road I stopped as I was in desperate need to adjust my bag straps to protect the boys downstairs from what was starting to feel like permanent damage but quickly got moving again as there were some weird animal noises coming from the dark depths of the jungle that freaked us both out. I forced Lucy back into the driving seat so she could have a go fording rivers and tackling some more challenging sections of the road and she was incredible. When we got back to the main road that we initially thought was bumpy, Lucy took to it like a rally driver and got us back to the hostel like it was all too easy for her.
As we headed out for dinner we bumped into Andrei who we met back in Puerto Viejo. He had already eaten but came along to have a drink. We went to a place recommended by the Iranians. It was a nice place, or so we presumed by the prices, but the food was good and the beer was cold. We found the Hamed, Ameir and Ashley in the market, got some more alcohol from the shop and we all got a lift back to their beach house with their driver. If we wanted a lift back to Montazuma with him we had to let him know by 3am otherwise we would be walking back. It was quite the trek so it was worth keeping in mind.
Their little beach house was amazing and defined open plan living. Tucked away down a small road they had a kitchen with safari style windows that pretty much removed the walls that separated them from some decking, a small garden with a hammock and the sea about twenty seconds walk away. The bedrooms were upstairs. After the tour we sat outside having a few drinks with a small fire in the BBQ pit before moving down to the beach to have a few more drinks and to start a bonfire on the rocks. The sky was just as spectacular as it was the previous night. Having burned all the wood we could realistically get our hands on we moved back to the decking. Many cans down and the conversation were starting to get deep and meaningful and the next thing we knew we had missed our taxi deadline. By quite a large margin. With the distance we had to walk in mind we said our farewells and wished each other luck with the rest of our trips and set off into the night. There were no street lights and the locals drove like they had a death wish so we were a little concerned about getting back in one piece. We were aided by a head torch lent to us by Ameir but our progress was hindered by my flip flop that had a blow out back in Manuel Antonio finally dying. If I had been sober, that journey back walking on rough roads with a bare foot would have been excruciating. We said goodbye to Andrei outside his hostel and then finally made it back to ours for a couple hours sleep in a room that had been a glorified luggage store for most of our time in Montezuma. We had a bus to catch later on that morning.
Day 16
A hideously short time later we were up again, having breakfast, packing, telling Elena that we hadn’t gone missing the night before and said goodbye before making the short walking around the corner to catch the 9am bus to Paquera. If finally turned up at 9.5 after a rather impatient mob had started to form. This caused a domino effect of problems for us starting with the ferry we were hoping to catch was at 11am and the bus took one and a half hours to get there. Due to the slack behaviour of public transport we had to wait around at the ferry terminal till the 2pm ferry arrived. The ferry takes just over two hours to get to the other side and then the bus at Puntarenas to Liberia takes just shy of four and our reservation for our hostel beds expired at 5pm. After that anyone who walks through the door could have them. There would be other hostels but I didn’t want to disappoint the same hostel twice in one trip.
On the ferry we utilised the air-conditioned area below deck we wished we had known about on the way over and may have both had naps. I was rudely awoken from mine by one of the deck hands who took exception to me having put my feet up. If he had a problem with the place looking untidy as a result, I would have happily walked him to the toilets where the real atrocity was. I went up to the top deck for the sunset, now disappearing behind the land mass of the peninsula. I found it quite magical with the light and the pelicans flying as low to the water as is physically possible without touching it.
We disembarked and declined multiple taxi offers while we tried to find the bus station. Other than the ferry, Puntarenas is not for tourists we decided. The amount of English spoken there was roughly the same level as our collective Spanish and we were getting nowhere fast. A couple of shops and a lot of walking later we gave up and flagged down a taxi. This was probably the best decision we had ever made. With our limited ability to understand what each other was saying we just about worked out that the last bus to Liberia had already left Puntarenas but there was a chance of intercepting the last one from San Jose at Barranca. In a style reckless even for Tico standards, our hero (or chauffer to the pearly gates) sped off with all good intentions of making sure we didn’t miss the last bus. If we did miss it, a taxi all the way there would bankrupt us so we would have to stay somewhere locally, catch the first bus in the morning to get to the airport just in time to be late for our flight again. Missing this bus was not an option.
We got to the bus stop just after two Irish lads had done exactly what we had done. They were on their way to Nicaragua with the intention of getting there that day but would have to settle for the following morning. As we talked to them, I noticed a boy of an age older than the socially acceptable age walk over to a girl I hoped was his mother, get one of her breasts out and then proceeded to helped himself. The girl in question was uncomfortably young to have a child of his age.
With a service station dinner around the halfway point we made a rather painless journey into Liberia. We shared a taxi with the Irish lads to our various hostels and as feared we had lost our room at Hospedajo Dodero. There were two beds available, one in an all-female dorm and one would have to be set up in one of the corridors. As much as I begged, pleaded and bargained Lucy took the one in the female dorm and I got the corridor bed. We sat in the delightful hostel garden where I would rather have set up my camp bed to catch up on the day’s events and so most of the other guests could get to their beds without awkwardly having to walk past me in the corridor. They could have used my glowing back as a night light though.
Day 17
Around half six in the morning one of the girls in Lucy’s room left and I was offered her bed which was much better than the corridor, if just for the view in the morning. The two other girls that remained in the room were more French Canadian and the one on the bottom bunk had a pretty face and was wearing a loose top that could only just about contain her ampleness. Breakfast was obtained from a corner shop;,the bags were pack for the final time and we made our way to the bus stop. While we waited there, I was on the verge of losing it with the taxi drivers who kept stopping to ask us if we wanted a lift. I could appreciate their desire to make a buck but found their logic frustrating. For whatever reason, the driver of the first bus told Lucy that we had to wait for the next one even though there was plenty of room on the first. This made Lucy concerned for time as the next one was in 20 minutes. The buses were the least of our problems. When we got to the airport there was an exit fee of $21 that we were unaware of that needed to be paid before we could check in and our queue to check in was reluctant to move due to the person at the front causing issues. We were eventually asked to move to another line that was moving but the guy at the desk would only check us in and not our bags. I could not get my head round any reason that could result in us waiting in a third queue to check bags in when he could have done it in mere moments. Either way we made it through and onto the plane.
After playing a few geography games on the interactive map, conversation turned to our connecting flight in Dallas, Texas. Dallas was a larger airport than Miami and we had less time to catch our connecting flight. We made the decision to be less British in the event of having to get to the front of the line. It turned out we had very little to worry about. Our biggest hold up was waiting a few minutes for our bags to be collected and then dropped off again. The rest of it we strolled through without incident. Big respect to the Dallas staff who were incredibly helpful and friendly. Walking down the tunnel towards the plane we couldn’t believe that we actually made our final flight and that our trip was almost at its end. It was a weird sensation of joy and sadness at the same time. The entertainment system was still lacking sophistication but had enough to entertain me until I could fight the heavy eyelids no longer.
When we finally got home, Lucy came back to my place for a nap and lunch as her parents weren’t answering their phone and she didn’t have a key to get in. They were in, as it turns out, but didn’t have their phones on them so the final part of our trip together was when I drove her home. I stayed for a while to talk about where we had been and what we had been up to. I also stayed because leaving would have meant the end of our trip together and I don’t think I was ready for that. But as they say, all good things must come to an end.
For a trip that took years to come to life there was a fear, at least from my end, that it wouldn’t live up to the heavy burden of expectations that we put on it. What if we chose the wrong destination, at the wrong time of year? What if we went to the wrong places, did the wrong activities, missed out on opportunities or worst of all, decided we couldn’t stand travelling with each other? There was no need to worry. Costa Rica was a trip of a lifetime that surpassed anything I could have hoped for and created memories and experiences that will stay with me for a long time after. It may not have gone according to our initial plan but it would not have been the same trip if it did. We wouldn’t have met people like Sally, Marco, Laurel and Taylor and Dave and his wife. Our experiences in the early stages of the trip would have been completely different. Most importantly was that Lucy and I were still talking to each other by the end of it. I wouldn’t say it made us any closer to each other, you have to be in a pretty good place to risk going on a trip like that in the first place, but I think it made us more comfortable around each other and develop a deeper understanding of each other. And now we share this incredible experience together.
Most of the people we met were on lengthy trips that incorporated Panama and Nicaragua as well as Costa Rica. Some on even lengthier trips than that. It seemed to be the North American version of Inter-Railing Europe for Brits. I’m not sure if they looked at Lucy and I as pretenders, just dong a two week holiday in Costa Rica and judging us for it. If they did, they didn’t say anything. I’m sure if we had the time, money and no commitments back home we would have done the same, but even still we felt like proper travellers. We had backpacks and everything. “Pura Vida” is the tag line for Costa Rica and translates as “pure life”. It’s not far off.
