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Blog

Pipas, Pizzas, and Sodas

When we drove to Quepos from the airport we were too enamored with the new surroundings to pay attention to much else, but the five hour drive to Tamarindo definitely made us aware of some of the nuances and (let’s call it what it is) culture shock of Costa Rica.

First of all, the roads here are white knuckle scary.  Large interstates between towns are few and far between, and those that do exist are choking with traffic.  The winding two lane roads that weave together through the landscape here are the size of your typical American single lane road used for cars in both directions.  Add in no center paint divide, hairpin mountain curves, full size buses, “tico” trucks spewing smoke, wild dogs, chickens, and cows – and it makes for a real driving experience.  Oh and did we mention that passing a slow truck or bike is one big giant game of chicken in which locals score extra tico points for blind corner attempts, or passing multiple vehicles at once?

Surviving the drive however, makes our arrival in this “paradiso” worthy of the name – and considering the number of hand painted road signs advertising said “paradiso” the locals know it too.  With a lot of help from the offline Google Maps feature (hands down the best “item” we’ve packed) we found our oasis on a hill overlooking Tamarindo’s shoreline and settled in for another flawless Costa Rican sunset, promising ourselves that we’ll never get used to this. The next few days consisted of long hours posted up in a hammock at the end of a dirt road on a pristine stretch of beach bathed by what must be the only refreshingly cold water on the coast.  Lola the pig slugged around in the mud pit not 20 feet from where bartenders were mixing mojitos and frying fish.  Nights meant repeat visits to an on the sand restaurant for sunsets and live sax music.  They just don’t do it like this back home. 

Four days too fast we were back on the tangled roads headed for an eco lodge deep in the rain forrest at the base of the Arenal Volcano.  The noises the forrest makes makes at night are piped straight into the stereo speakers of any spa you may have ever been to.  It’s the real OG, complete with the out of tune 5:30AM croaking frog who also happens to be the vocalist for your iPhone alarm.  This part of paradise doesn’t come without it’s warning labels however; in this case it’s parking lot attendants and park rangers reminding us to always back into parking spaces lest we need to make a quick escape if the volcano erupts.  Paradise and peril share a page in the Costa Rican dictionary and are nature’s reminder that nothing is forever.   Party crashing the sunrise guru-sesh of the resident yoga retreat group, and an afternoon at the volcanic hot springs completed our first leg of this journey with a chance to clear the mind and cleanse the body.  Try it; it works 

A few parting thoughts on Costa Rica –

  • Many blogs or travel articles will tout that Costa Rica is expensive but the reality is most people probably come to Costa Rica expecting it to be third world cheap.  Unless you’re buying a bottle of sunscreen, which will run you somewhere around $25; a night out will still cost half of what it would at home, granted you’re willing to get at least a block off the tourist thoroughfares. 
  • Along the roads there must be a a “pipa fria” stand every quarter mile
  • And in between every “pipa fria” stand is a Soda – which we quickly learned was a small family run local restaurant and the home of likely the best, and certainly most authentic eats, you can find.
  • The Soda signs are NOT advertising a local love for coke, sprite, and Fanta.
  • However they do advertise a great appreciation, albeit lack of mastery, for pizza at every turn (Did we mention the roads are very curvy and turns there are many?)
  • The majority of the homes might be shed roofed shanties but every shed roof comes with a Direct TV satellite dish
  • The water is ok.  You can drink it.  Don’t be a weirdo. 
  • But if you must buy water; buy beer – it’s cheaper.
  • If you ask for the check and nobody brings it to you; turn around and see where you’re supposed to be paying in front
  • “Don’t do Drugs.  Eat Tacos.” 

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Blog

Just a Walk in the Park

Everything we’ve read said it takes a while before it feels like a way of living and not just a vacation.  It’s been said that it takes a few months until you can really truly unplug; until you don’t know which day of the week it is, and until the hours of the day are only a concept used when you’re at work so you know when office hours stop and happy hour starts.  What they don’t say is that the process of finding this travel nirvana isn’t a casual walk through the park; until it is….

First let’s preface this all by disclosing upfront that in no way, shape, or form is this a complaint for the lifestyle we’ve chosen to adopt for the indefinite future.  End disclosure. 

It took a full day of planes and airports to arrive at San Jose, Costa Rica‘s Airport at 2AM, glad for a room ripe with dampness bordering on mildew, and a clean enough pillow and bed.  The next day required an all day thrill ride through narrow twisting mountain roads complete with buses that had missed their turn and luckily found the ditch on the uphill side of the mountain.  We found the hostel in Quepos without too much trouble and settled into what would aptly be later dubbed “the jail-cell”.  In every sense of the word, burnt out from the trek and the heat, we settled into our first night’s rest in paradise; sweating relentlessly on a mattress so painfully uncomfortable it must have actually been a box spring. 

The next morning we admired each other’s newly acquired boxspring bruises, downed a bottle of bathtub temperature water, and hightailed for the beach in search of a breeze and cooler water.  It wasn’t until the snap-pop of the first quasi-cold Imperial, while watching the local surf camp get steam rolled by the swell, that this started to feel like vacation, and not a TV special of some busted version of The Amazing Race.  An early dinner in town put us back in the jail-cell  asleep before our west cost friends were done with happy hour. 

it wasn’t until the next morning that we realized our box spring was in fact just an upside-down mattress.  Weather it was a sick joke, or an attempt to cover up someone else’s mishap, our rightsized mattress was a little bit of movie worthy foreshadow. 

We made our way down the road to the national park only to find a sunbaked hour plus long line waiting for us.  A local promised us swift entry into the shaded forrest for a small premium; which fifteen minutes later left us sweltering at the bus stop outside the park gates, fairly sure we’d been hustled.  At minute sixteen, and not a minute too soon, our telescope toting, Tanqueray green clad guide appeared to usher us past the crowds and through the gates into what would be the first taste of our aforementioned travel nirvana. 

We’re only just beginning the journey but this particular walk in the park brought us step after step closer to forgetting the hours and days and closer to finding our own jungle rhythm.   

The photos that follow were taken by us in Manuel Antonio National Park (if you visit here we can’t recommend enough hiring a tour guide!)

 

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