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Feb 3, 2005, Friday

Pick-up at Juan Santamaria airport, meet early arrivals at Hotel Posada Canal Grande for a brief orientation and a light lunch before we load our vehicle and begin our adventure! We’ll be heading overland through rugged mountains, lush coffee plantations and small villages on our way to the Caribbean lowlands where we’ll stay in the town of Cahuita. Upon arrival we’ll have some free time to relax from our journey and explore the area. Depending on conditions, we may embark on a short night hike looking for kinkajou and other nocturnal animals such as red-eyed tree frogs or poison-arrow frogs. Overnight at La Diosa in Cahuita.

Awoke 6:30 in Madison.  Walked to train station in strong rain (20 min.).  NYC clear.  Called Maxine on cell phone as I’m walking from the subway; struggled with her about what food to buy for lunch.

2pm: car to airport.  Plane leaves 1 hour late.  On plane I have a foofooraw over the “beef or  chicken” question.  How is each prepared, I ask.  The attendant has no idea and clearly thinks my question unreasonable.

In San Jose, car picks us up and gets us to the Posada Canal Grande about 11:30. 

Driver talks with us about what we’re doing and tells us that a previous night he picked up G for our trip.  G is great guy, he repeats.  I have sinking feeling.

We’re tired and go to sleep by 11:30.

Feb 4, Saturday

I sleep in some.  Maxine gives me sweet birthday card.  We meet Josh and a few others going on the trip.  Air-conditioned Hyundai bus will be with us most of trip.  Seats too close together (little leg room), but we will only be 8 + Koky (guide) + Josh (first few days) + driver (Ruben, accent on second syllable), and so we spread out one to each bank of seats.

While there are some paved roads in Costa Rica, largely or entirely on the coasts (but the coasts are not entirely paved), most roads are dirt and uneven—sometimes so full of deep potholes that I wonder if it is possible to traverse them.  Ruben drives extremely well and slowly—probably under 10 mph a good deal of the time.  He swerves from side to side to avoid the deepest holes, and I often fear is going to go over the edge (sometimes the roadside banks steeply down) but I soon have confidence in his ability.  Josh tells us that Costa Rica is 20 years behind the rest of Central America in roads but 50 years ahead in education (or is it the other way round?).  I think, of course, that is the better choice, and despite its stress on tourism I’m impressed that the country is not fixing the roads just to suit tourists.  Later in the trip, when I see homes being sold for ex-pats and know that it is a slow ride over the bad roads from the nearest airport, I am bemused that so many Americans apparently don’t mind the driving conditions (or the relative isolation of such homes).

Maxine and I sit in front pair of seats on driver’s side; later she shifts to an empty bank of seats towards the rear of the bus; after awhile I join her there.  I face forward so that it is not easy to converse; on the other hand, I may be happy to have an excuse not to converse.  Much conversation goes on among other passengers.  One time I hear some liberal political discussion and someone enthusiastic about Robert Kennedy, Jr.  I am turned off. [My own politics are much more progressive than liberal.]

Other passengers:

After leaving Canal Grande with 5 of us, the bus drives to another hotel where we pick up M and A (who will be rooming together throughout the trip), then to airport to get E.  We have maybe 30 min. wait.  Using UBS card I try to get cash from ATM but it doesn’t work; perhaps I have a different password than Maxine.  We will learn later that most Costa Rican places charge a fee of a few percent if we use a charge card.

At the airport, G engages driver in conversation in Spanish.  I’m impressed with G’s apparent facility with the language.

Soon after leaving the airport, I see a large Intel factory, maybe the only large industry I see the entire trip.  In this and other towns, houses frequently have fences, usually metal, often iron bars, sometimes low and sometimes high, sometimes with thick mesh (like fences at amateur baseball parks), sometimes with barred windows.  Josh tells me that wrought-iron fencing has long been a cultural norm.  Recalling the pre-trip warnings on watching our belongings, I think that the taller fences and especially the barred windows bespeak a high incidence of home burglary.

On the plane I started a book on the history of fire, and I continue it on the bus.

While I am alone in front of bus, a vigorous discussion gets going on A Thousand Easy Pieces, which in recent weeks has been shown to be largely fabricated.  (Before we left, there had been an Oprah program with the writer, whose book she had originally hailed, and she lambasted his deception; she was clearly embarrassed and outraged at having been fooled—in the bit I saw of this on TV news, she seemed self-serving.)  Everyone seems critical of the author, and the debate is in part over the genre that should be assigned to the book.  When I say that I think the whole issue is empty and in this kind of thing (as opposed, say, to a scholarly book affecting to set a historical or scientific record straight—though there have been worthy hoaxes here, too), authors should do what they want (I cite A Modest Proposal, though this really isn’t the best example).  This raises a furor, especially from S, whom this issue apparently touches especially deeply.  I make a few retorts to people, then tell S I’m sorry this upsets her so much, then shut up about it.

When I am sitting with Maxine on the bus, G, who is across the aisle, makes pronouncements about the horror of child molestation.  Apparently just before we left there was some newspaper article on a recent event (I may even have seen it), and G has a particular fury about this, saying that such people should be violently castrated (and, I think he added, that it should be done in public, and that he would welcome the chance to do it himself).  After pausing to decide whether this is a point worth challenging, I note that perhaps this reaction is extreme, and G mollifies his tone.  It is interesting how personal, highly sensitive topics come up so quickly.

The bus keeps stopping for animal or bird sightings.  Each time we bundle out of bus, are shown what to look at, take photos, bundle back into bus.  The bus trip lasts many hours.  We drive from San Jose, a little south of the center of the country, northwards and then eastwards to Guapiles and Guacimo (about 40 miles), then continue eastwards to Limon (nearly 80 miles) on the Caribbean, then along the Caribbean towards Panama to Cahuita (about 25 miles).  Several miles before we reach our hotel, La Diosa in Cahuita, we pass a crude police blockade—a stop sign in the middle of the road with a way station on the side of the road.  When I ask about this, I’m told it’s a checkpoint to catch Panamanians who may be trying to sneak into Costa Rica because the economy is better.  The checkpoints are right at the border; on the map this looks like the only road connecting to the bulk of the country.

At La Diosa we are one of the lucky pairs with AC in our room on a hot night (some rooms have fans).  Pillows are mildewed.  King bed with no night tables.  Toilet paper goes in garbage.

We eat at Cha Cha Cha which others love; Josh tells us this will be an especially good restaurant for the trip, so it is a place to spend extra money (of our own, of course).  He orders bruschetta for everyone.  G, A and E start what becomes a tradition of ordering a variety of dishes to share with each other, and they urge tastes on the rest of us.  Typically this will cost them a good chunk of money over the  course of the trip.

Sunday is presidential election day, and all alcohol holders are sealed against use tonight and tomorrow night.  For dessert I order chocolate cake with sauce.  I really want it all to myself (it’s the only thing I’m doing today related to my birthday), but because everyone has been sharing all through the meal, I share my dessert, too.

Oscar Arias is running on a Green Party ticket and is supposed to be a shoo-in, though he might not get the 40% needed to avoid a run-off.

Josh is a very slow eater.  We return to the hotel about 10.  I feel a bit trapped by having to wait for everyone to be ready to board the bus back to the hotel.  We will be up at 5am.

It is probably today that the bus passes vast banana plantations.  Bunches of bananas are wrapped in blue bags against pests.  Josh says the plantations use vast amounts of pesticides which have gotten into the water and been carried to the sea, destroying coral reefs; he urges us to eat only organic bananas when we return home.  This is an area, he argues, in which consumers have power.

We also pass herds of cattle, many of which are Brahmins (I ask when and from where they were imported).  Josh tells us that Costa Rica has a 2-tier beef system: the better beef is exported, the lesser is left for local people.

Josh also explains that the government has set aside 25% of the land to remain undeveloped.  Seeing the banana plantations, however (and at other times we will see other kinds of plantation: pineapple, palm for palm oil, coffee), and hearing Josh’s tale about pesticide run-off, it is clear that major landholders retain considerable power.  One such holder is Dole.

Feb 5, Sunday

We’ll be up before dawn and head over to Aviarios Sloth Reserve, a privately owned and operated wildlife sanctuary which provides a protected habitat for the wide range of flora and fauna characteristic of the humid tropical forest, tropical river delta and marshland ecosystems. The spacious veranda of Aviarios overlooks part of a magnificent system of natural freshwater canals and lagoons which form the delta of the Estrella River. We’ll start our morning with a few hours of canoeing and dawn birding on the river Estrella. This is a rare rainforest wetlands habitat and bird life is astounding. In this lovely protected setting, we have observed 314 (and still counting) species of birds including aquatic, arboreal, migratory, marine birds and birds of prey. Monkeys, sloths, river otter, caiman, river turtles as well as many other minor species are part of these ecosystems. Wondrous blue Morpho Peleides butterflies abound. We’ll come back from our canoeing in time for a late breakfast at Aviarios and a tour of their scientific research facilities. Aviarios is one of the only places in the world you can experience sloths intimately in their natural habitat. There are several resident sloths, including friendly “Buttercup” featured in our brochure.

This afternoon we’ll hike the rainforest trails of Cahuita National Park in search of white-faced capuchin monkeys, dancing blue morpho butterflies, exotic tropical birds and other exotic wildlife. This is one of the best places to see monkeys on the trip. We’ll cool off with a delightful dip in the warm ocean waters before heading into town. Evening dinner in the multi-cultural town of Cahuita with its steamy afro-Caribbean flair. Overnight at La Diosa

I felt as though I couldn't sleep for hrs and wake at 5:10 exhausted.  Koky wakes us.  The bus takes us to a canoeing/sloth site. 

The canoe trip is supposed to be 1 hour but it seems to keep going on and on.  (How much of this travel was driven by Josh?)  I am asked if I would mind paddling from the front of one of the 2 canoes; a guide paddles in the rear of each.  Our canoe includes Koky, M, Maxine.  I become irritated about the amount of work I have to do.  M offers to paddle (from middle of boat); at first I say no, later I let her and am relieved.  I can’t take picture.

Finally back at the canoe lodge (which used to have overnight accommodations), we have breakfast.  The married couple who owns the lodge (he is Costa Rican, she is American, from Alaska) show us around and lecture about sloths. 

The couple protects and rescues hurt or abandoned sloths.  They have some cages that contain sloths, a large lecture room with DVD facilities and skeletons of the two types of sloth (2-toed and 3-toed).  Four caged, orphaned sloths are touching to see, and there are a number of baby sloths.  When nursed sloths are healthy, the couple may release them back into the wild (I thought I heard contradictory statements on this); remembering non-interference with wildlife in the Galapagos, I first thought this was a mistake; later in the trip I realized that a key difference in the two cases is the presence or non-presence of a resident human population.  The couple has invented much of what they do,

I ask about the clash between Costa Rica’s image of environmentalism and democracy on the one hand, the power of corporations on the other.  Defensive immediate reaction: “What about US actions in Alaska?”  (I think of when I visited in Moscow in 1965 and questioned people about press censorship, and they responded that American newspapers, including the NY Times, have their own way of censoring/slanting news.  Then there was the time 35 years ago or so when I said to my French cousin, Jai, an agricultural adviser for the French government, that I hoped he was advising farmers not to make the same polluting mistakes the US had, and he answered, “When we’re as well off as the US, we’ll worry about that.  The difference, though, is accusing the questioner of being no better vs. not caring about/believing in problems that stand in your way.)  I tried to explain gently that I made no defense at all for US actions but wanted to understand what is happening in Costa Rica.

When we are ready to leave, we wait a long time—maybe half an hour—for Josh who, it turns out, is showing M around.  Maxine thinks he is currying M’s favor for press publicity.  He also gives us a sad apology about a kinkajou that had been hurt and eventually died (?) that he wanted to visit.  I am very annoyed with Josh and his self-serving story, and Maxine is not sympathetic, either.

We return to the hotel for an hour, shower, and leave for an afternoon hike of 6 km; it seems much longer, and I am shortly exhausted from the heat and humidity and carrying a backpack.  I walk slowly, shoulders aching.  My lungs and legs are fine, but I plod on step by step with little enjoyment.  I make many sardonic comments about myself, and others express appreciation that I don’t make the hike miserable for them.  We see howler monkeys, capuchins, one sloth high in a tree (G spots its shit although he did not join us at the sloth reserve). 

A mile from the end we stop on a beach and swim in the very shallow Caribbean.  I wade into the water with little hesitation and find the wading/immersion immensely relaxing.  G helps carry some of my stuff across a small watery area until we reach the beach.

When we continue the hike, Josh carries all my gear the rest of the way.  It is now evening (I am concerned about getting bitten by bugs but I don’t) and gets dark while we walk (for no good reason I had packed my headlamp before the hike and use it for some of the remainder of the walk), but for whichever reasons, I feel revived.  At the bus, I flop gratefully into my seat.  It feels glorious to know I don’t have to hike any more.

We eat again at Cha Cha.  I eat much more modestly (filet mignon with mushrooms), no dessert.  When I ask about the steak, the waitress praises it as “for export”; I repress my knowledge that this means it is better beef than what native Costa Ricans get.