Snow in Costa Rica

Three days before Christmas I was traversing San Jose through the central mall. The streets were packed with busy shoppers and peddlers selling their goods. It was the hustle and bustle that you might find the week before Christmas in the US as well.

Because Costa Rica lies close to the equator, the average yearly temperature is around 76 degrees. The weather rarely drops into the 60s, even high in the mountains. There is no snow here, making the prospect of a white Christmas seem comical. That said, they still sell snow frosted trees, rain deer pulling sleighs and snow globes.

Part of the holiday ritual in San Jose is to make it a white Christmas. There are hundreds of vendors in the streets selling white paper confetti. I was in a hurry, so as I bustled through the mall, I hoped to avoid the white snowflakes being tossed around. As I got close to the center of town, the crowd got denser, and the snow got thicker. It was literally snowing, and there was no way to avoid it.

As I stepped around a group of kids, I got hit with my first snowball. I wasn't ready for it, and had my mouth agape as the confetti filled my hair, shirt, and nose. I coughed, inhaling the little pieces of paper as another hit me, this time in my ear. Then another and another. I was being assaulted by confetti. People would walk up to me, look for a second and then douse me with another handful of paper. By the time I got to the bus, I was a walking snowman.

It is these small differences and beams of light that make Costa Rica such a wonderful place to be. A ritual where assaulting others with handfulls of confetti in the US would land you in jail or start a fight. The ideology that community is a thing of the past is killing the light spirt and enjoyment of life in our society. Who would have thought that a bag of confetti could unify a community, and create a white christmas where there is no snow.

Spin to Win v2.0

The last 'Spin to Win' post had to do with spinning my mind, and cycling. This one is about spinning a different kind of wheel.

Driving in Costa Rica is pretty much insane. There are a number of different factors that contribute to this general level of insanity. First, its the laws and the lack of personnel to enforce them. Most of the traffic laws here are the same as in the states: Obey stop signs, yield, no passing zones, ect.. However they are all merely suggestions. There are very few traffic cops to enforce the laws, and most of the officers that are on the roads are easily bribed out of writing you a ticket. The tickets are inexpensive (16US$ for DUI), so there really is not much incentive to follow them.

Second, the drivers. The Costa Ricans are fanatical drivers. They must get where they are going as fast as possible using the path of least resistance. To this end, they will drive on sidewalks, in the wrong lanes, or create new lanes, if it will get them there faster. It is not uncommon to get passed by busses going uphill around blind corners on dirt roads on your left side on the shoulder!

Third, it is the poor quality of the roads that crisscross around and through the mountains and jungles that dot the Costa Rican landscape. Many of the roads are paved with many potholes, unpaved with many potholes, or are only roads by the virtue of the last 10 people who drove there to get around the person in front of them. This story is about this aspect of the Costa Rican driving experience.


I was at Centaura (my company's horse stables) this morning after flying the hot air balloon over the Jungle with Esteban. Some of the guys had gone to the upper field to bring back horses for the clients who were riding in the afternoon. I had just missed them, and Esteban suggested I take Rosita (Tucker's infamous red Land Cruiser) up to the upper pasture. I also took with me Danny (cause he knew where we were going), and Paul (cause he was caught in the crossfire). We started up the hill toward the field, and a lot of the ground was muddy... Not just muddy puddle muddy, but slippery red clay and muck muddy. Rosita slid a bit, but managed to cruise over the level but slippery ground. It was similar to driving on snow.

When we got to the hill, there was a trickle of reddish water coming down the hill along with the guys who went to get the horses. They didn't need our help, but we decided to go up to the upper pasture anyway, just to see it and check out the horses. As we began to climb the muddy road, the tires spun a bit as red clay shot out the bottom of the Land Cruiser. The road went up gradually with clay over rocks for a bit before turning sharply upward and around a corner, banked and graded to the left. The wheels began to spin out and the cruiser lost control and power I floored to climb the steeper section of road. The road was already rutted out from others spinning their wheels, and the mud splattered everywhere as I floored it, hoping to regain traction and make the move up the hill. The tires screeched and spun, but the car wasn't going any further up the hill. Disappointed that we'd have to walk the last 100m, I slowly rolled the car backwards down the hill. This is when gravity took over.

Next thing I knew, the car was sliding sideways across the road (remember, the road was graded). As the car slid hopelessly into the ditch I spun the tires, a last chance to save the car from the small streambed roadside. The car tilted sideways as the left tires dropped into the chasm. We were stuck. Very stuck. For more than an hour, the three of us stuffed anything we could find under the wheels to create traction, to no avail. Finally, we radioed back to base that we were going to need some help.

They came in force. Three guys, a Land Rover 4x4, and a lot of will. They began trying to climb the hill I was unable to. It was nerve racking watching their vehicle climb the same path, get stuck and then almost roll backwards into Rosita. They tried that at least 4 times before deciding that the car wouldn't climb the hill, period. This was encouraging because at least they couldn't climb it either! Watching them spin their wheels, I didn't feel quite as stupid about landing the car off the road. After an hour of wheel spinning, rubber burning, mud slinging, car pushing, people pulling fun in the mud, we decided on two things: 1) We couldn't do it, 2) The Land Rover was almost out of gas.

A few of us headed back for more fuel while two of the younger guys stayed with Rosita. Getting gas in Costa Rica is quite difficult. Stations are few and far in between. An hour and a half later when they returned with gas, Rosita followed close behind. After we left, the two younger guys (neither had drivers licenses) read the instruction manual on Rosita and figured out how to use the winch and positraction, two very useful tools when you are stuck in the mud. The kids were so proud of themselves, it was good to see such spirit. I will never live this one down with Tucker. It is part of the ritual. Every young, male, non-Costa Rican guide she has ever had has gotten the car stuck one way or another. At least I didn't roll it, crash it, or damage it in any sort of permanent way. Of course, I do have 5 more months...

Spin to Win

With 2 weeks of Spanish school under my belt, my head hurts. Every day of Spanish school was easily more difficult than any one day of school I ever had at UPS. My daily schedule was strictly regimented to keep me from going completely nuts. As follows:

(Early morning hours, maybe roused by the occasional earthquake, four in two weeks)
7:30- Wakeup with Mama Tica knocking on my door
7:40- breakfast (1st cup of coffee)
7:50- Walk 5 minutes to school (2nd cup as entering building)
8:00- Class starts with conversation and new topic of the day (3rd cup as the bell rings)
10:00- Descanso (10 minute break for minisnack and more coffee)
10:20- Return to class with head spinning (on to 4th or 5th cup)
12:00- Break for lunch, discuss with friends how difficult Spanish school is at our favorite lunch spot, Soda Olivia. Soda Olivia is owned by a crazy woman named Tommy who speaks at least 5 languages, and is fluent in English with a strong NY accent. Her husband Carlos runs the place where they serve the best Casado (CR cuisine at its finest, rice, beans, meat, and salad) in Costa Rica for less than $2US. After lunch, I have 2 hours of conversation class where all of the head hurting and learning seems to pay off, and I continue to discover how much I don't know in the language.

3:00- Class is over. I usually lay in a hammock for a good 15 minutes to decompress before heading home to do homework and cook with my family. Although I've been sitting all day, I am tired like I've just worked a full day on the river.

After a week of classes I was having a hard time sleeping, and was feeling really tired all the time. I decided, on a whim, to check out the exercise options in San Joaquin de Flores. It turns out spinning is the workout craze in Costa Rica. Spinning involves a group of people working out together on stationary bicycles. Its like any group exercise, except the trainer is constantly changing the music, lights, and pace of the workout. I was instantly hooked. During my second week of classes, I never missed a workout. Every day at 5pm, I'd head down to Spin City for an hour session. The workout is especially interesting in a language you don't know. All of the encouragement and enthusiasm of the instructor becomes whatever you imagine it to be. Mind mind often wandered to crew, or the girls spinning next to me.

My family in San Joaquin was fabulous! My parents were Nidia (pron=Kneedeeahh) & Miquel, and their two kids Jimmy (16) and Jason (21). They were very welcoming from the first day to the last day, and always made sure I had enough to eat. Nidia lives at home, and the family hosts students mostly because she enjoys the company. They spoke virtually no English which made coming home both interesting and difficult. They invited me to come back to their house for Christmas and tamales (the CR Christmas specialty). I am sure I will.

Playa Tamarindo

After my adventures in Playa Brasilito I hopped on a bus to Playa Tamarindo. Tamarindo is blowing up with tourism, but the season hasn´t started yet so there was a fairly mellow vibe. Lots of surfers hit Tamarindo because it it consistent and is close to a few really famous breaks, Witches Rock, Ollies Point and Playa Grande. I rented a board and surfed around for a few days. On my birthday, I spent the whole day laying on the beach and surfing, not a bad way to go.

I met some people (Portia and Alexis) at the hostel and we went out for my birthday. Portia tried to teach me to dance Salsa and it ended up being a great birthday. My first birthday away from friends and family. A landmark of sorts.



A day later Portia and I decided to go on a turtle (maybe) viewing tour. Of course, my history of seeing these kinds of wild animals is pretty sad (remebering not getting to swim with the dolphins in Kaikoura, NZ; the first time the dolphins hadn´t shown in MONTHS!). We got picked up at the hostel around 9:30, and made it to the beach around 10pm. Then began the great search for the turtles... except for not. We didn´t really figure it out until it was too late, but our tour guides got to go out and search for the turtles, while we waited. When (=if) they find one, they´ll get us and take us to see it. Needless to say, they didn´t find any and although the beach was nice, sitting on it for 4 hours getting eaten alive by mosquitoes really put me in a foul mood. Maybe next time.

On the bus back to San Jose, I sat next to Roy, a Tamarindo local who makes necklaces and pendants to sell on the beach. We talked in Spanish for FIVE HOURS! It was awesome. Every conversation is an opportunity to learn more, and I´ve been taking full advantage of that. I think back on my years of doing language in High School and Middle School and I realize two things, a) I was doing it wrong, and b) I would do it again, even though I despised it. The reason I was doing it wrong was that I never had the right attitude on it. I did not see the potential to travel and use it, but rather viewed it as another compulsory piece of the academic puzzle. I am enjoying Spanish thoroughly, and will be spending the upcoming week in Spanish School in San Jose.

SER y ESTAR

I began Spanish School at Centro Panamericano de Idomas in San Joaquin de Flores on Monday, near San Jose. The school seems very good, and I am really enjoying my professora, Judy. Becuase the season is still low here, I am getting private instruction for the price of group instruction. This is a double edged sword, as I am unable to escape the endless bombardment of questions, answers and prompts. This might kill me, but if it doesn't I might actually learn how to speak Spanish. Only time will tell.

I lose in Playa Brasilito

After Emily left on the 16th, I took a bus to the Nicoya Peninsula, the northern pacific part of Costa Rica. The LP Book said that the cheapest accomodation in the area was at Playa Brasilito, off the beaten path, not touristy like Tamarindo, a good place to start the Pacific adventure. The actual adventure begins as soon as you get on the bus. The busses in Costa Rica are a) always late, b) too small for tall guys like me, c) sporatic and run rough, d) never go quite where you expect them to, and unless you know where you´re going and where to stop, don´t stop for you. Riding the bus is its own adventure.

I got to Brasilito around 4pm, but the driver didn´t stop and I didn´t realize it until it was too late. I thought ¨I know the road ends in 5km in Playa Flamingo, how bad could this be... maybe I´ll stay there.¨ So I rode to Flamingo. It turns out that Flamingo is a resort village, the cheapest room starting at $250 a night. That seemed a bit out of my budget, so I started to walk back to Brasilito.

The bus driver saw me walking, must have felt bad for me, and offered me a ride back to Brasilito becuase that´s where he was headed. He dropped me in the middle of town (*read=a few shops, a few places to stay, and a soccer field) just as it started to rain. It was only 4:30 and it gets dark at 5:10, so I figured I´d go to the hostel and check in. The LP said this place would be $5, not too bad. When I arrived, the Swiss owner, told me the cheapest room was $20. I hadn´t spent more than $8 anywhere in Costa Rica, so I told him he was crazy and went off pleased that I was going to show him and find a cheaper place to stay. It was pouring rain and getting dark, but I triumphantly walked out into the melle.

I tried the next place down the road, which looked decent, only to find that it was closed for the season. No one could possibly want to be in Costa Rica in November, right? The next place down on the beach looked nicer, but worth an ask. They told me $30 and I asked if I could sleep on the beach in front of the Hotel for $10. They weren´t impressed.

It was getting wetter and darker as I trudged off to find other places to stay. There was a sign pointing me down a dark, puddlefilled alley, but I was getting desperate. I showed up and asked about getting a room, only to find that they were full. They must have been housing all the people that couldn´t go to the other place that was closed. Buggered. I asked a construction worker on the street about getting a place to sleep and he litterally told me to knock on the door of the 4th house down the ally and ask about the bed. This seemed a bit crazy, but hey, if this guy wanted me to sleep at his house, I was all for it. I walked up, knocked on the door and told them, ´I´m looking for a bed, can you help me?´ They said they could help me, but the bed was occupied, and thus were no help. It was totally dark and I was starting to get discouraged.

I tried one last place that was totally dingey, found it was $20, and told the woman that I was okay. I went back to the Swiss, head down in shame, and gave him $20. I lose.

San Carlos and Volcan Arenal

Emily and I headed to Ciudad Quesado (known as the capital of the San Carlos area) to stay with Esteban, a friend and business partner of Tucker. He has a ranch in Platanar that has 40 or more horses, beautiful landscapes, fields, pastures, and more. The region is known as the wild west of Costa Rica, and many people have farms, ranches, ride horses to town, and work in agriculture.

The ride to San Carlos was beautiful, going through endless green hills and valleys. La Fortuna and Arenal are in the same region, so you can see the volcano from a few places on the drive in. We had some archaic directions from Tucker to get off at the bus stop just past the sugar mill, walk into the bar, tell them "Soy el hijo de la gringa. Estoy buscando por Esteban (I am the son of the gringa (Tucker), I am looking for Esteban)" and it would all work out. So I walk into the bar, tell them that, and they look very confusedly at me. Then a kind fellow at the bar, overhearing the conversation pulls out his cell phone and calls Esteban. There are always guardian angels watching us.

Esteban picked us up, and took us to the Centaura Stables. They were amazing. The hospitality was amazing, "mi casa es su casa" was the truth, and we loved it. We went horseback riding, biking, and almost hot air ballooning.

We spent a day at Arenal, hiking around the active volcano. We rented an awesome scooter and headed for the mountains. The scootering was awesome as we zipped around the countryside, honking at the locals and slowly climbing the hills.

In the evening we went to the Eco-Termales Hotpools which were amazing. As we were leaveing the pools, some guy told us that the clouds around the volcano had cleared and that we could see it. It was awe-inspiring. We could litterally see the molten rocks and stuff spewing out of the volcano, a firey glow in the night sky. Amazing.



We are now back in San Jose and Emily is leaving for Colorado tomorrow morning. Travels are good. My birthday is in two days....

Puerto Viejo

Puerto Viejo came to us after a few days of resting in Turrialba after climbing Chirripo. PJ or Old Town, as the locals call it, is that ultimate rasta surf caribe town in Costa Rica. Complete with a local bum named, ¨The Ganja Master¨ and enough US expats to fill a small town, Puerto Viejo was an interesting stop for us along the way.

We took a few busses from Turrialba to Siquerres, Siquerres to Limon, Limon to PJ to get there. The bus out of Limon was oversold by at least 10 seats so we had the pleasure of standing in the back, 40 km down a gravel road. The ocean views along the way tempted us, but by the time we reached PJ, it was dark.


The thing to do in PJ is rent bikes and ride around to the beaches. Manzanillo is about 10km down the road, so we did just that. The greatest thing about the bikes they rent is that they are all old cruiser style bikes.. the kind your mom rode when she was in college. Pretty rad. We hooked up with some other americans on the ride over, so they went on the bike crusade with us. We stopped at some beaches along the way and went for prolonged swims, surfs, and body surfing (i.e. getting pounded into the sand, ride after ride). The beaches were picturesque... the kind that you might get on a free windows screensaver. They had perfect rows of palms, clear waters, and were pretty empty. The beaches were amazing.



After two days there, we decided it was time for the next great adventure... Panama!

Cerro Chirripo

This morning, at 5:10am, Emily and I summitted Cerro Chirripo, the tallest mountain in Costa Rica.  It was quite a push, but a beautiful summit and sunrise at the top.  The top is at 3820m (12,606ft), and we had climbed from a base camp at 1500ft.  It was an epic few days of climbing and time spent in the jungle and cloudforrest.  We based out of San Isidro de el General, and spent a miserable night at the cheapest hostel ever ($6US).  Getting to Chirripo was an exciting 2 hour ride on a sketchy road toward the mountain town of San Gerardo de Rivas.  We stayed at El Descanso, which totally rocked!  We had a beautiful room, amazing meals and shuttle to the trailhead from the owner.  We were his only guests for the week, so he was pretty good to us.

 

The climb into the Chirrpo base camp is 15km uphill.  You gain more than 2km vert and it burns.  From the base, the best way to climb is beginning at 3am to make it by sunrise.  Because of the irradic and odd weather patterns in the area, it starts raining every afternoon at 10-11, and even earlier up high.  Getting to the top after 7am might leave the whole thing clouded in.

 

On summit day (today) we hiked to the Summit (5km), back to the base (5km), back to the trailhead (14.5km) and then back to town (1km), so it was quite a day.  Estoy consado (tired).  Pictures to come.

San Isidro de el General

San Isidro has been a good experience thus far. Emily and I headed here to get towards Chiripo, the highest mountain in Costa Rica. We stayed in a really fabulous place for $6US which was highlighted by the trucks going by every 5 minutes and the car alarm that went off each time a truck drove by. On top of that, they decided it would be a good idea to fumigate the hotel for mosquitos (which there were none), without telling anyone what they were doing. We thought the place was burning down.

Theres a large church in the centro where we went to a evening mass and tried to understand what was going on. I understood everything that they said, as long as it was ´Santa Maria´ or ´Jesus Cristo´. Otherwise it was kind of a lost cause.

The morning brought sunshine and hot weather. We decided to go to the beach, only to find out that there is only one bus a day to the beach, and that´s at 7am (it was 8 when we found out). We went to a local market where getting a bit to eat was interesting. This guy showed us his drivers licence, and proceeded to wait for us to eat breakfast. I think he wanted to drive us somewhere, but we weren't really having it.

Off to hike Chirripo, the highest peak in Costa Rica. Be back in a few. Happy Halloween (yesterday).

San Jose

San Jose is the capital city of Costa Rica. Like any big city, it has pollution, lots of people, traffic, bad drivers and bad areas. I needed to come into San Jose to Juan Santa Maria Airport to pick up my friend Emily at the airport. Traveling from Turrialba to San Jose takes 3 bus rides, which is a lot for someone who doesn't really speak Spanish very well.

On this trip I got lucky, and Paula from Serendipity was headed into SJ already, so I got a ride to town. Once there, I had to figure out how to get the the airport. The easy way is to take a cab which costs about $12US. The hard way is to take a bus, which costs about $1US. The problem with the bus system is that if you don't know it, its very difficult to use. Imagine if Broadway and 7th Ave in NY were one continuous bus stop with busses that go all over New York State. The only thing different about this bus stop is that nowhere does it say which buses stop where, when they stop, and where they go. So its kind of a craps shoot.

I managed to figure out which bus I needed to be on via a friendly police officer on the corner in the centro de San Jose. The station was about 10 blocks away so it was quite a haul. I kept seeing the bus I thought I needed go past, stopping at many different places, somehow figuring out who, of the thousands of people waiting on the sidewalks, needed his services. It was organized chaos to say the least.

When I got to the station, I found my bus, and through some very ugly Spanish determined that the bus would indeed go to the airport. What the driver failed to mention (or I failed to understand) is that this bus would stop at every small town between the two and it would take about an hour, maybe more. When I arrived at the airport, I got there right as Em landed, and found great satisfaction in just having gotten there. You don't take the simple things for granted in a place where you know very little. I'm sure the first bus ride is the most difficult.

One other bit about CR. Everyone I've talked to has told me that most Ticos speak English. I'm not really sure where everyone gets this idea, but clearly they never left the safety of their hostel or taxi while in the country. No one on the bus spoke English. I haven't met anyone outside my company who speaks more than a few words of broken English. Maybe I've been in the wrong places, or just those less traveled. Pura vida.

Rio Pejibaye - Upper and Lower - 10.29.06 - III-IV

The Pejibaye River begins near the mountain village of Taus. Although getting to this river was quite the challenge, the payoff in the upper 3 miles of the river was well worth the drive. We put in at a small finca (farm) about .3 miles above Taus, but there is also river access at the school in Taus for a small fee ($1US).

The river begins with a few of the most challenging rapids before mellowing out into the lush jungle scene. Many of the trees in the section overhang, creating a seemingly isolated river canyon of canopy. The rapids are continuous, although not particularly difficult. The trip was for Serendipity, and was a staff duckie trip. Although no one knew where to go, nor how to paddle a duckie, everyone made it out alive, which was quite amazing, actually. We had numerous wraps, swims and lost paddles. Very entertaining.



About an hour into the run it began pouring rain. Although I was only wearing a PFD, it was warm. Amazing. This is one of the great things about being in the tropics. It poured for about an hour, non-stop, and was great. The water was warm although the locals told me that the Pejibaye is one of the colder rivers in the area.

There are lots of small slots on the river which could easily become strainers if the overhanging trees dropped limbs or fell in the river. The gradient is about 80-90 fpm for the Upper and mellows to 40-50 fpm in the lower.

The lower section has one significant rapid where the river drops out of sight on a sweeping right turn with some boulders down below. It can be run right or left, but had an enormous tree wedged in the rocks when we were there. Approach cautiously.

The takeout for the lower Pejibaye is at the bridge at Oriente. There is a large parking area and picnic area on the right side of the bridge.

Turrialba

The Turrialba area where I am living has quite an interesting history. For many years, Turrialba was the train connection between the Caribbean and Pacific shores. A train ran through the city, there was commerce, and the area grew with people and money.

In the later 80's and 90's, roads were built to connect Turrialba to San Jose, and the coasts, which eliminated the need for the rail. Although the town didn't stop using the train for much of its imports and exports, the reduced reliance on the train cut jobs and the area went into decline.

The final nail in the railway came with an earthquake in 1991 that destroyed the railway in the Reventazon River Canyon. With this irreparable damage done, the town declined further, and many people moved out of the area.

The growing popularity of Costa Rica as an ecotour destination brought commerce and US dollars to the area, and it has stabilized in the last decade. The history of the area has contributed to its rich culture and diversity of Costa Ricans. There are black ticos from the Caribbean, alongside the lighter skinned ticos from the Pacific. There are Indians, indigenos, alongside the occasional American ex-pat who is running an ecotour business such as a rafting company, jungle exploration company, or cycle touring company. It is a rich and diverse landscape.

The Turrialba area is, in many ways, off the beaten path. You must cross the continental divide (*read=Rocky Mountains, 2000 miles south), take a few different busses, and speak spanish beause few of the people in Turrialba speak english. It is my good luck that there are few english speakers; I need the practice with the Spanish, and I am really enjoying being forced into the uncertain. Not knowing what they are saying, but knowing that in a few short months, I will. This excites me.

First thoughts on Costa Rica...

I've been in Costa Rica for a few days now. I have been settling in at Serendipity, which turns out to be way more than just a company. I am living in a true palace, Casa Volare (I am flying), complete with surrounding windows and a view to die for. Costa Rica lies on the continental divide. The mountains bend and fold through the country, creating steep winding roads, deep river valleys, and wide open skies.

I was lucky to pass through customs without a hickup. They didn't search any of my things on the way into the country, and just waved me through without a second thought. The airport was as expected: hot, congested, full of taxi drivers and buses eager to push their services on the weary traveler. Once the flood of new arrivals came through the gate, the taxi drivers and street vendors backed off the gate, chatted to each other, smiled. Everyone in Costa Rica is always smiling.

About an hour later Tucker picked me up at the airport in Rosita, a red landrover infamous in Costa Rica. We zipped off to the market for some food before heading out of San Jose to the Turrialba area. Driving through San Jose may have been the craziest experience yet. There are no lines marking the 4-6 lanes of the main streets, and traffic laws are observed as mere suggestions of conduct. Basically, its a free-for-all. We zipped through the traffic with little regard for the hundreds of people, cars, animals, and bustle of the city. As Tucker explained, "You don't need to be scared, our car is bigger. They WILL yield."

Tucker is an impressive woman. She runs numerous companies, employs an amazing number of people, and does it all from her balcony overlooking the Turrialba valley. She loves people and good stories. She has crossed paths with many famous people in her life including the Kennedy family, Pink Floyd, and others, and has done it all through her love of hot air ballooning. Talking with her, you would never know the power she commands through her ideas, entrepreneurial spirit, and kindheartedness.

On my first night in Costa Rica, we arrived at Casa Volare just after dark. When we pulled in to the car port, I noticed smoke coming from the hood of the car. Tucker smiled knowingly and told me that it wasn't the car, but rather, we were in a cloud. Each evening, when the air cools, the clouds drop from the sky and fall into the Turrialba valley. 5 minutes later the cloud was below the house, and I was able to look out on a white blanket covering the valley. It was too dark to see the volcanoes or the valley; simply the moon reflecting off the clouds. Five more minutes passed and the clouds had dropped below Turrialba. An entire city came into view as the hundred of lights in the town peaked through the settling clouds.



/////

Tucker sent me on a mission into Turrialba yesterday with Wilbur, a non-English speaking Tico who serves as a chauffeur for the company. Through his patience and my poor spanish, we managed to communicate and run some errands. At each stop, the vendors we encountered shook our hands and passed with a friendly "Pura Vida,' or "Que paso." The light attitude fills the streets alongside the poorly remixed American music and the constant whistling of men at the passing women.

Kayaks on a plane

Its been a few marvelous days of my brother getting married, driving to LA, and making final preparations for my trip to Costa Rica. There are many things that go into packing and planning for a trip, most of which I enjoy doing in the last few hours. Getting a kayak on an airplane is pretty much impossible. There are a number of websites that advise how to do it, but basically, it comes down to who is checking you in at the airport, the mood they're in, and how much money you are willing to pay (*read=bribe) them.

Making your kayak look like less of a kayak, and more of a surf board, fun board, kite board, surf ski, surf kite board ski, ect.. the better your odds are of getting it on the plane. Uncle Stewart and I went to a packaging store where I purchased 1500 Ft of stretch wrap for $15. I wrapped my kayak like a mummy in this stuff with hopes to get it passed onto the airplane with as little grief as possible. I decided in the end to bring a Creek Boat with me. It is more inconvenient on the way in, but it will be a more versitile boat once I am there. If the creek boat gets stopped in the airport, I will be able to run back to my car, change to the playboat and get that checked instead. Hopefully it will all go smoothly. I'll let you all know how this goes in my next posting from Turrialba, Costa Rica! Pura vida. Love life.

To blog or not to blog...

Well, I'm actually doing it. After careful consideration, I've decided to keep track of all my Costa Rica adventures with this blog. Although I shudder when the word blog is mentioned, this seems like the best option for a few reasons:

1) I don't want to take a laptop to Costa Rica
2) Everything in Costa Rica gets stolen (see #1)
3) There is lots of internet access in CR where I can update a blog
4) I can put this all on my website, http://www.daysontheriver.com when I get home

So, this is the record of my travels, days on the river, and adventures while abroad. Pura vida.