DEAR ALIZARIN: Aburrida en Manuel Antonio, el parque bonita

Manuel Antonio make Florida seem cool and dry.

Stepping off the bus in downtown, consisting of one corner around with hovers two outdoor restaurants competing for the appetites of resorters surrounded by shops and services for tourists, I knew that for the next two days any effort to feel fresh or clean would be in vain. First on our agenda was breakfast. We chose the restaurant without the seemingly inappropriate classical music (which half way through our meal turned to some light rap). Meanwhile, we strategized about finding a hotel. We were dismayed by the non-centralized composition of the town and annoyed that our Costa Rican bible, the Lonely Planet Guides (three between the two of us), did not warn of this difficulty. We decided to take a cab up to the Hotel Banana, advertising $20 rooms and recommended by a friend from Intercultura. We go there and were told they had no rooms. Luckily, it was at the top of the hill and we decided to head down and try our luck along the way. We didn't have much. All the hotels were either $60 a night or more resorts and/or had no rooms. My budget for the weekend being about $200 total, I was not willing to give up. After the mid-range hotels in the book were filled, Derzblog, exhausted by the heat, hiked back up to find the $60 room. I kept going down hill hoping for something at least around $30 or $40. I think he felt I was either cheap or felt badly for leaving me, I think it was for the best and unlikely we would find two rooms in one place anyway. I was closer to 'downtown' than I thought and asked for one of the cheap hostels listed in my book. It was just up the street (unmarked) and they had a room for $10. I took it. The common eating area and courtyard had a jungle charm. My room did not. Like the book said it was small and stuffy. The bed looked lumpy. There as a table and a stool made out of a tree stump. I reorganized my stuff to prepare for a hike or whatever would happen that afternoon, trekked to the bathrooms to attempt to freshen up (in vain, as expected) and headed to explore the beach and get info about tours. I had two hours before meeting Derzblog for lunch. He thought it would take me that long to find a hotel. I think he just wanted to rest and shower. I figured showering was pointless.

Walking around, I easily found that there was one tour option, the best at 7am the next morning, and two horseback riding options. I then shopped for a towel, which I forgot to pack and is not part of the hostel services. Since the beach towels were large, heavy, and pricey, I opted for a parea instead, which I figured would dry better as well as be something to wear later. I practiced my Spanish as I killed time bargaining and browsing. Along the way I befriended the fruit seller, a young man drumming up business in the street in English. However, when I spoke to him in Spanish, he happily switched to Spanish and we discussed my travels, my study of Spanish, and fruit. I told Lingo (not sure of the spelling) I would probably be back later for some pineapple. I headed toward what I thought was the entrance to the national park, but only saw men charging to row folks across a small estuary formed by the incoming tide. I walked by to talk to the tour guides and confirm the 7am tour time and price. Again, they were patient as I haltingly spoke in Spanish. I bought pineapple from Lingo and learned the word for yellow. After more wandering on the beach and I met Derzblog for an uneventful lunch. We were going to attempt horseback riding that afternoon, until thunder and clouds led us to decide to postpone until tomorrow. Instead we headed up to El Avion, a somewhat famous bar built around an old airplane made famous by its relation to poltical scandals (see Derzblog's entry for details). We were there quite early so we got the prime table in the corner of the large deck where we had the luxury of the leather rocking chairs the front row seats of the spectacular view from the hilltop. We passed several hours sipping beer and wine, finally ordering dinner, and discussing everything from time zones in the South Pole to our family dynamics. The restaurant filled up with mostly Americans as the sunset. I had the displeasure of overhearing the conversation of two loud older men at the next table. The gist of it was that the one man wanted to be catered two and did not know Spanish, did not want to hear it, and definitely did not want to learn it. A totally understandable sentiment for someone traveling in Costa Rica (much sarcasm intended here). Not long after I thought it mildly amusing as I listened to him order apple pie. How very American. I was extremely thankful to have the company and conversation of Derzblog on this trip as I would have possible found the culture of Manuel Antonio intolerable.

The next morning we met early to grab breakfast before we met our tour. This would have been possible had the family next to us not taken 10 minutes to order. Instead we settle for a cup of coffee and hot chocolate. Our tour consisted of us and a Spanish speaking couple. I enjoyed the bilingual nature of our tour and was again pleased with my ability to understand a significant amount of the guide’s explanations in Spanish. It was amazing the things he focused his telescope on in the jungle that I would never, ever have seen on my own. The jungle is amazing. It was not as dense as I expected, but the fauna and flora did make me feel as though I was definitely in a new world. We saw monkeys, sloths, iguanas, caimans, and various other critters, big and small. We even saw the very rare stick bird, which indeed resembled a twig on the tree. Our guide said he's only seen a handful of them in his lifetime. I felt lucky. As our hike ended, the heat really started to descend upon us. In my jungle gear to protect me from bugs and sun, I was definitely the most overdressed person in town, but I left without a mosquito bite or sun burn.

We had breakfast and planned the afternoon. We decided to stop by my hotel to take advantage of their service to get us bus tickets for the next day. However, we were told they could not do it today and all the buses would be full. We debated heading to Quepos, the neighboring bigger town, to get tickets before going horseback riding. However, another man said the station closed a half hour earlier. We would have to take our chances. However, knowing what I know now, I wonder if it would not have been open.

We booked our horseback riding tour and within about 30 minutes were picked up at the tour office. We spend the 30 minutes in the cool, air conditioned office watching TV so I felt a bit refreshed as we headed out. The guide put Derzblog on his horse and gave him a 30 second lesson in horseback riding. I mounted my horse, a pretty reddish-black horse named Cherry. AS I did so, Derzblog somehow ended up in the stable where he hit his head on the rafters. The guide held on to a rope tied to my horse and simply guided us on the ride. I did not get any lessons. I suppose it is because I am the muchacha. Though this would have outraged me as unfair earlier in my life, I saw it as a chance for me to relax and enjoy the ride without worry. I was thus able to take several pictures along the way. This was my first ride ever and I must say there is something to the connotations about horseback riding and women. Not a lot, but a bit. In line with my yoga training, it was interesting to be aware of various parts of my body that were used to keep me balanced and to guide the horse (though the guide did most of that for me). Likewise, though sitting and riding, it is a rather active physical activity, which I did not expect. We started off along the beach, staying in the shady sandy forest when possible. I relished the silence in which we rode, listening to the beat of the hooves, the whoosh of the waves, tuning out the murmur of the tourists on the beach. We then climbed up a rather steep road to another breathtaking lookout of the ocean and cliffs. On the beach we continued again to more rocky cliffs. One of the highlights of my tour of Costa Rica is this tranquil hour and half ride with my gentle friend Cherry.

After lunch, we returned to the park on our own for a hike through the peninsula where we did not go with the guide. Derzblog challenged me to see who could spot more wildlife. I immediately spotted an iguana and a chameleon. He gave up after this. This trail was much more rugged -- steep and muddy -- and led to denser jungle. The heat and humidity at this point were approaching oppressive. We reached another look out point and then found a community of monkeys. I finally was able to get my fairly up close monkey pictures, another item checked off on the mental to do list. I frequently lagged behind Derzblog, who kept up a quick pace, as I cautiously negotiated the mud and stopped for photo ops. We descended to a secluded and pristine beach where we rested a bit. Knowing the park would be closing soon, and seeing Derzblog was eager to rest, we did not stay on the beach as long as I would have liked. On the way out, there was another iguana waiting for me to snap his photo. Sitting in direct sunlight, looking right at me, I think it is one of the best photos of my trip.

My shoes soaked from trying to traverse the tidal estuary without the boat (who knew the tide would come in at that moment), I headed back to my hotel to change my shoes and ended up changing into the parea and dousing myself in another layer of bug spray. We opted for dinner at the opposing restaurant than our usual, which turned out to be noisy and have very slow service. After dinner and a round of drinks, we headed up to the upstairs bar next door hoping for a more conversational noise level. This didn't happen, but we did get two for one drink. Or I did. After three beers, I was approaching looping. I managed to get Derzblog to stay out until 6:30pm. In a light rain, he caught a cab to his hotel and I was on my own for the evening. Dismayed by the Hooligans/American like culture of downtown Manuel Antonio, I went to my hotel to check email. The electricity at my hotel was out, so I went back to town and paid too much at an internet cafe (which came out to about $1.50). I then put on my mp3 player to tune out the bad bar music and sat along the dark beach to watch the whiteness of the crashing waves break the monotony of the blackness of night. Not wanting to wander to far from the safety of the crowds, I paced up and down the small stretch of beach near downtown, dodging couples cuddling in the moonlight. Finally, I headed back to my room to attempt sleep on the lumpy bed listening to the incredible jungle noise of chirping bugs, rattling somethings, and what I think sounds like mating monkeys. Somehow I did achieve sleep, only to be woken around 4am by a torrential rain. Apparently this woke up the jungle life too and the call of an animal I cannot even phantom began. It started as a low deep groan and swelled into an agonizing aaaarghh, aargh, aaarghhhhhh resembling the agonizing cries of Frankenstein's monster attempting to speak, then the call faded out in a groan of surrender. A pause of varying lengths would punctuate these long calls through the jungle. If it were not so fascinating I am sure I would have been outraged at my loss of much needed sleep. After two hours I went to take my cold shower, dress, and go meet Derzblog to catch the bus in hope of being first in line at the ticket window in Quepos. The morning was cloudy and cool. I watched the surfers from the orange bus stop and enjoyed the peace until a man came who wanted to become friends. He tried to tempt me to delay my leaving of Manuel Antonio with offers of surfing lessons and 'friendship.' Thankfully, Derzblog and the bus arrived just as I was trying to figure out a way to remove myself unabruptly.

In Quepos, at a quarter to eight, the ticket window was obviously open well before eight in the morning and we joined the long line. A slow line as each person debated with the one woman working there, who, it turns out, is also in charge of taking in and dispersing the stacks of packages in the office. We got up there and found the only available tickets were on the 6pm bus. For the first time in Costa Rica, I felt despair. It was already sweltering and I just wanted to get back to a city were everything did not feel like a tourist trap. We bought the tickets and went for breakfast to figure out possible ways to escape this city. I was too upset to eat, especially at the prices which were even more inflated than Manuel Antonio. Pancakes were about 3 times more than other places in Costa Rica and I was also hoping I would not have to change more money for leaving in two days. Scouring our three Lonely Planet guides for advice, I found two alternate routes and went to ask for advice. I got limited info -- we could not change our tickets, but I could not understand why or if there was space available. Finished with his breakfast, Derzblog went back with me and explained we buy the other tickets on the bus. If it meant getting out by 10 am, I would gladly pay the extra. As it turns out, we somehow managed to get on a direct bus to San Jose, though we had to stand the entire ride. I spent the ride listening to my mp3 music, enjoying the view, and being thankful I was healthy enough to stand on a bus for three and a half hours.

Getting back to San Jose and Heredia felt like coming home. This made me think even more that I want to return to study Spanish and to learn more about Costa Rica in the future. I also discovered I am a traveler who likes to find the maybe less spectacular but more 'real' parts of country, to settle in a place for a bit really get to see the day to day life, experience the people and get to know the country more from the inside (or as much as is ever possible as a foreigner).

Back in Heredia, my last evening there, I decided to go home, change, and check email. I figured I would email some people to see if anyone is around. An odd idea, true, in Costa Rica, but I had no one's number and address and didn't want to spend my last hours sitting my room. I also figured my houseparents could only have enough patience for dinner conversation. The electricity was out so I took a cold shower and decided to take the bus back to San Jose to email and maybe see a museum (though it was getting close to closing time). The electricity came on when I was a block from the station, so I headed back to town. I went to a cafe, emailed, and then found a small fair in the main park. There I ran into Alan, a boy from the dance classes, and we chatted a bit in English. I was too tired to really attempt Spanish and he really wanted to practice English. We parted and then shortly after ran into each other in a cafe where we chatted more over of coffee. He left for new job training. I went home for dinner, then back out. There was live music and dancing in the park. I sat to listen and watch the festivities. It was a pleasant surprise. Once again, Alan passed by. We talked and walked again and ran into his friend Julio. They were both excited to practice speaking and listening in English. I attempted some Spanish practice, but was out numbered. They both expressed shock at my age, insisting they thought I was only in my mid-twenties, out of politeness or sincerity, I do not know, but I allowed myself to feel extremely flattered. After about an hour, I caught a cab home, packed, studied some Spanish, did some yoga, and slept soundly but shortly.

The last day consisted of breakfast, shopping, visiting my friends at Intercultura for the last time, and sharing a final afternoon of coffee and extremely interesting conversation with my teacher. Hesitant to leave, I rushed back to meet DC woman at the school, who was patiently waiting. She walked with me back to my house to get my bags and my cab. I was only 5 minutes late.

Mucho gusto, Costa Rica.

Lychee