Costa Rica Part 2: Monkeys and Lagoons

Costa Rica
October 12 - 18

On the morning that we left Uvita, our host's parting words to us were to 'stop banging pots and pans in the kitchen' because we'd woken her up. Aw, we'll miss you too, angry German lady. And with that, we were off! We walked for the last time down the jagged dirt road to town, said goodbye to the sloth sleeping in a tree on the corner, hustled with Nancy the tour guide to the bus station. Only eight hours and one bus change later, we made it to...

Puerto Viejo

When we rolled into Puerto Viejo at about four o'clock and stepped off the bus, we were surrounded immediately by taxi drivers asking where they could drive us, which was funny when we realized that the whole town covered like half a square mile. Puerto Viejo is a small Rastafarian beach town, full of Bob Marley cover bands and locals selling weed to tourists, and where every restaurant, every day, likes to proclaim on exuberant sandwich boards that their "catch of the day" is red snapper. Get it while they've got it, guys! This rare breed goes fast!

Admittedly not the best picture I could have taken of Puerto Viejo

As we walked along with our conspicuous backpacks, we were followed by men on bicycles riding idly around and shouting at tourists, "Hey, hostel! You want a hostel!" and "guys, that place is full, come over to my place!" This is the part where we might have realized we're racist, because the first person we actually took a hostel recommendation from was a European girl with a less confrontational sales pitch:

"Would you two care for a hostel recommendation?"

So we followed her directions to La Ruka Hostel. On the way there she passed us again, this time leading a trail of gringos like a pasty Pied Piper to this place where, in fact, she ended up roping in TOO MANY takers. La Ruka had to awkwardly turn away backpackers who had followed this girl on her bike ten minutes past the edge of town.

Like we did, I'm sure all those people responded to her based on her ability to speak nuanced English, which of course made her sound friendly and less aggressive than someone just yelling "hostel!" over and over. Fair enough, and La Ruka was perfectly comfortable and a good place to meet other travelers. But here's the thing -- travelers will choose these hostels run by other foreigners, and then grumble about getting ripped off by locals when they want to buy things around town. But why should locals be expected to cut you a fair deal when you're staying at a foreigner's hotel and speaking blunt, imperfect Spanish that probably sounds just as abrasive as shouting "hostel!" does?

I dunno, just my two pennies.

ALSO, when we asked the front desk attendant for a restaurant recommendation, she responded, "oh I don't know, I've only been working here ten days." Ten days?? A week and a half?? You don't know one place to eat??? Get it together! 

In the morning we walked to the Jaguar Refuge, which is fantastic. This place is a wildlife refuge, where they take in animals who have lost limbs, incurred brain damage or been machete-ed to the head, among other weird accidents that tend to happen around machetes. While we were waiting at the front for the tour to start, we watched sloths climbing through the trees in their little courtyard, and repeatedly falling into the bushes below them. They have volunteer care-takers, whose jobs are simply to watch the sloths and retrieve them when they fall out of their trees.

A sloth who has fallen into the bushes

The other volunteer jobs at the Jaguar Refuge Center involve  cuddling with recovering monkeys, ocelots and anteaters, while tour groups filter through and watch. One guy was sitting in the corner of a monkey pen, his half-buttoned shirt stuffed with sleeping monkeys, their butts poking out from under the hem. So adorable, I spent the entire tour squealing with glee. Here are some cute animals!

The refuge, after they have determined an animal to be sufficiently recuperated, sets them free in the jungle right behind the open premises, so that the animals can leave, but can always come back if they need food. So mid-tour this orange, mangy looking, four foot monkey with visible healed wounds came swinging around the side of a building and just loped right into our tour group, grinning at the crowd like a crazed hobo. He scared the absolute crap out of a little girl, who then started sobbing. It was just a perfect, perfect moment. Why do I never have my GoPro when I need it! #newyearsresolution

A monkey swings over to terrorize children and collect his food rations

At one point they let us into a room to play with the monkeys, who, it turns out, take a keen interest in ear-wear, because they were all over Eian -- grabbing his ears, jumping on his head, swinging into his face. Just a majestic interaction between man and wild.

The next day we hit the road again, this time into the mountains to La Fortuna.

La Fortuna

We stayed at the self-described "Famous Arenal Hostel Resort," which made us wear lame tourist wrist-bands and is named for the most active volcano in Costa Rica, Arenal. We did not climb that one. Because it's illegal. But we did hike Cerro Chato, a dormant volcano whose top caved in and created a lake at the top.

Arenal Volcano from afar

And unlike some other volcanoes I could name (suck it Baru), Cerro Chato was a lot of fun, full of root systems and ledges to climb, and the lagoon at the top to swim in. We went with a Tico guide, who kept sprinting ahead of the pack and shouting "only five more minutes til the top guys! Almost there!" He did this for the entire five hours of hiking.

As our tour group of five young able-bodied adults in our mid-twenties made our labored way to the top, we met a man in his sixties skipping down toward us who, baffled by our red faces and pit-sweat, said, "oh come on, guys, it's only a hill." He was from Switzerland, and according to our guide, the Swiss bound up these volcanoes like gravity ain't even a THING. Get it, Swiss.

Just follow Eian, he knows the way!

We climbed underneath that waterfall!

Because we backpackers love nothing more than navel-gazing discussions of the differences between our respective countries, we got onto the subject of going through customs and immigration at airports. Our guide said that on a trip to Europe once, which included a layover in the United States, he was taken to a private room for questioning by American customs officials, and was asked:

- Are you a terrorist?
- You're planning to kill the president of the United States, aren't you?

The other people on our tour, who were British, said they had been asked the same questions when traveling, not even to America, but through it. I love it. What are we expecting in response to those questions, exactly? Yes? "Ahhh, you got me! I should have anticipated that American questioning techniques would be too cunning for the likes of me!" Forehead slap. It must happen though, right?

Also in La Fortuna was a little waterfall and rope swing nick-named "El Salto" (the jump), where a group of Ticos were jumping and doing tricks and having a blast. We thought we'd hit upon a very authentic local hangout spot, and then we noticed their garish tourist wrist-bands that looked exactly like our own. OH. Nope, we were still tourists palling around with other tourists, albeit Costa Rican ones, so I think we can still collect some points for that. They were from San Jose, and gave us an opportunity to practice our new Costa Rican slang, "tuanis," which is like saying "cool" or "sweet." It comes from saying "too nice" in English. The more you know! Practice it at home and you too can speak like a native Costa Rican!

Merman Lagoon

Me, demonstrating a perfect ten-point landing

Thus concluded our visit to La Fortuna, which as a town we actually really enjoyed, despite everyone telling us it was really touristy and overpriced. Honestly, of everywhere we went in Costa Rica, we found more reasonably priced local food in La Fortuna, and our 'resort' hostel was only $10 a night, which, for Costa Rica is some bargain basement prices. As for "too touristy," all of Costa Rica is touristy, and, like pervasive mold in a humid shed in the jungle, cannot be escaped. As our Tico mountain-guide told us when we mentioned the high prices, "you made us this way."

Before we got down to Central America, our actual plan for this trip was to stay in Costa Rica doing work exchanges for about six weeks, which, in light of how much fun we've had in every country since Costa Rica, and how much more we've been able to experience for the money, is downright embarrassing. This is not to say we did not have a great time in Costa Rica, because we did, with even a couple of stand out high points for the whole trip. But it is to say  -- and this is controversial, try not to riot in the streets over it -- that Costa Rica, just maybe, is a tad overhyped. It is a spectacular and beautiful place, but...so are the less talked-about countries on either side of it.

And so, on to Nicaragua! Let's lose track of time a little bit, NICA STYLE. For real, two weeks blew by and we were like, "bwuh? How did we let this happen? Why are we still on this beach? And why are our chicken and patacones still not ready? We ordered those two days ago. People sure do take a while to fire up their grills here."

Verbatim though, that's what we said.

Thrilling details to follow!

Costa Rica Part 1: Everything We Own Is Covered In Mold

Uvita
Sept 30 - Oct 12

Our next stop was to the town of Uvita, which sits on the Southern Pacific coast of Costa Rica, and where we had lined up a work exchange through a website called workaway.info at a treehouse hostel that was tucked into the rain forest. Below, Eian will recap our time volunteering in Uvita:

After a six hour ride from David, Panama, we arrive in Uvita. The bus ride is like riding in a cramped refrigerator and there's a Jackie Chan movie called A Police Story (in Mandarin with Spanish subtitles) on repeat. When we get off the bus and look around we soon figure out we're in the middle of nowhere. 

Uvita is in the least developed part of Costa Rica. We walk from the bus station/restaurant to the main part of town, which consists of a bank, grocery store, bakery, and a weirdly big appliance store. After stocking up on groceries, which are more expensive than back in the States, we take a cab down a terrible dirt road to our hostel. The road is so bad that drivers charge four dollars just to take you on this five minute drive. We get to our hostel and are taken aback. The hostel is a huge treehouse with a beautiful terrace overlooking jungle all around. There's a waterfall nearby. Minutes after arriving, a howler monkey family starts screeching just one tree away. Our plan is to stay for three weeks, and we're thinking this will be perfect.

The owners are two German ex pats with a two year old daughter. The first thing they say to us is, "you won't be as good as our last volunteer." After a tour of the hostel, they take us to a small shack out back -- this is the "volunteer house." In the center of our room is a moldy mattress with moldy pillows. In fact, all our clothes and our backpacks would also soon become moldy. There's no escaping it.

Moldy pillows

Our living quarters

Our jobs are to clean the kitchen, two hours in the morning, and two hours at night, water the plants, and to babysit their kid for four hours in the middle of the day. And to do whatever else they want us to do, at any time. Six days a week. In exchange for a goddamn moldy mattress!

Baby sitting the two year old is the hardest of the jobs, especially since every side of the hostel ends in a 20 foot drop over the edge. It takes all of our energy to keep her entertained and from falling out of the hostel. She's a smart kid for her age, and she knows three languages, but she also throws tantrums every single day. By the end of a shift I need a beer. The cleaning part of the job isn't that bad, but when we're done the owner always re-cleans everything after us anyway, which is a bit annoying.

We have some free time during the day, but it's hard to go very far, or do much because we're hanging around this place basically doing free work (excuse me, working for a moldy mattress). And just buying food is costing us more than it cost us to travel all over Colombia or Panama for a week. After a week and a half, the decision is pretty easy to never do a work exchange again, and we decide to keep traveling North instead.

But we got some good stuff out of staying in Uvita, like surfing and Spanish lessons. On our day off we went to Manuel Antonio National Park, which is the most famous park in Costa Rica, and it was amazing. The rain forest is alive with sounds of monkeys and birds. After hiking for a half hour the main trail leads out to beaches. White faced Capuchin monkeys play in the trees and try to steal tourists' phones. Huge raccoons roam around and steal bags and food from sun bathers. It's great.

Phone-stealing monkeys

And everyone we met coming through Uvita was awesome, including our fellow volunteers Roxana and Jay, and a tour guide named Nancy who helped us come up with our plan for escaping Uvita and seeing the rest of Central America. Honestly, if our experience in Uvita had been better, we wouldn't have decided to keep traveling, so it all worked out for the best. Our advice about doing work exchange would be to make sure you are 100% clear on what you are giving in labor and exactly what you're getting in exchange for it. Otherwise it can be easy for hosts to take advantage of volunteer labor (and even lean on volunteer labor too hard instead of hiring locals, which they should be doing for most of their work in the first place, the damn cheapskates). Thanks for the life lessons, Uvita.

The sun sets on our time in Uvita

Our next stop would be Puerto Viejo to experience the Caribbean side of the country!

Panama Part 2: Electric Booga-Baru (sorry...)

Boquete
Sept 26 - Oct 1

Panama does this frustrating thing at their bus terminals where, in addition to buying a bus ticket, you also have to purchase a money card, which you then use to pay to enter the parking lot containing your bus. It's not expensive, but it is a hassle, and no one tells you until the moment your hips slam against an unyielding metal turnstile that you need to go to a separate window and buy a separate ticket merely to exit the building. Damnit Panama, why didn't you tell us this an hour ago, when we got here ludicrously early and sat twiddling our thumbs in the food court?

So we bussed from Panama City to David, and then on to the town of Boquete, which is up in the mountains and is a hub for all kinds of adventurous activities, including white water rafting, ATV riding, zip-lining, and of course, the majestic Volcan Baru, which is the very tallest point in Panama, and from which, on a clear day, one can see both the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. It is a little over 11,000 feet, and, as its name suggests, is a volcano. It is also unquestionably the work of the devil.

We decided that seeing the view from the top of the tallest point in Panama sounded like a pretty cool thing to do, and the helpful front desk staff at our hostel told us that if we really wanted to do it right, we should start hiking at midnight so that we arrive at the summit for the sunrise. They even had a handy shuttle that left the hostel at 11:30 pm (and, in fact, only at 11:30 pm).

So. That's what we did. The shuttle drove us, and three gratingly chipper Peace Corps volunteers, out through miles of open farmland to the base of the volcano in the middle of the night. When we got there, the driver pointed into a void of darkness. 'It's that way.' We switched on our headlamps and began our climb.

I'd love to claim that we are in such peak physical condition that we bounced up the volcano, energized and ready to see an incredible, life-affirming sunrise, a bit out of breath, because we're only human, but not reaching the final summit at a literal crawl, or taking infinitesimal steps and staring slack-jawed into mid-distance.

Unfortunately I was very much a slack-jawed zombie by the end of this hike. Eian, to his credit, fared better, and would have made it to the top earlier if he hadn't had to periodically stop and wait for me to master my urge to ugly-cry. It was absurdly awful. The terrain was almost entirely loose rocks, at a steady 45 degree angle the entire way, in pitch darkness from midnight til six am. There was no scenery to enjoy, being that it was the middle of the night, so we were climbing through a tunnel of headlamp light, the rocks looking like increasingly softer and more pillowy places to take a nap. Every so often the glowing yellow eyes of a sheep in a nearby pasture would scare the hell out of us, as a lot of innocuous things will tend to do when we're stranded on a mountain in a foreign country at three in the morning. There were probably four different crazed moments throughout our climb that I had the unshakeable feeling that we were being watched by someone just beyond the scope of our flashlight, which is terrifying, because everyone here carries machetes. I guess what I'm getting at is that this would be a prime location for an episode of Scare Tactics. Someone get me in touch with Tracy Morgan. 

When we finally limped to the summit, exactly at sunrise, we were relieved to hear that the Peace Corps volunteers, who had left us in their dust at the beginning, had only actually beaten us to the top by about half an hour. They'd also fallen asleep waiting for sunrise, which, fyi, is how you freeze to death. So. Points subtracted for that one. I think we all know who the real kings of the mountain are.

The view from the top was, in all fairness to Volcan Baru, pretty amazing, in the way that being above the clouds just is amazing. Because that was all we could see. We did not see either ocean, or even the town of Boquete, just a rolling, wavy sea of clouds. We were above thunderstorms and lightning, both of which we could see at various points below us in the distance. 

Stunning vista

Exquisite

Black shapes

When we'd seen all angles to be seen of the view, eaten our sandwiches, and drunk our Powerade, we started back down the mountain, a new spring in our step because the sun was officially up and we could actually see our surroundings. We were feeling pretty good! Hey, high fives all around, gang! 

We'd picked our way down one full  kilometer before I fell and twisted my ankle, something that would happen to both of us repeatedly all the way down the volcano. And then it started to rain. Eian shouldered my backpack and helped me down one loose, slippery rock at a time, for the following twelve kilometers. Another six hours later, a small ways from the bottom, a truck from a nearby farm came rumbling down the road. The driver didn't even pretend to be surprised that I'd hurt myself. He just jerked his thumb toward the cab of his truck, where his numerous daughters were already squishing themselves to one side to make room for us.

He dropped us off at the exit, where we had to pay five dollars each for trail maintenance (LOL, good one, Panama). The park ranger did his best to fashion his face into an expression resembling sympathy, but in his head he was thinking "if I have to hear about another damn gringo falling down the mountain..." I'm sure people twist their ankles every day on his watch. He's hardened to it. Can't save 'em all, he says to himself, gritting his teeth and staring over the expanses of farmland at the base of his mountain, watching the sun set on another injured tourist's day. Or something like that.

It was about two pm when we got back to our hostel, took showers and then collapsed into our beds and slept the rest of the day. The folks back at the hostel were excited to hear how our hike had gone. "What about the sunrise?? Was it incredible??" When we told them how much it sucked, they laughed and joyfully exclaimed things like "I know, it's so terrible!" and "The cartilage in my knee is shot to hell!" So, freaks. We took advice for how best to experience Panama from absolute freaks.

A couple of days later we went white water rafting and that made it all better, because white water rafting is a blast, even when you fall out of the boat, which we both did. We GoPro'd the ride, so now we have a stupid amount of footage of a river! Don't you worry, I'll make sure I post all four hours of it very soon! (Okay fair enough, that's an empty threat, as there is nothing 'very soon' about this blog, it's not exactly a live feed, I GET IT)

After rafting we said goodbye to Boquete and that charmer of a mountain Volcan Baru (and to Eian's phone, which he left on the table of a cafe, and which also had more Baru and Boquete pics on it), and bussed over to David to stay the night before leaving for Costa Rica in the morning. Hot tip: there is absolutely nothing you need to see in David! Sorry David.

Coming up: Costa Rica AKA the entire reason for our trip, no pressure or anything Costa Ricans, but we are expecting your country to be the best thing we've ever seen, can't wait to be blown away, okay great, see you soon.