Pura vida – Costa Rica Part II

Jenna resting up and mummy watching over her, Rowan, Rhys and myself headed off into the last remaining area of cloud forest in the Americas. We were very lucky to be staying in the nearest lodge to the Reserve. So a quick walk up the road took us straight to the entrance. It may be worth taking a few moments here to define what makes a rainforest or cloud forest for that matter. It has to have a shed-load of rain (I can’t remember the exact amount) spread pretty evenly throughout the year. It also has growth on various levels, usually four. This makes strata within the forest providing varied habitats for different species. That said most of the action goes on up in the canopy so a walk through the forest, seeing the plants from ground level felt very familiar to us. You could liken it to a walk through Oxshott woods on a wet spring day, the temperature is much the same and most of the trees don’t seem that unfamiliar. There are a few things however that are very different, hanging vines, the roots of plants growing at higher levels give a very jungle feel. Tree ferns, the oldest and original form of plant on the planet line the trail.

During the day the forest seemed very empty, we had opted to walk the trail by ourselves, the children imploring me not to get a guide. We met very few other walkers on our 3 – 4 mile hike. We could hear the birds above us but they where very hard to spot in the dense growth. The only creepy crawlies that seemed to be active during the day where giant millipedes and huge butterflies. Only once did we hear an animal grunting and growling its way through the undergrowth only a few feet from us. It was probably only a peccary, small boar like creatures which live in the forest but even so the sound of it so close made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. We tried to spot it but it through the foliage but it snuffled away from as as soon as it became aware of our presence.

We headed for the continental divide, the same one we had followed all the way down from the Rockies in Canada, through California and now here in Central America. The meeting of the Pacific and North American plates and the reason for all the volcanic activity. The marker for the divide was on a high lookout point from where we could see the canopy dropping away before us and the clouds literally blowing through the tops of the trees. The wind was tremendous and then the rain hit us. (Well it is rain forest after all). My grand plan was to walk back via another trail that would take us across a suspension bridge giving us a few of the forest at another level. Needless to say, with the wind and the rain, without a guide and in the absence of our key navigator, we missed the path. The kids by this point were tied and wet and in no mood to back to look for the wayward bridge. So we headed for home, a hot shower and dry clothes.

With Jenna being recovered and me getting bored, it was my turn to get adventurous. Rowan and I decided to go for a night time walk through the cloudforest, to encounter the nocturnal bugs and beasties. The nature reserve itself organises this, rather than some commercial tour, so we knew it would be the genuine article. At 6.45pm we set out intrepidly, with our trousers tucked into our boots, as Joe put the others to bed. Within 2 minutes walk up the hill, we were in pitch darkness. We held hands, and soldiered on for another few moments, but then saw a pair of large bright eyes staring at us. We knew it was only 15 minutes walk in total, but I was so relieved when Rowan said “Mummy, I don’t like this. Can we go back and borrow a torch?” Without a moment’s hesitation we turned round and walked back. Alas no torch, but the car looked mighty tempting. Bravely we set out again, and made it … with moments to spare. Great for us, but no so much for the poor conservation people, Rowan and I were the only people that night wanting a tour. So the lucky guide got just us. Now, I think Rowan was a lot braver than I, having seen the forest in the day, and knowing what was ‘up there’. There were a few times when I felt the need to put my hood up, so the creepy crawlies wouldn’t fall in my hair, but the rest of the time it just felt quiet, peaceful and very, VERY dark. In hushed tones we whispered and examined the undersides of the leaves. We found praying mantis, daddy long legs (the deadliest venom of them all apparently, but they can get their mouths round us!), gold bugs, crickets, mating stick insects, cockroaches (surprisingly beautiful), millipedes (if they poo on your hand, put them down – the next step is a cyanide slime), glow worms and their parents – fireflies – and spiders galore. We were treated to a scene right out of Animal Planet when a moth, attracted by our torch light, flew straight into the web of the spider we were observing. We watched the spider paralyse and poison the moth, and then another moth flew in. The spider, thinking her original prey was still fighting, quickly went back to it, looking distinctly annoyed, and wrapped it up tight. We quietly cheered the second moth, who escaped to fly another night. The bats swooped around our torches and fed at the hummingbird station. The best bit was watching the very rare three-toed sloth, who mooched around above us as our guide told her extremely lazy story. She comes down to use the loo once a week, and lives up to her name: if her baby falls out of the tree, she will just let it cry and not bother going down to get it, unless it makes a considerable effort to scale the lower branches. Then, she might just stretch out a limb to help. Our guide hadn’t seen a sloth in three months, so we were incredibly lucky – and for once you could make out the stars, in the few and far between clearings above the dense canopy. Another lovely surprise greeted us after a couple of hours, when we returned to the ranger hut. A racoon, bold as brass, was scooting around looking for the bins. He stared at us with those unmistakeable masked eyes, totally unafraid, not bothered in the slightest by our presence. We had a few of these close encounters in Costa Rica. On the way from Arenal we saw a pack of small black furry things – we still have no idea what they were! They looked like a cross between a meerkat and a racoon, and as we pulled up to a stop, they came right up to the car windows and did the most pathetic begging act. They were standing on their hind legs screaming at us “look at me! I’m so cute!” Now, we’re not in the habit of feeding the wildlife (let’s face it, in the States you can get fined and even imprisoned for it, and that’s no bad thing), but in Costa Rica things are a little more laid back. We had seen the people in the car in front doing it, and Rowan had pocketed the ubiquitous crackers you always get with every meal, and those quickly became the meal for the furry black things.

And then, it was time to leave Monteverde, and head for the Pacific once again. Yes, the drive down was every bit as bad, every bit as scenic, and you could see the coast tantalisingly close from the highest points … but it still took hours. Terry performed beautifully once again, and after several unplanned detours we finally reached the paved roads – like gaining Mecca after so many days off them. Yes, there are still massive potholes that catch you by surprise on roads where you’re allowed to do 85 kph. Yes, you get maniac bus drivers overtaking you on blind bends, and a big Mack truck almost literally forced me off the road (though I was going above the speed limit). Once again that last 10k was potholes and puddles, and Joe enjoyed trying to wind his way between them, but finally we pulled into the sleepy seaside town of Samara.

In typical Pritchard fashion we had changed dates, changed back, added on dates and more – and now we arrived a day early. Totally unphased by this, Janice, a lovely Canadian who runs Tico Adventure Lodge and a surf school with her husband and brother in law, juggled some rooms and booked us in without raising an eyebrow. We had two rooms up in the treetops, though Joe and I were slightly envious of the kids with their bigger balcony and hammock! The lodge was a mere 50 yards from a glorious long sandy beach, fringed by coconut palms, with gorgeous rolling pacific breakers and graced by a tiny island just offshore. Most Costa Rican beaches on the Pacific have lethal riptides, but Samara is safe – and a haven for surfers. As we strolled along the sand a monkey up above was dropping coconuts. Wild horses roamed the beach. We knew we were going to have a whale of a time.

Samara is three streets, really. Main Street as its called is a tiny strip of small shops, restaurants and stalls, where Ticos hang out barefoot, watching the world go by. Kids start school at 6am to avoid the heat, and are home by lunchtime. Sean, our host’s seven year old son, was a great advert for the place. Tanned, blonde, gorgeous and independent, he spent every afternoon surfing and hanging out with his Costa Rican mates, totally happy in Spanish or English.
The backdrop to Samara is forest, stretching up the hill, misty and full of monkeys. The days were gloriously – unseasonably – hot, and the rains and thunderstorms spectacular at night. Yup, we got drenched to the skin one night and sat in a restaurant, sopping wet, with torrents pouring down the thatch just inches from us. That was a very lazy, long meal! The whole time at Samara was luxurious and lazy, and we were hard pressed to get the kids out of the water. Even Jenna, who traditionally doesn’t ‘do’ sea, was seduced by the bath water temperature, crystal clear and shallow waters. Rhys stayed in the waves until dragged out, and got beautifully brown as a result. Infact our only frenetic activity was Rowan’s birthday: the planning and execution thereof. Rowan knew she wouldn’t be getting big presents, but put together a list of things she’d like to do, with a timetable, too! It was glorious for us, not having to decide what to do, but not so easy to arrange it all, and with her tight schedule to adhere to. Still, Joe organised surfing lessons at 11.00am for her and Rhys, as instructed, and we found a stables that would take the women horse riding in the afternoon. I trekked off to a hotel which turned out to be 2kms up and down the road, or just 400m along the beach. Yes, I had chosen the road. But, eventually, we found a lovely woman who would make a chocolate cake with chocolate butter icing inside and out, and purple lettering saying Happy Birthday Rowan, on 24 hours notice. Now our Spanish is improving, but I am relieved to say she was American!
So the big day dawned, and we set out to check getjealous and were so happy to see tons of birthday greetings for Rowan. We then shopped, and found her a bikini, a sarong skirt, a pad of banana paper from Jenna and a small blue tortoise from Rhys. Rowan does love to shop, and was happy as a bean to choose her own gifts. And then came the surfing. Now, I have tried surfing in Rock, Cornwall, and let me tell you, it aint as easy as it looks. And these waves were pretty big. Still, Rowan and Rhys just rose to the challenge, and Rhys caught the very first wave and rode it all the way in, like a pro. I am sure Rowan won’t mind me saying she took a little longer, and I was even prouder of her … she took some real knocks and tumbles, but she smiled the whole way and just kept getting back on. The two guys teaching them were fantastic and patient, you could see them really rooting for the kids. Rowan’s perseverance paid off, and she rode some good waves into the shore, where Jen and I had written in huge letters “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROWAN!” Charlie and Chris, the two brothers originally from Texas who run the school (and our lodge) were incredibly kind. We had left our camera charger with Norman and Isabel in Alajuela, and were precariously close to no battery state. They spent the best part of an hour photographing the kids for us, and disked it all down – you can see the fantastic results. Later that day, they even printed off a picture of each of the kids for them to keep, proud as punch. And we were incredibly proud, too. After a solid hour they came in, drenched, tired and completely hooked on surfing. Rhys would have been straight back out there given a chance, but Rowan’s agenda prohibited that!

After Rowan’s choice of restaurant, we went to find the horses. A cab whisked us women away to a small ranch, with – to my relief after reading several bad reports – well fed, healthy horses. Our guide spoke no English, and I spoke little Spanish, but we got by with him happily jabbering away with his toothless grin, while I nodded and smiled, and caught a few words here and there. No hats or sophisticated tack of course, he just motioned for me to climb up and hold the piece of string. Jenna sat infront of me, and Rowan had her own horse. Now, in the past, Rowan was scared stiff of horses, and she blew me away once again. She had ridden on Brownie pack holiday this August, and has obviously conquered all her fears! Up she hopped, without a second thought. No one led her, she just rode. The horses had two speeds – slow amble, and slightly less slow amble when really encouraged. Jenna got major giggles as Rowan’s horse was rather prone to poo a lot. We walked along roads, where quad bikes and the occasional car did not phase these horses in the least, and then onto a quieter path. Our guide slowed up, and pointed up – monkeys. At least ten of them, just above us, complete with mothers holding their babies. “Es fantastico!” I exclaimed several times, having mastered several expressions of approval in Spanish. And onwards, through a pretty swift flowing and deep river, which Jenna’s and my horse Amarillo (Jenna was so happy, she knows that word, and that it means yellow) certainly did not want to cross. And then we reached a beach. Now we had asked for a ride down the beach, and the boys were waiting to take some pics with our camera clinging on to its last ounce of battery, but this was … a different beach. Playa Buena Vista, I gathered. “Es mucho linda!” (see? Told you I could do approval) and it was beautiful. Our guide showed us a turtle incubation station and we rode along the deserted shore. Jen, miss independence, had had quite enough of me riding with her, so I hopped off and led her until we were back at the river. This is when Jen announced she’s going to be a cowgirl when she grows up.
And so we wended our way back, and I grew aware that our allotted hour was well up. I managed a conversation along the lines of, “so, where do we get dropped back to?” After discussing whether we could ride back to our hotel, or get a cab, I hopefully voiced the idea of riding to the other beach … so we could meet the poor boys, who were waiting. No problem. And so, more than two hours after we left, we finally made our triumphant if slow procession through town to the beach, to find a rather bemused and relieved Joe, who had cornered the taxi driver who had whisked his wife and daughters away several hours earlier, and ascertained we were about 6kms away, and no, no one had any idea when we would be back. But we got the shots of our return, and we got a beautiful ride. I was incredibly proud of Rowan. And very saddle sore the next day!

The most impromptu, and arguably the most fun part of the day (though it’s a tight fought contest) was the evening. Rowan’s cake arrived right on cue, as Rowan was no doubt making a complete nuisance of herself bugging Chris to show her all the surfing photos. Jenna, eagle eyed, had spotted some birthday candles and so we did it all properly. Janice and Chris, Charlie and Sean joined us for a sing song and slice of delicious cake, and then we just sort of stayed. Sitting on their patio, chatting away, and then more bottles of wine and more cigarettes appeared. Janice, bless her, kitted the kids out with Halloween stickers and colouring, and we sat by the carved watermelon (they don’t have pumpkin in Costa Rica!) and Charlie carved another exotic fruit, The big kids disappeared upstairs to Sean’s room while Jenna sat happily sticking (with inordinate amounts of glue), and amidst much giggling we were then besieged by vampires and ghouls, covered in face paint – and we do mean covered. We talked all evening about our lives, and life choices, and a nicer bunch of people you couldn’t hope to meet. Their lives look fabulous, surfing, running two successful businesses, living in tropical Costa Rica by the beach. They must work damned hard too, but it does look idyllic. As Chris put it, “it’s all good, man.” And that has become something of a catchphrase for us, this trip. Even when its bad, it’s good. And usually, it’s incredibly good.