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Feb 9, Thursday

Early morning we’ll take advantage of hiking trails in the hills around Villa Decary for for birdwatching and exploring the tropical rainforest, where with luck, one can see a family of nesting turkeys, a species of poison dart frog, the elusive White-Collared Manakin or the distinctive Long-Tailed Tyrant and Squirrel CooCoos.  Later, we’ll pack up and head over to Monteverde Cloud Forest where the bird watching portion of the trip will peak. A privately owned reserve atop the continental divide, Monteverde protects six different wildlife communities on both the Caribbean and Pacific slopes. Among the over 400 bird species found here, the Resplendent Quetzal is considered to be the most beautiful bird in the world.  The cloudforest is characterized by dense vegetation with majestic trees, ferns, bromeliads, vines, mosses and a side array of orchids.  Koky, our guide, grew up in Monteverde, and has helped train many of Monteverde’s guides. His knowledge and enthusiasm is why he is widely regarded as one of the top guides in the cloudforest. He will guide us in a variety of bird and wildlife hikes steeped in natural history of the cloudforest. Overnight Trapp Lodge, Finca Valverde, Swiss Hotel Miramonte, or similar.

I sleep well and am up at 6.  But I have had troubling dreams again.  1.  During an audition with an attractive young woman, I grip her hand with passion, and she pecks a kiss at me.  I think, “Wow, cool in-the-moment, spontaneous acting; the moment is real.”  I can’t find my script.  2.  I watch some new adventure TV show set in a city.  I am in the show, cast for the future.  I try to figure out how I could have been watching the show and yet get into it.  At the next shoot I find I am a side player, and that Jason is with the show, acting but also advising on technical stuff. 

One of the lodge owners says, “You can’t improve upon nature; you can only…”  I missed the rest, but the sentiment is interesting and illustrates the broad anti-technology side of the nature vs. artifice divide.  This is probably typical of many in our group and of many American ex-pats in Costa Rica (though perhaps not those who buy land, clear it, and build homes).  The comment also exemplifies the way we like to make pronouncements of the ideas of which we want to spread.  Do we expect someone to disagree and start an argument?  Do we think anyone is really paying attention, or at least evaluating this comment and is prepared to debate it?  Who really wants to hear anyone with especially fervent beliefs?  And is there a way I can overcome this resistance to my own concerns?

The room on the left is ours; the other pictures are views from the property.  The lake is an artificial one, created by a dam.

Below the lodge in the distance is a large artificial lake that looks real but has been created by a dam.

On the bus I’m reading The Truth of Ecology, intro and chapter 1: so much (witty) sarcasm towards “ecocriticism”; makes me self-conscious about where I agree or disagree with the author (if I disagree, I’m the butt of the wit, too).

We get gas and then stop at a large expensive souvenir shop (with an attached small café) where (1) I see an SUV parked with a spare on the back that has a padlock; (2) I shit and per a posted sign put toilet paper down the toilet but it clogs anyway (I tell the owner/proprietor); (3) I see another SUV with Costa Rica license plates and a “God bless America” bumper sticker.  (Here and later in the trip, Maxine checks out a few things but buys nothing; we will have nothing to declare at US customs.)  I silently wonder about the local natural resources that have gone into creating (by hand? machine?) many of the artifacts for sale.

We drive all morning.  The roads again are terrible.  We go around much of the dammed artificial lake (Lake Arenal?), and Arenal volcano is constantly visible.  We pass sale signs for buildable land and many houses.  As the day progresses and we are hours on the bus, I get increasingly angry about the amount of (uncomfortable) driving; it is nearly impossible (and sometimes actually impossible) to read with such bouncing (in addition to distracting conversations around me that advance my churlish mood).  At most times I know that neither the roads nor conversation should be tailored to me, but it is informative that I can be irrationally selfish these ways.  The difficult travel is interesting for awhile, taking us to parts of the country that we would likely otherwise never see, but had I to do it again, I would have wanted to plan a trip with a number of short plane hops in place of the very long drives which must consume a good third of our waking hours.

We pass through hilly countryside that reminds me of rural England, with some grazing cattle, stands of trees.  Koky or Josh says that 80 years ago this was all primary forest that followed the same devolution as tropical rain forests: swidden, farming, exhausted soil, grazing land.

Silently thinking there must be a more congenial route to Monteverde (a region, not a town), where we are going, I ask about the roads and am told there are just 3 into Monteverde, all of similar quality, each coming from a different direction. 

We take a rest stop around 11:30.  Here there is a church behind which is a field of dozens of tree stumps.

We reach Santa Elena, Koky’s town within Monteverde and park just off the short, busy main street (200 yards long?) in the town.  We see a couple of streets here paved with bricks—seems so bizarre in the midst of so much roadbed that is dirt.  I get $50 from the ATM across the street (later I learn that the exchange rate is so close to 500:1 that it really isn’t worth the effort; but I’ve been wanting to do this since we got to Costa Rica.)  The bank is structured like Parisian ones these days, with an air lock for one person at a time between the outdoors and the bank proper.  Outside is a uniformed man with a weapon—a shotgun, I think.  I never learn whether he is a cop or a private guard.  The ATM, it turns out, is on the side of the building.

Lunch is at a decent second-story restaurant on the main drag.  We are running late, and at least a couple of our group wander around the town while the rest of us in the restaurant wait for them to return so we can order; this annoys me a great deal.  (By now I have realized that most of the group tends to do whatever is in front of them at the moment—e.g., this shopping, or getting off the bus for a photo opportunity—and as a result whatever is planned for late in the day gets short shrift.  This general tendency has annoyed me for awhile, especially in light of having missed much of the hike at La Selva.)  As usual, once we’ve ordered it’s a long wait for the food, and during that time I go to a grocery down the street to buy some snacks to share with the group (peanuts, which we’ll eat; two different kinds of tortilla chip, which we won’t), desperate to be back so that I don’t hold anyone up but also unwilling to sit twiddling my thumbs while we wait for the food.   In fact, I’m back maybe a bit after the food is served, but I eat quickly (but then I always do, alas) and am done before others.  Maxine and I decide not to do the zip line; although I had toyed with it, I have had more information that gives me an (accurate, it turns out) image of being suspended high off the ground.

Back in the bus we pass Koky’s and his mother’s homes.  Finally we arrive at the cloud forest, very late now.  We see a number of coatis at the entrance; they are like pets, with no fear of coming close to humans.

I learn that “rain” forests have very different ecologies.  La Selva was lower down, less wet, and had a richer variety of wildlife.  This cloud forest is much higher, very wet (and so there are no clearing fires as in drier forests), which limits the variety of species by providing fewer niches.  We see lots of secondary growth, some primary.  We climb numerous steps (with which I have no trouble) that are made mostly of bricks with six circular holes through them in two rows, top to bottom.

Koky says it took about 10 years to build the network of trails; it is another example of what looks like labor-intensive work.  Koky is intent on finding a resplendent quetzal, and when we finally see it, it is indeed impressive.  It was never in a position where I could see its head, but the body and long tail are (resplendently) multi-colored.

Koky picked up his car at his home while the bus continued to the hotel.  I said: “OK, Maxine, this is your big chance for a coup de control.”  This got big laughs from everyone on the bus.  Was I being cruel to Maxine, who knows her tendency to try to take charge?  She acted as though (pretended?) she, too, was entertained.

Our lodging is the Finca Valverde, with wood cabins a hefty walk from the main building.  After the long day and annoying delays, I feel very cranky making this walk, and I announce aloud that there is no way we are bringing our bags down this long distance when we leave.  (In later days it doesn’t seem so far.)  I feel I am a child in camp, except that the room is large.  A low loft would sleep a couple of more people. 

This is our first room with a TV, and we’ve seen no newspapers (though we knew that the Costa Rican presidential election was still too close to call—Arias led slightly, and both top candidates had just over the 40% threshold).  I scan through shows, which strike me as ridiculously happy.  Only a few days in Costa Rica and the US culture presented on TV—relentless happy shows over trivial matters (e.g., so-called reality shows, quiz shows)—seem discordant, ludicrous.  The main news story on CNN is the capture in the UK of a man suspected of killing his wife and child; this is the hot headline being repeatedly covered, and the crawl frequently refers to it.  I think: I’m watching Rome decline while everyone pretends things are wonderful.  Of course, it is probably not the US alone that is failing but the world—though who knows which will crash first, a desperate third world or a US in material withdrawal?

Dinner is in a local restaurant a few buildings from where we had lunch.  Koky brings a couple of his kids, who seem charming though one daughter about 5 is very energetic (someone suggests with ADD).  G makes great friends with her and says that he doesn’t ever want to leave here because of her.  I have orange chicken.  Maxine crashes early, and since we walked from the hotel, we have the freedom to leave, which we do.

During the day I switch from reading Truth of Ecology to Coates’s Nature.  The former feels important to know but is very hard to keep at, and I decide not to knock myself out.

To sleep about 10. Wake several times in the night thirsty, pee 3 times.

Feb 10, Friday

After an early breakfast, we’ll head over to St. Elena Cloudforest Reserve. Here we’ll enjoy the spectacular experience of walking on the clouds over a series of tension bridges called Sepulverde Canopy Tour.  For those who are feeling more adventurous, for an extra charge you can don a rock-climbing harness and zip through the cloudforest from platform to platform on Sepulverde’s zip line system.  In the afternoon we’ll choose from a variety of activities, including bird watching for Emerald Toucanets, MotMots and Quezals at the Children’s Eternal Rainforest or the famous Hummingbird garden at Monteverde Cloudforest Reserve.

Wake at 6.  CNN still has trivial news.  6-12” of snow expected in NY/CT. 

Shower stall has a clumsy door that comes off; faucet near floor also comes loose.  No shelving.  Lots of trouble with right contact lens falling out; on this trip I’ve generally had considerable trouble getting contacts in (and they're new ones).  French toast for breakfast.  I say that I’m amazed by the energy everyone has to talk to each other; I get exhausted after awhile from talking.  I am trying to establish the legitimacy of my being quiet, withdrawn, private.

M asks me about the notes I’ve been taking, and I tell her they are serving several purposes, including a record of any bi-polar behavior.  (This has been a possible diagnosis lately; over the coming months it will be dismissed.)  G orders breakfast close to the time we must leave.  I’m very annoyed and call out in a laughing voice that he must eat in three minutes.  He does in fact eat quickly.  E does not show at all til it is time to leave, and this, too, annoys me (though I don’t think E had any breakfast).

We go for the canopy walk.  While others are checking out a shop, I mount vertical spiral stairs to the first bridge.  From the ground it doesn’t look so high, but I climb slowly, clinging hand-over-hand to the curving railing.  There are several landings en route, and I sometimes pause, but I am eager to get to the top before anyone else comes; I don’t want to hold others up again, nor do I want them to see me so “weak” again.  I mount at a steady, slow pace but find it nerve-wracking, mainly when I look up or down.  At the top, I sit on the top step to await the others.  There’s a strong wind, but I feel safe and protected surrounded by the top of the stair railing.  When the others arrive, I stand up.  Before I step onto this first bridge I’m a bit nervous, but once on the bridge I’m soon ok, holding the sides (which are reassuringly more than waist-high and covered with fine mesh) as I walk, actually moving across the bridge too fast—not from fear; I’d like to have paused, looked around, taken photos.  There will be about 6 more bridges; I seem fine on all of them.

We are in a cloud forest, which Koky explains is wetter than lower rain forest and dominated by primary growth.  Hearing others remarking on the fact, I pay attention to the principle that primary trees host numerous species; this has been pointed out on other days, but I didn’t listen closely.

M wedges ahead of me for a picture opportunity—very annoying, especially since here and elsewhere I commonly try not to press forward while waiting my turn to take pictures.  M is not the only one who does this; it must be some crowd psychology manifestation, perhaps like filling gaps between cars on a crowded roadway.  After this annoyance, I find myself having conversations in my head with old enemies and problems that have gotten in my way or might.

On the last span we see several howler monkeys in the treetops beneath us.  I enjoy watching them.  I am less impressed with the canopy effect than I expected.  Sometimes the walkways are below the treetops, sometimes way above (as much as 150 feet).  Perhaps by now I’ve just become too jaded and easily distracted by annoyances.

Next up are the zip lines, and Koky says he is going to run some errands and meet us later in his car.  A little later I see him near the bus, chatting with Ruben.  For some reason I find myself getting irritated with Koky’s breaks.  I admire him but do not entirely trust the accuracy of his information.  (Aside from being very knowledgeable about the areas he has studied—less so about the local culture’s relation to “nature”—he tells us about his history of alcoholism, how he turned his life around, how he looks after his children from multiple women; it makes a very powerful story.)  Rationally, I think he should be able to take time off for himself.  Although he is contracted to be with us all the time, it’s really burdensome and not fair for him to be so attentive for two full weeks.

While the others go on the zip lines for 1 ½ hours, Maxine and I go to read but end up talking most of the time.  We realize we haven’t had much time for such talk; even in our rooms.  I think we’re self-conscious about what others can hear.  But we have in fact talked, especially about things that are frustrating about the trip.  E has given me his camera to take photos of people on the zip line.  I am mildly annoyed because it means I have to be vigilant about not missing them when they come by a key stretch.  Maxine and I sit on a veranda looking towards one long stretch, but it’s not comfortable.  We go to a park with stone benches and humming bird feeders, read some, then return early to our vigil.  When they come by, I try to use my camera, but it doesn’t focus easily or snap quickly.  I try E’s camera, which is a dream—instant focus and buffered sequential snapshots—and I think I do well at following people as they zip by in the distance.  E and others will seem genuinely appreciative of the shots I get.

We go for a late lunch at Stella’s bakery, apparently run by Americans.  Sandwiches are excellent; whole place is well designed, airy, good desserts.  Others are eager to shop, and after lunch, about 4pm, the bus takes us to a high-end women’s artists’ cooperative.  A book is on display with names, pictures and bios of the artists.  Things aren’t cheap, but often very attractive.  Again, Maxine looks but buys nothing.  I am feeling enervated and distressed.

I am in the early parts of Coates’ Nature.  We’re on our own until dinner.  Maxine and I go to an internet café next to the hotel’s property and spend ½ hour each checking e-mail.  Mom has left no message.  Back in the room we want to rest but have little time.  Maxine urges me to phone Mom regardless of the $1/minute cost, and I don’t argue.  (I do think about my mother: “She’ll feel guilty about not have e-mailed me.”)  I reach her; the operation went fine, seemed to be a success; she says she thought I said I wouldn't be able to check e-mail.  We talk less than one minute.

The bus takes the group to the Mirador for dinner because it looks onto Arenal and maybe we’ll see lava flows.   The drive is about 45 minutes, often in fog, over roads that look impassable for motor vehicles and seem to go through the middle of nowhere.  It’s night, so I can’t get perspective on where this hotel-restaurant fits into the landscape.  At the Mirador the fog is low and we can’t see Arenal.  Inside, they have set tables end-to-end (I keep thinking of Leonardo’s Last Supper) so we can look out the wall-length windows at Arenal—but of course we can see nothing more than a few feet into the fog.  A breaks a glass.  E quickly takes charge of cleaning up, trying to gather all shards.  I offer my headlamp to help spot the shards, but there are so many that I say, “Change the tablecloth,” and E leads that effort by bundling up the current tablecloth; the staff does not offer a replacement, leaving the table bare, until someone (must be E) presses for a replacement. 

Dinner is ok, nothing special; Maxine asks for dry white wine, what she gets is not so dry, but they won’t return it “because she tasted it.”  Although annoyed, I have no interest in making a fuss and say we’ll pay for it.  Arlene, E and G do their usual pooling of numerous dishes.

Of course the drive back is as dreary as coming.  Maxine and I both feel this was a wasted trip, since even the food wasn’t special.

I make a general note about the fact that everyone rushes off the bus to see and photograph practically anything; and on hikes people, especially M and E, who have the best cameras, rush to film everything.  I can’t tell how much this reflects artistic desires and how much is compulsive tourist behavior.  Sometimes these efforts seem mindless to me, though I often join in (claiming to myself that I’m looking for either an artistic show or something I want to be able to remember later).