.....
[ Edited excerpts from a journal I wrote in Costa Rica as a present for someone
-- the writing is totally unedited (I just edited the content, removing anything
too personal), and thus is fairly mediocre, but it catches the spirit of a
day-journal. I hope you enjoy it -- I typed this up quickly, so please forgive
any typos, and email corrections to andrew@AmbrosiaSW.com ]
.....
7/2/99
I've bought the materials for your present -- this nice banana fibre paper
journal -- now it's time to fill it in with the heart of the present, my stories.
Forgive the sloppy writing, I am laying in a hot mineral spring, heated to a
boil by the volcano Arenal, which is right in front of me, but shrouded in mist
today.
We are literally at the foot of the volcano -- occasionally it will grumble with
it's loud, thundery voice, and spew forth a white plume of smoke, ash, and rocks.
It's hot outside, and even hotter in these hot spring pools -- they are tiered
so that the topmost pool is the very hottest, and the pools slowly cool down as
you go lower.
I haven't quite made it to the hottest pool yet, but I'm working on it -- I'm
just relaxing in this hot spring, smoking a fine cigar, sweat beading up on my
torso like tiny droplets of rain -- the occasional breeze is borderline ecstasy.
My brother John is in the hottest pool sipping on a cervaza (beer) -- he's loco!
But then again, I'm gonna go join him now -- I'll write more after I lightly boil
my body -- I'll just blanch it!
I'm back -- tell me, how do you feel about slightly boiled American? Still
edible, I hope. I slowly eased my way into the 63 degree Celsius water, blanched
myself for a good minute or two, then got out, ran down to the coolest pool, and
dove in, playing in the relatively cool waterfall there -- aahhh, it felt great!
It's time to rewind the clock and catch you up on what we've done to the present.
(The mist just cleared over the volcano -- it looks amazing, a perfectly
extraordinary backdrop!)
We arrived in San Jose a bit on the straggling side -- both my brother and I
feared they might put us in the airplane's cargo hold with the other animals
because we smelled and looked so bad. We'd both had very busy schedules up until
before we left, so we were low on energy, but high in spirits. We met the guide
Ronald at the airport, and decided that it would be best to spend the night in a
nice hotel so we could rest up and get our ad hoc plans together.
After a little lunch, we both fell like timber on our beds, eager for an
afternoon siesta. When we awoke, we were somewhat refreshed and decided to have
a nice dinner at Manala's (for a little local flavor), then off to the Hotel Del
Rey for some drinks and some gambling; a light night out, you see. Well...
As soon as we walked in, a number of the chicas there looked us over rather
intently -- a few even came over to me, said "hola" and brushed their hands over
my arm. What secret paradise had I discovered? Well, I was crushed to learn
that most of those elegantly dressed women were either high-class prostitutes or
were looking for an American husband (and a ticket out of Costa Rica, I'd wager).
Ah well, I guess I'm not nearly as charming as I'd hoped.
I asked our newly befriended drinking companion Alex "How do you tell which are
prostitutes and which aren't?" My brother came back with the translation "The
ones behind the bar are not." Apparently, he knew many of the women as well --
they weren't career prostitutes. He pointed at an attractive dusky girl in a
fetching blue dress "That's Maria; she works at the bank during the day." Then
his eyes roved the bar, and a look of recognition flashing in his eyes "Over
there is Karman, she's putting herself through school." And so on.
It was pretty funny -- I'd never been so blatantly and intensely hit on in my
life -- you couldn't walk to the bathroom without a number of leering looks,
greetings, and the occasional hand brushing your back. It was fun at first, but
it quickly grew tiresome -- I felt like a hunted animal -- that must be somewhat
how women feel when they get all of the salacious looks and comments from men,
eh?
Anyway, we got a bit drunk, and I decided to try my luck at a little blackjack (a
favorite game of chance of mine). I'd been playing a bit when a dusky girl in a
white party dress came up to my arm -- I asked her if she wanted to play
blackjack -- through a series of motions, head-shaking, and broken English, I
determined that she had no idea how to play.
I put a stack of $50 chips in front of her, and told her to ask the dealer how to
play. Norma de Carmen Mendoza (for that was her name) had managed to double her
money (and pay me back the original $50 seed capital) by the time my brother came
over to translate for me. We all had great fun, my brother and I alternating
playing my chips, and Norma hers. At one point, I'd made close to $300 myself,
but the free drinks started taking their toll, and I ended up losing $140 or so
for the night.
No big deal, we had a blast. Norma, on the other hand, ended up winning $150, a
small fortune for her, and more than enough for her to pay her rent for the next
few months.
The next day, we predictably overslept our 9:30am appointment with Ronald to get
our rental car -- we managed to meet him at 11:00am, but even then just barely,
and neither my brother nor I felt too well. We took another siesta.
Then with marked maps in hand, and a quick "thank you" to our hotel for having a
mercifully late checkout time of 2pm, we loaded up our rental car to head for La
Fortuna, which is where I am now. If you can see a map of Costa Rica, it is
north and west of San Jose, on a rather large lake. But before I get to the
beautiful La Fortuna, our rental car and the trip from San Jose to here deserves
from special mention.
A brief break, though -- I'm having dinner now, and we're considering going to
the Discotecha to hear the reggae band, or sleeping, because we woke up early
tomorrow for a tour. I'm having a mango juice, freshly squeezed. God damn, that
was some very freshly squeeze, ultra-yummy mango juice -- they whipped it up to a
froth with some ice. Yummy!
So then, our car. It is a tiny little Suzuki Samurai -- I've nicknamed it the
1/4 Hummer, in honor of the Burger King 1/4 pounder and my beastly vehicle; a
rather strange pair, I'll admit. The best way to describe our car is that
everything seems to work, but we're constantly wondering how long that will last.
"It means well."
There is exactly one major "highway" in Costa Rica -- I don't know what the roads
are like where you are, but this "Route 1" (aka the pan-American Highway, which
stretches from northern Alaska all the way down through Central America, into
South America, down to Chile), well, let's just say that it's like a tertiary
road in America. It had two lanes only on the hills (and then only sporadically)
to allow you to pass the many smoke-belching junkheaps that can barely seem to
make it to the summit of some very modest hills.
Driving through the city of San Jose was relatively crazy -- lanes merged,
converged, and intersect all over the place, and traffic lights are generally
disrespected (if they are present at all). Once out of the city, the "highway"
was actually pretty nice. We missed our turn onto a secondary road San Ramone
(which everyone insisted we couldn't miss), and had to backtrack a bit. We've
learned to ask multiple people for directions, because nothing is well-marked at
all, and people here all seem to have their own creative interpretation of
distance and direction.
The secondary road (it, like all of the other roads in Costa Rica, other than
Route 1, has no name), this is where the fun begins. It is a major road -- the
only road between these two cities actually, but it would be condemned in
America. It was great fun driving through the rolling countryside, dodging
potholes that looked like they'd eat our poor little 1/4 Hummer for lunch. On
the map, many of these cities don't seem far away, but because they are blessed
by "creative engineering", things take a bit longer.
For some roads, in fact, Ronald said to call ahead to find out the road
conditions, or even if it was still open (it apparently varies with the weather)
-- he wasn't kidding! It was an amazing juxtaposition, to feel like you were
constantly lost in the middle of nowhere in the tropical countryside, yet be on
THE major (if ill-kept) road.
When we finally did make it to La Fortuna (after verifying directions several
times, and receiving several different answers), passing through a number of
small towns on the way. Costa Rica is one of the richest countries in Central
America, and one of the most well-developed. Yet the standard of living here is
very low -- it reminds me of how well-off our country is in that respect. On the
other hand, Costa Rica is rich in the friendliness and character of their people,
something we are rather poor in. Perhaps there is something to living a simpler
existence, without too many distractions to get in your way, that allows you to
more clearly see what is most important in life. For that, Costa Ricans are
truly blessed.
Many of the houses are no more than tin-roofed shacks out in the countryside --
I'm sure running water and electricity aren't that common. In the cities
themselves (which, other than San Jose, are little more than 5 square blocks),
things are a bit more modern.
It was nighttime as we drove through La Fortuna, and Arenal, the volcano, was
obscured by clouds, so we headed towards it unaware of its majesty. It was
almost like a magician keeps his trick hidden during the long theatrical buildup
in order to exact maximum impact. We pulled into Mantana de Fuego ("Mountain of
Fire") hotel, and we were in the process of being talked into a room there by the
patron when, perfectly on cue, a loud rumble shook the building like a
thunderclap. The patron said "Ah, that is the volcano." He sold us a room. I
was thinking that he'd pressed a button to cue the sound or something -- it was
far too perfect, and plus, I didn't know volcanoes made noise like that!
Spectacular!
We dropped our bags in the quaint little cottages (another perfect liaison
hide-away, I thought), and headed right for the hot springs. We'd heard a bit
about them -- water flowing down the mountain is heated by the fire on the
mountain, and cascades down in waterfalls of naturally hot water. It sounded
like the perfect cure for our travel-worn bodies (two tall brothers cramped in a
1/4 Hummer for 4 hours means we needed some relief).
As we drove to Tobocan, the larger of the two hot springs at Arenal, we could see
the outline of the massive volcano, with a soft red glow at the top of its
perfectly conical maw, and we could see red lava flowing down the side of it,
like blood from a minor wound. It was both stunning and beautiful, and we were
literally at the foot out of volcano. It was odd driving around in the shadow of
an active volcano, acting like it was a normal thing to be doing.
And onward our trusty 1/4 Hummer chugged, until we reached the hot springs known
as Tobocan. The $15 entrance fee and rather posh hotel built around the hot
springs was our first clue that this was a bit of a tourist spot. We descended
the stairs to what looked like your typical hotel pool with a bar in it -- it
even had a slide! However this "Disneyland springs" (as we later found out the
locals dubbed it) had hot mineral water in the pool, purified, but otherwise
straight from Arenal's summit. We dove right in, had a beer with a few dozen
other visitors, and it felt good, but we were somewhat disappointed by how
sterile and uninteresting it was. Then we discovered the natural side.
Before the hot springs reach the bar/pool area, they flow down a number of rocky
outcroppings, forming numerous pools and waterfalls to bask in. The water is
hotter, and you can climb up under a hot waterfall and receive a positively
wonderful hot water massage from mother nature. There are numerous pools and
waterfalls of this kind, some rather secluded -- I instantly thought that having
sex in one of these hot waterfalls pools would be a lot of fun. I must say, it
is such a perfect place that I've no respect for couples who are too lame to
indulge. It was made for it, there's really no question.
After lavishing in the hot springs for a decadently long time, we drove back to
the hotel, and decided to join our people we saw sitting outside, watching the
volcano. They were locals, about our age, teachers who lived here because of how
much they loved the area. We shared with them some of the huge (I'm not kidding,
you could eat them in several bites like an apple) grapes we bought in San Jose
from a street vendor. Lusciously yummy. They told us about themselves, and
places to go in the area, punctuated from time to time by the rumblings of
Arenal.
We couldn't see the volcano then (it had become shrouded in mist and clouds
again), but several times at night it spoke so loudly that it woke me up -- very
much like long, drown-out thunder, but with more power behind it. That morning
we awoke to a stunningly clear and sunny day (unusual in the rainy season) -- and
there was Arenal, looming huge in our backyard, the view crystal clear.
As if to make its presence known more vehemently, while we watched it in silent
appreciation, it rumbled with its low, gruff voice, and spewed forth white plumes
of smoke, ash, and rocks from its fiery maw. "Woah!" my brother and I both said
in unison. It was amazing, and lady Arenal was kind enough to put on this
display several times that day. What a woman.
We'd decided to spend that morning hiking off the beaten path to a relatively
unknown pyramid behind our hotel (our fortuitous evening the night before had
netted us this information). We set our down the rather obscure path, down into
the rain forest -- halfway down, I mentioned offhand to my brother "You know, the
'coming back up' part is going to suck." He nodded and laughed in agreement --
it was hot and humid, our shirts had long-since been retired, and sweat made our
bodies glisten in the sunlight.
After tramping down the muddy path (I of course gleefully stomped into every bit
of mud that I could, sinking up to mid-shin often, and making a complete mess of
myself), we came to a fork in the road. Here's where the sketchy directions come
in again. John said that the gardener said something about a left fork and a
river -- so naturally we took the left fork. However, it just ENDED at the
river. With a shrug and a quick "What the hell?", I plunged in and started
fording the river -- it felt cool and nice, but it was running at a good pace,
and I was in up to my mid-thigh, so I took it carefully and slowly (and I tried
not to think of all of the things that were creeping up my pants). After pausing
for the requisite "stupid tourist" shots, we made it across the river. There was
no path at all on the other side, but there was a brilliantly placed ribbon-like
waterfall cascading down the cliff which made us completely forget our
disappointment at losing our path.
Without missing a beat, we dropped our packs and proceeded to climb and play in
the rocky cliff and waterfall like two kids on a brand new playground. The cool
water refreshed and invigorated us, but it couldn't wash the boyish smiles off of
our faces. As we splashed about in the waterfall, we joked about how the locals
would say "Que? You crossed the river?? No, no, stupido gringos, that's loco!"
We had definitely taken a wrong turn, however like many things in life, the
unexpected and unplanned leads to the most pleasure.
We had a blast taking pictures of ourselves there too, but eventually we returned
from our vacation to childhood, and set about finding the path again (crossing
back over the river, of course).
It turns out the semi-literate gardener must have meant that if we turn left,
we'll find the river (which he would undoubtably be mortified to hear that we
crossed), NOT that we should take the left there. Let me be clear that this was
not a matter of us not understanding him -- my brother speaks perfect Spanish --
the gardener was simply as lacking of marbles as he was teeth.
We finally found the right place to cross the river (and sure enough, just as I'd
joked as we were fording the river, there was a bridge there), complete with a
huge bridge made from a fallen tree. Crossing it was not exactly for the feint
of heart, but that just made it all the more fun, you see. We eventually found
the pyramid, but it was somewhat anti-climactic. It was unexcavated, so it was
just a pyramid-shaped hill at the top of a summit. Cool to see in its pristine
form; I bet some time soon scientists will excavate it, and we'll read about it
in Scientific American.
The way back up did suck. I consider myself in pretty decent shape, but I was
panting and sweating on the hike back up -- I could hear my heart pounding in my
ears like an alien about ready to rip through my flesh and make a break for it.
It was then that I wished that I'd spent more time building muscle on my lower
body than on my upper body -- both because then my legs would be stronger, and
also because I'd have less upper body to carry!
We showed up back at the hotel looking completely mangy -- covered in mud and
sweat. The patron who'd asked us if we felt strong that day, before sending us
on our hike, must have been rather amused when we asked between breaths where the
hose was.
The maid watched us with great amusement as we hosed the mud off of ourselves --
I even got her to laugh as I sprayed cold water on my brother's back (which
shocked him at first, but he was so hot that his indignation soon melted away
into gratitude).
We hung our stuff out to dry (hell, it's so humid here that my boots are STILL
wet, two days later), and began to pack up. We'd decided that we should stay in
a cheaper hotel in town, given how little time we were spending in the room (it
is rather unlikely that we'd be getting romantic). Following our guidebook's
recommendation, we found "Hotel La Fortuna", a no-frills but clean and
comfortable hotel (with private bath and hot water) to stash our stuff. In fact,
I'm writing to you from there now (on the bed). My brother is trying to figure
out how our water purifier works, and I've gotten the bright idea that I'm going
to illustrate this journal for you with scraps of my trip, such as the wrapper
ring of this mighty tasty Cuban cigar.
Segue abruptly back to Hotel La Fortuna -- we had lunch, and got to talking to a
couple on their honeymoon -- ah, this will amuse you, I just remembered
something. In my shopping for this trip, I bought a pair of quick-dry
convertible pants (meaning that you can unzip the legs, and you instantly have
shorts). They are the perfect thing for hiking because they dry very quickly,
are light, can be turned into shorts, stay clean easy, and are nice enough to be
worn out to diner.
Well, after I mucked up the first pair in the mud and river, I decided to put on
my other pair -- simple enough, yes? Well... no! They didn't fit, not even
close! I looked at the tags, they both said "Medium", and I was really
confuzzled. Then my brother noticed that they said WOMENS medium on the pair
that didn't fit. Ooops! I ended up giving them to Beth (the newlywed), who was
both amused at my blunder, and happy with her newly acquired hiking attire.
So jumping back, we chatted with the newlywed couple, and two British girls (Lisa
and Julia) whom they'd recently befriended. We all decided to go to a local
dance at Los Horcones later on that night. The thought of fitting six people
into the 1/4 Hummer was entertainment in itself, regardless of how the dance
turned out.
In the meantime, though, my brother and I had waterfall to conquer --
specifically a 50 meter high waterfall called "Catarata."
We'd heard about the waterfall, and seen pictures of it already, both of which
only redoubled our enthusiasm to see it first-hand. A short drive to the other
side of the volcano Arenal, over a road that caused the 1/4 Hummer to complain
loudly (we think we picked up a few more squeaks from that road, to add to the
cacophony of the 1/4 Hummer's suspension), and we arrived at the station. After
wading through some rather odd bureaucracy that had to have been designed to give
someone's brother Manuel a job (you paid for a ticket at one station, then you
walk 40 meters or so to another station to "present" it -- why we couldn't just
buy it at the second station is something only a bureaucrat can answer), we
proceeded along a very steep and winding path through lush rainforest, down
countless stairs that would be dubbed the "super-stairmaster" by my brother on
the rather arduous way back up.
On our way down, we caught occasional glimpses of the waterfall through the
trees; fleeting vignettes of the flowing spectacle as the sounds of rushing water
grew ever louder in our ears, and the air became ever-more sultry from the mist
left in Catarata's wake.
When we finally rounded the last corner, and descended the last set of stairs,
this beautiful waterfall was revealed to us in all her glory. Silky white
strands of water, glistening in the sunlight, fell together over a rocky
precipice so far up that you had to crane your neck to see it. These
delicate-looking locks of angel hair plummeted down hundreds of feet where they
thundered in a rough song as they met the emerald pool below.
People swam around in Catarata's wake, as if hoping some of her majesty would be
imparted to them. The water was wonderfully cold, the crash of the waterfall was
so strong it created waves that lapped up against the rocky shore, and a heavy
shower of mist billowed out into the jungle. The harsh, craggy rocks surrounding
the waterfall served as a perfect contrast to the beautiful flowing water.
Ultimately, it is the rigid rock that lost out to the bending, giving power of
the water falling down, becoming carved and rounded because of its inflexible
resistance.
After we'd tried several times in vain to swim to where the water crashed down
into the awaiting basin (it was far too powerful, you couldn't even get close to
matter how hard you tried), we reluctantly left our little hidden paradise to
hike back up the mountain. When I reached the top, now hot and sweaty again,
gasping for breath, I informed my brother that they had it all backwards: the
cool, refreshing waterfall should be at the TOP of the mountain, so you can enjoy
it when you need it the most!
I've decided that when I run out of room in this journal, your story ends --
you'll have to hear the rest of it from me on the phone. I must shower and sleep
now, we wake up early tomorrow for a trip down the Rio Frio, a river that runs
through a tropical rain forest full of wildlife -- I can't wait!
The dance at Los Horcones was fun, lots of local color, and we partied with the
Brits, drinking Guaro (essentially, Costa Rican moonshine, made from sugar cane,
and quite deadly). They were so typically British -- reserved, short hair, very
proper, and with bad teeth. We all had fun though, and saw some spectacular lava
flows later on that night -- ah, and we learned how to Salsa (though very badly).
My brother thinks that they were a lesbian couple, but I don't think so -- Lisa
was telling me about an ex-boyfriend, and I just sense that she hadn't crossed
the line quite yet. OK, off to shower now!
.....
Of course, we had many other adventures. Buy me a beer some time, and perhaps
I'll tell you some.
Andrew Welch
7/24/99
.....
If you have any questions, please feel free to email me at:
andrew@AmbrosiaSW.com
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| Andrew Welch | Ambrosia Software, Inc. |
| Thaumaturgist | http://www.AmbrosiaSW.com/ |
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