Uvita, Costa Rica

The Dates: January 25-27, 2012

The Location: The minute I stepped off the bus in Uvita, Manuel Antonio was a destination of the past.  In place of traveling 'on the beaten path,' I waded through an enchanting location--removed from the weight of modern day Costa Rica. The beauty of this small hamlet was breathtaking; I am still speechless, wondering how to account for the trance I found myself in while visiting Uvita. Literally with each step I took, I paused... thinking 'wow, this is not real.' There were more birds than people on the beach, and since I love bird watching, even gulls, this was so my scene.

The Lodging: Flutterby House. This entirely outdoor hostel was a stellar 'word of mouth' recommendation by my friend, J.K.H.--currently serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Costa Rica. Nothing beat my tree house bedroom, a couple minutes walk from Marino Ballena National Park. The staff was friendly, and the owner has implemented a system--fresh ocean air and the canopy of mango trees for ventilation, skylights instead of lightbulbs, a biodigester to recycle waste without polluting groundwater, and chickens for pest control--to ensure visitors a sustainable stay(!!!). There was also a butterfly hatchery filled with hammocks.

This place had a good good soul. (When my Panama plans broke, this was the hostel I returned to for the finals days of the near six-week adventure.)

The Book I Read: Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer

The Activity: Talking "Peace Corps" with volunteers. Reading in hammocks. Riding bicycles. Running past the loose straggle of farms that make up the village. Sunsets. Long beach walks. (Day 16 details the action--with pictures--in Uvita.)

This was Uvita.

Matapalo, Costa Rica (Day 9: January 19, 2012)

Reflecting on the trip as a whole, Day 9 in Matapalo, Costa Rica ranks highly among the rest. I slept in... then gobbled up a plate (or two) at Costa Linda breakfast... then read a couple pages of my book... and then became productive, by first helping to pack the truck, the mode of transport for this adventurous day. Fully stocked, after opting for a food and fuel pit-stop in Quepos, off I continued, with Uncle J and K.F.A., to Matapalo. Timing our arrival with the tide, which we "raced" all morning, we wasted no time tossing our paddle boards into the lagoon where we propelled ourselves alongside the dense population mangrove trees. (I wish wish wish I had a camera equipped for water sports.) The fresh water lagoon seemed an idyllic spot for crocodiles--I spotted nada one, however, the fear swam through my soul. At one point, adrenalized, I was doing push-ups on my board. Then sit-ups. Then deciding paddling would progress me furthest away from said crocodiles I hallucinated.

When it came time to test the big waters, I was swallowed up by a vicious rip tide. Round and round, I swirled, no arm strength left to free myself. I love a solid endurances challenge... eventually my non-panicked spirit won out. I climbed ashore, ate some humble pie, and absorbed myself in the pristine scenery--surrounding a full 360-degree vantage point. (There might have been a photo shoot.)

The tide was not behaving, so we opted to saving the ocean for later. We re-loaded the truck and took off on a hunt for coconut water; along the way, K.F.A. went flying off the back of the truck. Safely first(!!!). I sadly missed her fall and honestly noticed she was missing far too late, allowing her to make a gracious recovery... literally running after our crazed driver. Her ankle would later hate her for attempting such a feat, with passenger number three now buckled in we feverishly traversed the network of palm tree framed trails in search of the the perfect coconut tree.

Once there, we stocked up on coconuts and pictures--seriously miles upon miles of isolated p-r-i-s-t-i-n-e beaches--in a second photo shoot.

Our next stop was the abandoned lemon, lime, and orange orchard. Hello fallen fresh fruit heaven. I chomped down on a lemon as we traveled the distance to a beach shelter, apparently built just for our afternoon picnic lunch. Tomato sandwiches were on the menu, dessert was a prime watermelon.

I eventually braved the pacific, starting my paddle board venture past the crashing waves... where I caught sight of a large school of HUGE sharks fish swarming my board, while stranded alone in the depths of the ocean. Hush conscience, must you be so loud. I came barreling in right before one of the most spectacular sunsets of the journey. The sky looked to be on fired--low-flying clouds of red and purple, lit from below with dark gold. This day was called to an end much too quickly. I could have easily adapted to my largely uninhabited surroundings... where the wildlife sighting opportunities were excellent and the beaches were reflective of their mountainous, palm lined borders... for life.

The sole reason Day 9 did not walk away with the 'top day award' was a result of my subjection to dinner duty while my travel-mate was sidelined with bum ankle. This was ridiculous, K.F.A.'s ankled swelled much slower than my appetite... I wanted to join the injured reserve list. And even worse than kitchen time, my co-chef, Uncle J,  was way into the art of cooking and wildly concerned with presentation, more so than this perfectionists was with her science fair displays. The dinner preparation extended to a total time of 1:37:28 and can only be compared to torture. When the masterpiece--mushroom potato pancake with sauteed beet greens and heart of palm salad was (finally) ready, I consumed my portion before K.F.A. photographed hers; my taste buds never discerned if the meal itself was actually delicious.

Two hours late to bed, I recalled a quote from one of my favorite women, Eleanor Roosevelt, who stated, "The purpose of life is to live it, to taste it, to experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for richer experience." Eleanor would have been proud of my ninth day.

Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica

The Dates: January 17-25, 2012

The Place: So the story claims Manuel Antonio put Costa Rica on the map. It began in the early 1990s when an ecotourism wave hit Manuel Antonio, the 'eco-boom' came as quickly as it went, spiraling Costa Rica irreversibly forward into a tourism (sans eco) hotspot. Thou shall not be too critical of dear old Costa Rica, once the leader of deforestation in Central America... these billion visitors have halted the slashing of our much needed, much depleted oxygen emitters. Martha Honey, author of the 2008 publication Ecotourism and Sustainable Development, alleges deforestation has been reduced by 98% since the boom. Go statistics(!!!). What this boils down to is if you bought property along the winding road that swings inland and out to an overview of the expansive Pacific Ocean around my time of birth and you have half a brain, you are doing quite well... if success is judged by financial state. And if you are me, a close replica or a wannabe, you can--for twice the rate of the rest of Costa Rica's dreamy locations--visit Manuel Antonio and continuing marking success by the number of smiles you share along the way.

Lonely Planet paints a picture of the "serpentine route that passes over a number of hills awash with picturesque views of forested slopes leading down to the palm fringed coastline" too few pass up. On a minimalist budget there will plenty of opportunities to stroll this route on foot. I would be remiss not to admit the beaches, particularly those harvested inside Manuel Antonio National Park, are stunning. Manuel Antonio, in short, is for those not concerned with high prices, interested in 'worldly' people watching and guarding your belongings with the life of your travel-mate while you splash in the water, and being pestered with the sales of authentic trinkets and snacks (Takers for condensed milk on ice?). Pretty enough for a pause, definitely not my favorite place.

The Lodging: We stayed on the secured property in "Uncle" J's guesthouse. Everything Manuel Antonio lacked in appeal was made up for by our home for the week. Here is a taste of our treatment: windows floor-to-ceiling providing natural light and gorgeous views, a shared king size bed, room to unpack and spread out--sprawled on sofas for napping, rocking chairs for reading, a large wooden table for journaling, a shower with cold and hot settings, a maid(!!!) including laundry service, and a private kitchen. The pictures will tell the rest of the story:

The Book I Finished: The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

The Activity: The time in Manuel Antonio was spent as I imagine others 'do vacation.' Slow mornings, capped off with late breakfast meals at Costa Linda became the routine. This (amazing) restaurant sits outside Manuel Antonio National Park and packs a killer deal--a first plate loaded with fruit and a pancake, followed by a second plate of gallo pinto con huevos and bread. Plate one is feature below; I was much to anxious to capture plate two, on each of our ten visits. The coffee is piping hot (and unlimited) and the seating is outdoors. The price tag: 1800 Colones (approximately $3.60). I cannot express the number of time I (over) dined at Costa Linda.

There were a couple day excursions--a guided trip through Manuel Antonio National Park,

(Two-Toed Sloth)

a morning swim out-and-back to the settled ocean boulders,

and repelling waterfalls at Los Campesinos.

We squeezed in a run or two in between our beach laziness. Sometimes we even got off our towels to boogie-board in the ocean or partake in a game of bocce ball. On occasion we braked from the sun under a rented umbrella on lounge chairs. The finale of each beach day was the sunset, every one more impressive than the previous.

Mostly we wined and dined our time away. Whether the cooking took place in or out, the speed was always vacation pace... and late. This might have been the reason I experienced my only minor bout of stomach troubles here in Manuel Antonio, luckily I had agua pipa (coconut water) chopped right from the tree to hydrate me back to health. No big deal.

This was Manuel Antonio.

Travel Day

I would be failing you, dear readers, if I did not include the occasional lengthy day of travel. This particular combination land-water-land excursion exposed me to Costa Rica's diversified terrain as I made headway from Mal Pais back to Montezuma, from there to Jacó, onto Quepos, and eventually to Manuel Antonio, the final destination on this travel day.

By sharing this day I will have more time to, first, re-dwell on the fact K.F.A. and I shared a twin bed the night before take-off. And because of this, my day started deceptively early, circa midnight. I must have been up every hour waiting for the night to end. When I was finally "up" I packed my belongings, and had and easy conversation over email and breakfast. The first leg of travel was a shuttle from Mal Pais to our previous home in Montezuma. No hiccups in this pre-arranged transportation. Smile.

Upon a re-stocking trip to the ATM, I noticed funds from my account had been misplaced. The discomfort settled in... realizing I was many hours from internet. I forced myself to enjoy the scheduled boat ride from Montezuma to Jacó. This bumpy boat trip was worth every penny--I spotted some of the best views waving goodbye to the Nicoya Pennisula. I have about twelve attempted shots of me riding in this janky puddle boat; I tried to capture an image that would cast light on the rough water experience. (I am not sure I succeeded, but for the record, when I awoke in Manuel Antonio the next morning, I could not figure out why on earth my back was painfully sore. Geee.)

Seasick and safe, I wandered the streets of Jacó--the quintessential rapidly developed Costa Rican city, more thankful than ever this was simply a one-hour stopover. And by sharing this day I can, secondly, further expound on the transformation from village to city when dollar signs are involved. In Jacó, moneyed ex-pats aimlessly lurked in the streets of this city built-up nastiness. In a game of "What came first, the chicken or the egg?" I ponder if the beaches were cleared for the high-rise hotels, the land was leveled for the paved road, and the fast-food chain came before the Western retiree? Oh boy! With the unending creature comforts... I almost convinced myself to stick around.

The 60-minute stopover had a highlight: BATHROOMS. Yes. That was Jacó's highlight. Tourism perk?

Next I boarded a hot, crowded Quepos bound bus where I used my devil eyes to secure a seat after standing 20 minutes too long. I opted out of the countryside landscape for an afternoon nap, Dispath playing in my iPod doubled to soothe my restful eyes and tune out the bus banter. I cannot adequately describe the aggressive, reckless driving style that the developing world practices despite hairpin turns over the narrow mountainous roads. I do not generally dwell on the negative possibilities of life. And I do not necessary want a safe life. I want a real life, a full life. But... that being said, every once in awhile my heart needs a break from each precariously close multi-car collision... even if it means skipping out of the naturally lush scenery.

This ride ended and I transferred to my final bus of the day, a short ride up, up, up from Quepos to Manuel Antonio. The evening began with an ocean-dip to the background of a setting sun; the drinks flowed generously as I was carried into the morning.

This is a sample of the ease of Costa Rican travel.

Timely Death

On a day like today I know why I am unemployed. I rose early after a restless night, I struggled to finish a routine workout, I took time to chop vegetables for a restaurant style salad, then I migrated outside with my lunch, and slowly worked my way through an over-sized plate during an extended conversation with my mom. For the rest of the afternoon, I hardly moved--Mom came and went as her chores allowed while I sat there on the wrought iron deck furniture, engrossed in a novel. In a few minutes it will be time for dinner. And on a day like today I do not care one bit.

This morning, I returned home (from the gym) to the bittersweet news, my Great-Uncle F had passed away. It seems terrible to admit that out loud, but it is true. He has spent the later half of my life thus far deteriorating--in memory, thinking, and behavior patterns. The cause of death would be pneumonia, not the Alzheimer's disease that took his mind (from him, from us) sometime ago, along with his quality of life. (And arguably the quality of Great-Aunt D's, his wife of over 60 years, own life as well.) It was time for Great-Uncle F to go. Time for him. Time for Great-Aunt D. After his mind left, we all sort of waited for his body to do the same. I have not had the unimaginable task of watching him become a skeleton of his former energetic self. My Great-Aunt D has. She has demonstrated love, in sickness and health--visiting him day-after-day for the past several years; she was loyal to the bitter end. Bitter. Death has a way of making me bitter. Sweet. It is sweet we can trudge on together in peace, knowing he--mind and body--rests in peace.  

Once I became of age for storing memories--his later lively years--grown-ups still bored me, leaving me with few personal memories of a great man. I will remember him as the best dressed man in town. This though is not even that personal, most of Greater Detroit will tell you F.C.A. was a stylish man. Then, of course, more tragically in the brunt of Great-Uncle F's disease I will remember the first time I witnessed his inability to recall his nephew--my dad. To bear first-hand witness to the devastation Alzheimer's has on families broke me. I cannot imagine how Dad felt in that moment... as time went on, or even now. It can hurt to be forgotten by someone you met only once before. To be forgotten by your own uncle--the same person who lived right next door as you grew from infant to toddler to child to teenager--is unimaginable. 

In October I was able to travel the distance to Michigan to close the book, to celebrate the the story of Great-Uncle J. It is March now and I am in a similar place. I should go to Michigan and attend the funeral. I have prior obligations... road-blocking my attendance at this weekend's ceremony. I want to be there for my Great-Aunt D as I was for B. But I need to be here. I needed my mom this afternoon to reassure me I was indeed needed here. Even when the time is right, death has a way of being untimely, for those left behind--for me... and for my guilty conscience.  

(I could not find a place to work this in, yet feel it is worthy to note: Today, March 13, happens to be my dear friend's 25th birthday, marking this the third consecutive death of one of my people falling on the birth-date of another one of my people.)

Mal Pais, Costa Rica

The Dates: January 15-17, 2012

The Place: Mal Pais literally translates to 'Bad Country,' though I recall quite the opposite. People, namely Germans, come to Mal Pais to enjoy Mal Pais; I was one (American) among several (German) travelers up early to seize my tranquil surroundings. This mini paradise sits on the Southwestern corner of the Nicoya Peninsula, a town noted by Lonely Planet to be "famous among surfers for consistent waves." The place has a true Costa Rican* atmosphere--unpaved roads lined with brightly decorated shops and palm trees. The unpaved coastal road makes for an insanely high 'dust count' and four-wheelers racing through the street spew extra dirt particles into the air to worsen the condition. The expansive Pacific Ocean, with its welcoming breeze, lies a mere 100 meters away from this road... escaping the brown air is a cinch.

The Lodging: Cuesta Arriba. This hostel is situated in a tropical garden--wildlife abounding, across the street from a 100-meter long Santa Teresa Beach access trail, yet far enough away the ocean was muted. At $18 a night, the most expensive lodging of the trip, I did not exactly feel spoiled. On the second night, I was confined to a twin size bed with K.F.A., for the exact same rate. And zero water pressure meant no showers. Cuesta Arriba does have a pool--idyllically placed for maintaining a refreshing water temperature--in the shade of a tree that seemed to house a large family of vocal howler monkeys. In a country struggling with water supply and sanitation, I questioned the luxury of such an accommodation. Turn off your brain. Life will be more enjoyable if you forgo inundating your thought pattern with the wrongness of each picture. These were my thoughts as I sought refuge from the heat in the pool.

The Book I Started: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

The Activity: I found my travel rhythm here--motionless on the beach. If my book slowed, I peeked my head up to watch surfers do their thing. Their talents entertained... and distracted me from Blomkvist and Slander... for hours. To open the day, I was content with parading the town on foot. And to close the day, there were sunset beach strolls.

The Thoughts: Multiple journal entries in Mal Pais revealed delirious thoughts. I mentioned (several times) splurging on an avocado sandwich by adding both tomato and cucumber. I noted further downing an entire bag of trail mix to ensure nutrition for dinner the previous night, breakfast and lunch of that current day. My 'travel rhythm' was being defined by an inability--at 24--to feed myself; it was feasible I was lethargic on the beach because I was starving.

Then I go on and on about how clean I was after a couple minute dip in the hostel pool. Chlorine does a good number on bacteria through a simple chemical reaction in water, but since when has the element been a human cleansing agent? I had four weeks left to figure out (a suitable diet plan and) a semi-hygienic regimen for Central American travel.

*Truthfully, I am not even sure what a "Costa Rican" atmosphere is anymore. The near seven-year span between my two trips to Costa Rica opened my eyes to the demolition done to the country's culture, animal and plant diversity and landscape by, my assumption, tourism. If you have not already noticed this trend, please watch it flourish as I am going to harp--hard and heavy--on the human driven change to Costa Rica. I might decide the topic deserves its own post altogether... where I will promise to present an entirely biased argument. (And four weeks left to come to terms with the fact I was a tourist in Costa Rica, for a second time.)

This was Mal Pais.

Montezuma, Costa Rica

The Dates: January 12-15, 2012

The Place: Montezuma, known as 'Montefuma' to locals for its hippie roots, was our first real stop, after a required night in San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica upon arrival. You have to put grand effort in the form of a two-hour bus ride, a two-hour ferry ride, a one-hour (re-enter same) bus ride and a final switch to new bus for a 30-minute ride to find this 'original' gem. Lonely Planet describes the place as a remote location for "hippies, artist, and dreamers alike." This statement is validity... however, you know when a town has an organic restaurant and vegan options on multiple menus, tourism has exploded. Montezuma has been discovered. That being said, the ongoing beaches, more devoid of people the further out of town you were willing to walk, and waterfall attractions made this place my high for the coastline of Costa Rica.

The Lodging: Hotel Lucy. This hostel is located right on the beach--the continuous soundtrack of the ocean provided background music throughout the my stay. As the tide came in, the water crashed against huge rocks, roaring with anger. It was loud in the best way.

The Book I Read: Twilight by Stephenie Meyer

The Activity: Coming off a pre-travel fitness high, I was eager to keep up the routine (as much as possible) while traveling. In Montezuma, I happily took off jogging alongside the ocean each morning as the sun rose above me. The sun radiated heat that made it feel close enough to touch, leaving me feeling overdressed in my t-shirt and shorts, though thankful I was not at home layering up. The sand was not the compact, low-tide, padded surface this runner longs for, instead there was a slanted, thickly coated sandy surface sprinkled with large slippery rocks to trudge through. I incorporated Jillian Michaels' moves as if I was having trouble breaking a sweat, using running as more of a warm-up and cool-down. Before the sun finished rising, I felt accomplished.

I was a bit restless here in Montezuma; I could not grasp the fact I had five weeks to do with as I would. There was plenty an afternoons spent resting on the beaches, the sprawling beaches, however, called to be hiked. One arduous hike to an oceanside waterfall seemed a letdown for the distance traveled to get there. Once refueled and rehydrated, I thought to myself, can an oceanside waterfall actually be a letdown. Short answer: no. Long answer: N-O-!

Another hike to another waterfall proved intense--up and down, gripping roots for balance the entire way with essentially no ledge (please do not slip there are many a days to travel ahead!)--but short. The new shoes N.J.M. warned against packing, were initially not up to the slip-factor challenge this hike presented; they managed this hike and with time progressed in durability. The waterfall was more three separate falls--stacked like cascades. The "hike" out was smooth strolling. And when we emerged out of the dense Costa Rican brush, the ocean views were spectacular.

This was Montezuma.