TOPICS MY BLOG e-mail me | COSTA RICA DIARY (February, 2006) February 11-12 |
Feb 11, Saturday Early morning you are free to explore around Monteverde
on your own or join us for a final bird watching hike. Afterwards, we’ll head
down the mountain in time to reach the bridge at Rio Tarcoles, where giant
crocodiles bask in the sun. Then down the road a bit we’ll spend the rest of
the day at Carara Biological Preserve, in time for a short hike and to view the
evening scarlet macaw migration. An
old-growth forest of striking complexity and density, Carara’s giant trees
include 10 of the rarest hardwoods in Costa Rica. The unique combination of 5
different ecosystems converge to provide habitat for many rare and endangered
animals, including one of the largest populations of scarlet macaws in the
country, which migrate daily from the inland rainforest to the coastal mangrove
swamps. This is also a great place to see white-faced capuchin monkeys and
spider monkeys. This afternoon, people who are on the 9-day tour will be taken back to Alajuela (and to the airport the next morning.) The rest of the group will continue south along the Pacific coast to the town of Quepas, gateway to Manuel Antonio National Park, for a late arrival at our lodge, Villa Teca. Up about 5:45. We tote our luggage ourselves down the long path to the office. Buffet breakfast with no appealing choice; for the second time on the trip I have granola. We do lots of driving on badly graded dirt roads, then arrive at a paved road. We are on the Pacific side of the country and we are zipping along in the general direction of Panama. Around 10 we pass a cemetery with elaborate tombs and tombstones and a tree with yellow leaves that Koky identifies; about 11 we have a rest stop in a small town that includes a large soccer field with a school beyond it. About 12:30 we stop at one end of a bridge across a river and walk across while the bus goes to meet us on the other side. Below us is a considerable dry riverbed with a remnant of the river and a dozen or two crocodiles. (One or more iguanas are in trees on the near side of the riverbed.) Each side of the bridge, which at its midpoint is probably 30-40 feet above the river, has a one-person wide sidewalk and railing that is just under waist-high, and we cross the road back and forth between the two sides. On the 2nd part of the bridge the railing is missing and only a knee-high concrete barrier retains pedestrians. I imagine falling over, somehow surviving the fall but not being sure how to escape the crocodiles which, for the moment lying still or moving lethargically, would suddenly rush to chomp me. I’m nervous with the height, but I keep going. We have lunch en route at a busy, large, open-air seaside restaurant. E, A, G and now S again order an extravagant shared meal. I have a tasty shrimp dish; I’m beginning to feel better than indifferent to shrimp. (I ignore the beet salad and most of the veggies on my plate.) We continue on the road. At 2:30 we visit a 2-part national park for two hours. Before we enter the forest itself, we take some photos, and A seems accidentally to delete her camera card; I explain to her that if she wants the photos she should not take new ones because the existing ones can be undeleted. She takes awhile to grasp this, and others seem not to think I know what I’m talking about. A gives me her camera card in case I can retrieve the photos when we get home. We enter the forest. Part 1 is secondary growth; when we cross a brook/narrow river after maybe an hour we are in part 2, a primary, wet forest. I try to see the difference between this and other primary forests we have seen, but I don’t succeed. We see little new or special. It’s very hot and muggy. We walk two kilometers, and though I don’t find it too draining I am, by the second half of the hike, eager to be done. We drive on. Around 5:15 we wait our turn to cross a short bridge with one lane. 15 minutes later we pass a carnival. Sunset is 20 minutes after that. We drive to Quepos, where we stop at dusk to wander about. A finds a computer shop that says it will undelete the photos ($10) and burn a CD ($4) with them by tomorrow morning, so she takes the card from me; she is ecstatic and gives me a big hug. She insists she will buy me a drink as a reward, but I say no; I never like to feel I’m profiting from doing a favor or sharing knowledge. All except Maxine and me are seeking activities for the next day, a “free” day (i.e., Josh booked nothing for the group). We go to a couple of different places. G, E, M and A all decide to rent ATVs. I am startled at this: all seem to have reasonable consciousness about ecological matters, and so I would have expected them to eschew such damaging activity. In front of S I mention something about how polluting these are. She “corrects” me: they also tear up the landscape. I say that I intended that as part of “polluting”; in fact, when I said “polluting” I thought, “I should also mention tearing up the landscape,” but I decided I’d been enough of a Jeremiah. So while I had it in mind, I didn’t really mean it to be part of “polluting.” This is not the first time (nor will it be the last) that S has corrected me when I’ve been inexact. For example, on an earlier day, when most of the others had visited a serpentarium and referred to the “fer de lance” snake, I had translated the name as “iron lance,” and she pointed out that that would be “lance de fer.” I have been both surprised at my own imprecision and nettled by S’s justified corrections. Now, after saying I meant to include tearing up the landscape, I add that I believe she and I agree on much more than she might think. I have the sense that this takes her a bit aback. For the rest of the trip she is both more approachable and zings me more with mock {?] insults. From Quepos we drive 7 km. to the Villa Teca. Our room seems intolerable. When we all arrive, there seems to be some screw-up; Koky speaks in Spanish (or maybe Italian, the native language of the owners) for some time before getting us assignments to the very few rooms still available. Our room has bed lamps that will not stay in place to focus on what we might read. I tell Koky, who gets the co-manager, who looks and delicately adjusts one lamp until it balances in the right position; I sense a smirk of satisfaction with the easy solution to these troublesome tourists (Americans?). The lamp does not move with a light touch, but when I push just a bit more it returns to its original position. It is very clear the manager doesn’t give a shit. I get pissed and complain (who knows if he could understand me?) and want to get him back to fix the lamps properly. Instead, Koky asks for my Swiss army knife and uses it to tighten relevant screws on both lamps. I am pissed that he has to do so—and that he chooses to make nice to the management by doing so. It is the last straw for me in a series of places with poor maintenance and uncaring management. Ugly American indeed! The air conditioning is very weak. The co-manager and Koky encourage us to let it run awhile. I am not convinced but do so. (Later I apologize to Koky for my impatience and irritability. By now I am feeling high maintenance for him, and I don’t like that but also can’t leave alone the issues that are irritating me.) During dinner I get up to check the room, and sure enough the AC is worthless. It’s a hot night and I’m already irritated; the thought of uncomfortable sleeping infuriates me. The office has a powerful, remote-control air conditioner, and at least one of our companions has gotten a room with a similar conditioner. I go back to dinner, tell Koky the problem and that after dinner I want to deal with it (though I’m nervous about waiting); he looks frustrated, eats a tad more for a few seconds, and comes back to the room with me. He seems to agree (though perhaps he is wondering why the spoiled American can’t adapt [as I transcribe this, I think about my issue with the lousy AC on the Burgundy barge and how the captain didn’t really want to fix it; he and another worker did put in a great effort under what looked like dangerous conditions, but the AC didn’t seem any better after that; I had the impression that cash flow was not good for the owners and this was a low priority]), and we go to the office, where a pleasant night manager tries to be helpful. Only a couple of rooms are available, but one has the remote-control AC. It’s at the bottom of many steps while our current room is convenient and easy to get to, and we have unpacked everything, but I decide the good night’s sleep (actually, two nights) is worth the effort. I frenetically throw all unpacked items into our various pieces of luggage while Koky waits and then helps me carry stuff down to the new room. He carries the yellow duffel bag, for which I’m grateful. In the new room, with a bit less freneticism mixed with the desire to to put everything where Maxine would want it, I unpack. During this whole process I am eager to get everything done myself so that the move is transparent to her; and indeed, she is grateful when she gets to the new room. Before long I discover that the door lock is resistant to turning and that the bathroom sink has no hot water. I expect the hot water problem has been there for a long time and will remain for a long time. At least the shower has hot water. (Look at how much space and effort I put into describing affronts like this throughout the trip. It is symptomatic of how angry and deceived I feel by Josh’s re-assurance when we were asking him about the trip. How spoiled am I? I don’t feel I need things as luxurious as Maxine enjoys, but clearly I wanted more comfort on the trip. Perhaps if key matters like the long drives and the exhausting heat and humidity had not been so consuming, I would have taken lodging problems more in stride. Instead, they exacerbated a general feeling of dissatisfaction and discomfort.) Back at dinner I have some dessert I had asked Koky to order for me while I unpacked; I could have done without it. Maxine and I return to the room. I turn out the light about 11:15 and can’t get to sleep for awhile, but I sleep all night without waking to pee. Feb 12, Sunday We’ll hike Manuel Antonio’s delightful tropical trails
and relax on the best beaches in Costa Rica.
Most brochures of Costa Rica feature the famous beaches of this
park. Miles of gorgeous beaches and rainforest
trails are perfect for a day of total relaxation. Manuel Antonio is also the
only place besides the Osa Peninsula, (our next stop) where you can catch a
glimpse of the rare and endangered squirrel monkey, as well as many other
animals. Dinner bathed in the pink-orange glow of one of Manuel Antonio’s
famous sunsets. Overnight at Villa Teca Up at 6:15. a bit tired. We pack for the beach, give all our laundry to Koky (but forget the clothes we arrived in) to take to a laundry. Lousy breakfast buffet. I mention the stiff lock and lack of hot water in sink. Who cares? The ATV renters go their way. The bus drops us at a lovely beach while others go to other activities; Maxine and I have decided we don’t want to do any hiking today. Koky negotiates beach chair rentals for us. The eager guy who watches the place (I have no idea if he really has any official role) puts up our beach umbrella. When we think we’re asking him if it’s too close to the tide, he seems to be reassuring. Maxine and I take turns going in and out of the water. While she is in, I compose a Valentine’s poem; to keep with Valentine’s tradition (on our first V day I had written her a poem, and ever since she has made it clear that she expects one every year; this year she had told me that because we’d be away and because we’d gotten married she didn’t expect one). I scrawl it in one of my little notebooks. It’s not very good but will serve the purpose. I finish a draft during our stay at the beach. I’m in a pretty good mood—apparently inactivity brightens me up. We do have to move umbrella and chairs several times as the tide comes in; the guy who rented the chair re-locates the umbrella most times, though once I get irritated because he is devoting his attention to others. Along the main road behind the beach are vending stalls and an enclave of buildings that mostly serve the beach traffic. I walk to the end and bring back a shrimp pizza along with a Pina Colada for Maxine; through much of the trip she’s been talking about getting such a drink, and as when I moved us last evening, I feel excited to be doing something I know she’ll like. When I go in the water I find it pleasant and warm; I don’t do my usual number of taking forever to get wet. Around three we take a taxi to the hotel; before we get in I ask the fare; Koky had said it should be $2-3; the cabbie says $4 but I have become confused and say fine; when I realize during the ride what has happened I’m mildly annoyed but try to forget about it. At the Villa Teca we go in the pool, not too big but pleasant and always over my head. I stay near the edge even though I know I can swim any distance needed to get to a ladder. Two or three squirrel monkeys hang around the pool; one walks a couple of feet from me. I find something very cool about the presence of these monkeys. At five the bus take us to a nearby restaurant to watch the sun set. Koky calls it “happy hour”; he himself, he has told us, is an alcoholic and I see him always rigorous about checking whether alcohol is used in any food preparation he wants. I have a mediocre banana daiquiri, and Maxine tells me her Pina Colada is also only so-so (she thought the one at lunch was especially good). I have a rare steak (lomo) for our early dinner. It’s a bit tough. This is E’s last meal with us; he will be leaving in the morning. A has bought him a t-shirt, and when I find out I make sure Maxine and I chip in on it. It says in Spanish a couple of words that mean something like “Don’t worry.” We will be giving up the yellow duffel bag tomorrow, to be taken ahead to the Canal Grande. We think this is because our plane from Porto Jimenez to San Jose will allow only 25 pounds, but we will find out that pretty much all our travel after we separate from the bus tomorrow will require little luggage. We pack accordingly and will be taking only our backpacks and the Hippocreek bag. (We have found that we have used pretty much everything we brought and that Josh’s list recommended. We could have done without our ponchos, our rain jackets—it really doesn’t matter if you get rained on, and in fact we have almost no rain the entire trip—and one pair of shoes.) I get to sleep about 11:15, awake at 3 or 4. As I go back to sleep I am obsessing a great deal. | |