Imagine meandering along a rocky path and catching a glimpse of a fluorescent green snake with a cerulean blue tongue slithering two inches out of its mouth. My husband spent many months planning our family trip to Costa Rica. It has been eleven years since we have traveled together; now we’ve added a son-in-law, a grandson, and two girlfriends to our group. Spielberg’s “Jurassic Park” filmed partially in Costa Rica, was required viewing before our departure. How else to effectively set the mood for our jungle adventure?
After flying into Juan Santamaria International Airport in San Jose, we took a light charter flight (small plane) to Puerto Jimenez, a town on the Osa Peninsula, the southwestern tip of the country. From there, four-wheel drive vehicles ferried us to Lapa Rios, an eco-lodge overlooking the Pacific. Lapa Rios is a private nature reserve that teaches both the local community and its guests about protecting natural resources. It employs many area residents and includes traditional favorites such as papaya salsa, sweet plantain chips, and seafood ceviche on its daily menus. Sixteen thatch-roofed bungalows each with screened windows, woven wood shades, bamboo furniture, and mosquito netting surrounding the beds, dot this habitat constructed in a lowland tropical rainforest. I am writing by candlelight listening to the drumming rain, the howler monkeys, screaming macaws, and the Pacific lapping against the shore. We are visiting during the rainy season, which means occasional evening rain and muddy roads, but also thick greenery and blooming flowers.
My youngest son says that it’s like “Swiss Family Robinson”; his girlfriend thanks us for inviting her to this amazing place. My daughter describes our huts as camping with comfortable mattresses and bathrooms with outdoor showers overlooking palm trees and hibiscus. We exclaim over this untouched natural environment free from cell phones, e-mail, and land phones. Each day, we can choose hikes with knowledgeable guides, languish by the pool, trek down to the beach, or read in a hammock.
On our first morning, we hike over a rugged road with slippery rocks to the trailhead in the rainforest. We leave footprints in the thick red clay as we observe long roots reaching down from overhead, squirrel monkeys, spider monkeys, a sloth, and a hawk. My grandson sleeps peacefully in his infant carrier as his dad walks up and down. We marvel over giant mahogany trees and colorful toucans. Our guide, Edwin, explains the medicinal value of many of the trees. Boiling avocado leaves alleviates high blood pressure. The sap from the cow milk tree is similar to soothing calamine when rubbed on itchy skin. Later we enjoy the beach, which looks similar to the setting for the movie, “South Pacific”. There is no debris from humans: just coconut shells, hermit crabs, pieces of white shells, and small pebbles.
One evening some of us join a “night walk” which takes us down the steep beach road onto a stairway leading to a river. We wear rubber boots for snake and water protection and hold onto our flashlights and walking sticks. We cannot grab onto the handrails along the way because scorpions like to climb on them at night. It starts to rain, so we must avoid slick tree roots and rocks. We carefully shine flashlights while we look for jaguar and puma; our winding pace forces us to slow down. Our guide, Danielo, carries a machete. We see grasshoppers, sleeping birds, freshwater shrimp in the river, spiders, and tarantulas. We hear the chirping of bats and the constant clink-clink of dink frogs. My oldest son compares the sounds these frogs make to a blacksmith hammering with an anvil.
After four nights in this magical destination, it is time to move on. I awake to an argument between a howler monkey and a squirrel. I smell lime, mint, and aloe and feel the heat of the sun that comes after a refreshing rain. At breakfast, I drink mango juice and taste corn tortillas with my scrambled eggs. I see a coati (a raccoon-like animal) scrambling on a branch and continue to marvel over the “bird of paradise” flowers in striking shades of orange and magenta. We’re packing to leave the jungle and head to Playa Tamarindo, an area of beaches well known for surfing. We fly to Tamarindo and drive a short distance to our hotel, Cala Luna. Here there are phones and even a cranky computer in the front office. We’re not sure we want this possibility of contact with the outside world, but we like the ability to explore a town.
Tamarindo itself is a fishing village; a settlement of mud-spattered vehicles, huge puddles and ruts in the roads, surf shops, massage parlors, and taco stops. When you are at the beach, you are behind this strip of frontier, so at high tide you gaze at nothing but the pounding surf, the setting sun, and the green hills reaching down to the water. Our whole group rents boards and has a guide, Aaron, to help them navigate. I happily stay on shore under an umbrella with my grandson resting against me.
One morning we tour a mangrove forest in a small motorized boat. We see large red crabs, parakeets, and herons. We snack on sweet pineapple chunks and let the juice run down our arms. For lunch, we eat at Restaurante Nogui and relax around a large round table next to the sand. Roasted zucchini, sweet peppers, and cheese sandwiches followed by fresh coconut pie for dessert costs us less than forty dollars for all eight of us. An important lesson we learn on this trip is the value of dining for hours, sometimes maybe two or three, and letting the conversation unfold. Our Tamarindo surf guide explains that this is “tica” time, a schedule that is not rigid but evolving at a comfortable pace.
Another day, we enjoy a different beach: Playa Avellana. Here the surf is more exciting and the sand is smoother. We stay for five hours while walking, swimming, surfing, talking, eating and drinking. The banos (bathrooms) are clean and Lola’s serves us delicious thin-crusted pizza while we sit around a mahogany table under a stand of palm trees. I find that whenever I say “gracias” or thank you, the response is “con mucho gusto” or with pleasure. Costa Rican people are friendly, and aiming to please. They are enchanted with the baby. At Playa Avellana, we prop him up in the middle of the table. In Lapa Rios, the housekeeper drapes his crib with mosquito netting.
After five days of strong sun and midriff surfboard rashes, we’re ready to fly back to San Jose for our last night in Costa Rica. We’re staying at Finca Rosa Blanca, a country inn in Heredia, about thirty minutes from San Jose. The inn is on a coffee plantation in a cloud forest that is a rainforest at a higher altitude, in this case at 4000 feet. For the first time on our trip, we have afternoon rain. We play board games, ping pong, and walk through the cloud forest to the coffee plantation. We taste tamales: chicken and couscous wrapped in banana leaves, and mango crisp doused with homemade vanilla ice cream. We hear birds, frogs, and cicadas. We see impatiens growing like weeds, enormous dracaenas, and “bird of paradise” flowers that are bright red and yellow, hummingbirds, butterflies, and clouds seemingly resting on the treetops. The green coffee beans will ripen and be harvested in November.
Ten days away can feel like a long time. The warm Pacific washing our skin has spoiled us, and the guides provided by Costa Rica Expeditions, the travel company that expedited our journey have been gracious. On our last night, my husband sneezes four times. Instead of saying “God bless you!” Costa Ricans exclaim: Salud, Amore, Dinero, Tiempre Para Gastarlo. Roughly translated, this means health, love, money, and making the time to enjoy it all.
