Ah, blog, how I’ve missed you…
I had this whole thing planned out, you see; to regale you with stories about past trips with my son, and then give you hints of our upcoming trip’s exotic location. That would take at least three blog entries. Then there was the fun preparation part, the deciding of the itinerary, the packing, the lead-up, another couple of posts. I’d give my small but loyal readership the play-by-play of air travel with poetic and/or political commentary right after arriving. But nothing ever turns out like you plan it, does it? We started to plan our trip with our friends Ray and Heidi who are here on a semester-long sabbatical, and our friends Michael and Alejandra who live here and raise bees and make mead and cheese and honey beer. We used email, Facebook, and Skype sessions to round out our itinerary for our three-week adventure. And then on May 20, a phone call stopped our worlds from spinning temporarily; my 21-year-old stepson had been critically injured in a car crash and airlifted from his hometown about 40 miles away to the large hospital in our town. He and the other passenger survived but the driver did not. He spent two weeks in the hospital trauma center, and had two surgeries to reconfigure almost all the bones in his face. His jaw was wired shut, and after release he would be spending his recuperation with us.
Needless to say, all of our plans and to-do lists went out the window as we shuttled back and forth to the hospital, then took care of him at home, trying to help him regain on a liquid diet the 20 pounds he had lost in the hospital.
Unfortunately, one of the things on the to-do list was to double-check our passport validity. Oh, yes, you guessed it, we discovered a mere two weeks before we were to leave—at 4pm on a Friday, no less--that my son’s passport would expire in two days. The passport office at our local post office was closed, my son would leave the following Sunday for a five-day overnight camp, and the expediting service requires three weeks’ turnaround time. There was no choice but to make the trek to the passport office in Chicago the following Friday.
I tried not to be too nervous. People do this all the time, right? Just not me. I’m a planner. I don’t do last minute passports.
On Thursday I drove to the campsite to pick up my son. Lucky him, he was among 50 campers and counselors (the number reported on the news; my son swears it was half the 300 campers at the camp that week) that contracted norovirus the last couple of days of camp. My son had a fever, and cheerfully reported when we picked him up that he had vomited eight times that day already! How could I put him in a car to Chicago and back the next day?
But we’re a tough lot, and when I reminded him of all the fun things we would be doing on our vacation—ziplining, white water rafting, seeing monkeys and turtles and volcanoes—his eyes lit up. He ate soda crackers and slept in the car, and we managed to get his passport that same day. $165 on an expedited passport, $71 on parking (I kid you not), $200 on an unintended Trader Joe’s run (to kill time between the appointment/interview and picking up the passport), gas, and lunch. Costa Rica trip, priceless. For everything else there’s Discover, and a nice bill when we get back.
The story gets more complicated, but I won’t bore you with the details. Planning went back on track, and I hammered everything out while my husband was at a conference for the weekend. I just want to say thank goodness we were able to get Mick taken care of by his mom, who came out from South Carolina for the duration of our trip; the baby dog is being taken care of by a lovely family who will probably train her better than we could; and the house is taken care of by a dear friend and neighbor in whom I have the utmost confidence.
Thursday morning said friend and neighbor’s son with his shiny new driver’s license shuttled us off to the airport. I had gone through my normal weeklong packing ritual in two days, thus I over packed. Husband and son packed more reasonably. In my defense, we didn’t know when or where we’d have laundry facilities access, and I knew I wasn’t going to a climate where I could wear the same outfit two or three days in a row, so I threw in a few more shirts at the last minute. The flight from Chicago to Miami—our second leg—was completely full, so my attempt to have only carry-on baggage was thwarted by very strict baggage size limits, and I ended up having to check my bag. Fortunately, it was checked all the way to San José.
We had a 30-minute delay, but then managed to get to Miami almost on time. There we had barely enough time to run to the other gate, go to the bathroom, and order some food to go before they called our flight to San José. We arrived in San José in a thunderstorm, a frightening but thrilling sight from a plane window. We picked up my bag and passed through customs without incident, and saw our friend Michael right away. He drove us to his friend Tommy’s finca, the Ark Herb Farm, up the twisted roads of Alajuela, about ten minutes from the airport to a stunning paradise of exotic plants, trees, and flowers.
Tommy is an American, an older character who has lived in Costa Rica for 28 years. I could probably fill a book with just a few stories from his interesting life (and maybe someday I will!), but he is a charming, laid-back, generous host. He offered us refreshments when we arrived, and introduced us to Jason, another American who had spent time working on the farm. Michael then drove us down a short road to our room for the night, a tree house. A real tree house.
Now, when we were told we’d be sleeping in a tree house, I hardly knew what to expect, but this exceeded every expectation. Built into an enormous strangling fig tree (a parasite which uses another tree as a host and eventually strangles it), the tree house has several levels. On the first level is a small kitchen with a fridge and sink; the stairs leads to a large, open bedroom with a full, functioning bathroom adjoining on a slightly lower level. There is electricity and running water, including a hot shower, a prized commodity in Costa Rica. Saying the view is spectacular, even at night, is an understatement; in front of you, the Central Valley, San José, and the mountains beyond, spread in front of you, a surreal vista after many hours on a plane. We settled in, said goodbye to Michael, spread the mosquito net across the scenery, and slept like tiny birds in a nest.
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| The view from our bed |
The next morning we made our way back to the main house to a breakfast of pecan waffles, bacon, and coffee brewed with cardamom seeds as we chatted with our amiable hosts. Tommy then took us on a tour of his amazing collection of plants, telling us about medicinal properties of each. Michael came back and met us and we loaded up to go to the bus station to get to the bus for two hours to Turrialba. My husband and I were both reminded along the way of our travels in Brazil. The heat, the noise, and the smell of gas fumes blended with the conversations in a language we barely understood. My son and I tried to nap away our motion sickness on the mountain curves, waking to see glimpses of misty hillsides of coffee plantations, ramshackle houses, and rocky rivers and streams. We arrived in Turrialba and met our friends Ray and Heidi with their two children, and tried to beat the rain to a small bar and restaurant where we feasted on simple Costa Rican fare: carne asada, sausages, ceviche, beans and rice, beer, fruit juices. In the pouring rain Ray got us a taxi to Sitio de Mata, the tiny village where they’ve been living since January. The taxi driver couldn’t take us all the way down the hill to the house because of the rain and mud, so Ray and Heidi’s landlord picked us up and drove us to the house. We had a wonderful evening, catching up on each other’s lives.
Saturday morning we climbed back up the steep hill that our hosts have been climbing every morning to take the kids to school. It’s only about 10 minutes, but it’s straight up, and I’m glad I’ve been working out lately! If I spent much more time here, I would have legs of steel! We caught the local bus back to Turrialba, meeting friends they have made here along the way. At the farmer’s market in Turrialba, we met their favorite vendors, and were welcomed to the market with a fresh coconut—an incredibly refreshing drink on a hot day. We explored the market, bought fruit, had more ceviche, and went for ice cream, then made our way back to catch the bus back to Sitio.
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| Fruit at the farmer's market |
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| Ceviche in a styrofoam cup with crackers |
Sunday emerged clear and sunny, and we were fortunate to have such glorious weather for our whitewater-rafting trip! We went with Roberto, a local guide, on the their small bus to a point on the Pejiballe River. We loved every minute, especially the kids. Two hours straight of nonstop Class 2 and 3 rapids (just my speed) were exhausting and exhilarating. The guides then served us lunch on the riverbank before we made our way back to Sitio, just in time to clean up and watch the Costa Rica vs. Greece World Cup match.
We were invited to the landlord’s house for game watching, snacks, and a goodbye party for Ray and Heidi’s family. What a perfect sendoff, a victory for Costa Rica (after overtime and penalty shots) and entry to the third round, some Nicaraguan rum called Flor de Caña, delicious food, and then dancing. Ray and Heidi have learned salsa, cumbia, bachata, and merengue, and showed off their moves. The family gave lovely and heartfelt speeches, thanking Ray and Heidi for making the effort to get to know their family and community, and for enriching a cultural exchange. Everyone we’ve met here has been incredibly kind and generous. The smiles are warm and genuine. They say Costa Rica is the happiest country in the world, and I’m beginning to believe it.
The early darkness here has been hard to get used to. Being ten degrees north of the Equator means that the sun comes up at about 5:30 a.m. and goes down at about 5:30 p.m. year round. The natural tendency has been to go to bed early and get up with the ubiquitous roosters. Not to mention, that hanging out outside the mosquito netting after dark is an obvious invitation for those nasty little bloodsuckers.
Today I’m happy, but a bit tired and sore. Right now it’s raining for the third time today. I can’t see the mountains facing us, they’re lost in the mist. The neighborhood dogs are taking shelter under the deck. There’s a bird calling, making a sound eerily similar to my old Motorola cell phone when the battery was dying. It’s damp and buggy, and even the myriad hummingbirds are taking shelter. I love it. I love the sound of rain on the tin roof. I love the brilliance of the hibiscus flowers in the lush green forest. The rain is cleansing, slowly washing all my travel worries and travel weariness away.
