The long awaited... Semana Santa viaje recuerdamientos! I've been feeling frustrated and hot a lot of the time these past 3 weeks, so I decided it was time to look back on the fond memories of my happy vacation to the land where everyone is smiling, the country greets tourists with a peaceful, environmentally-friendly "Pura vida!", beautiful tropical wildlife to enjoy, and clean air to breathe. If you know anything about Central America, you know I am talking about Costa Rica. The first trip two years ago with Kristen, Ron, and Alexis was pure bliss, and this trip was no less appreciated. In fact, the first thought that came to mind as I stepped out of the taxi-van and onto San Jose's Calle Principale was- this city is nice! It's like a Central American version of Europe compared to the dusty, garbage-filled city I've been living in for the past 8 months, that is now hidden even from the sun by the thick, low-lying clouds of black smoke from the field burning. Que lastima that Honduras has not figured out how environmentalism and tourism (ie, improved economy) can have a direct correlation if you market it right (and first decrease drug crime, government corruption, and other tourist-scaring statistics). Ah, but on with my story...
April 17: 8 a.m. Got on OAF bus to Tegus (a.k.a. the Victor bus, since he is the OAF bus driver and is enough of a character to warrant naming the bus after him). Lacey, Maki, Jeff, Bridget, and I were headed to Costa Rica. We rode with three volunteers from University of San Francisco, who had been in town for the week to give workshops to the Honduran teachers. Plus Carlos and his whole family were there to take care of some things in town and have a little vacation to Tegus for the night. It was only a 4 hour drive (via Valle de Angeles because the USF people wanted to go shopping and sightseeing for a night before their flight out of Tegus- if only the long term volunteers had such tour transport at their leisure). The Tegus airport is always an interesting time. The check-in attendants are bilingual but concede to your language of choice, so it was nice to use my Spanish one last time before heading to Costa Rica, where everyone will answer you in English (how very French those Costa Ricans are becoming- uck!) Changed some money at the airport bank (ok, I know it's a bad exchange rate, but what else do you do when you've been saving up thousands of lempira for your international trip to a country that accepts USD over its own currency?) No problems except when I scanned my ticket at the security check and the bar code on the receipt wasn't scanning. I asked the guy, "Que es la problema?" and he asked, "Tiene un lapiz? Una pluma?" (for clarification- lapiz is used in Mexico and Central America, but pluma is what you learn your Spanish classes in the U.S. and probably Europe, as I think it is the Castillan Spanish word for pen). He scrawled something across the back of the receipt. Assuming he had OKed my entrance, I went through to the security check line and checked the back of my receipt, on which he'd written "En rojo." I started cracking up. Obviously, this guy does not know I work at an elementary school where we use the stoplight system for behavior management (en rojo means you have behaved very badly and have to visit the consejera, or disciplinarian, and sign your name in what I imagine to be a big black book, an act that is supposed to strike fear into the hearts of young hondureños and hondureñas). Verdad: I had spent far too many hours in the past 120 days dealing with the instruction and discipline of Honduran children. All the same, I took it as some practical joke he was playing since I had indicated my concern that he wasn't going to let me pass and maybe I would not make it to my much-awaited, very-much-needed vacation in a country where clean air is a given and friendly monkeys practically jump into my arms to greet me. Our Copa flight was uneventful- not full at all. I guess not that many Hondurans have enough money to travel by plane for Semana Santa vacation, and the American travelers probably avoid flights through Tegus like the plague (after all, it has the 2nd most dangerous airport runway in the world).
We were warmly greeted at San Jose airport by... family! Jeff's dad and Bridget's sister, Teresa, who had been waiting in the airport all day after her flight, were waiting for us with a taxi ready. Jeff's dad took us to drop off our stuff at their super-fancy hotel, and his parents took us out to a real restaurant-- with doors that close and real tablecloths and a 20-page menu... it took us forever to order, I think we were so overwhelmed. I ordered a salmon pasta and the house wine, which was served to me in a glass the size of a small fish bowl. Jeff's mom is a champion storyteller, and we heard a lot of funny stories about Jeff's childhood. It was all-around wonderful to sit in a genuine restaurant around a big table with lots of friendly faces and have a family experience for the first time since Christmas. The Best Western hotel room was just as fabulous, and I took a very long, very hot, very extravagant shower. (It's a good thing, too, bc on the return visit at the end of our trip, the hot water was intermittently tepid and glacial every 5 seconds. I danced around like a sapo (frog) trying to escape from a bunch of screaming Santa Clara 4th graders). In the morning, I made real coffee with a real coffee maker from the comfort of my room... and stocked up on fruit at the buffet (we had to leave too early for real food). A two-block walk to the bus station had us standing in a long line to Monteverde, where we scored... 3 tickets "a pie" for the 4 hour ride. As quaint as it sounds, if you know Spanish or French, you'll get that this means "on foot." No, we didn't have to run behind the bus, but we did have to stand squished in the aisles and clutching the luggage rails the whole way. As an added perk, the bus was stalled for more than 30 minutes at a police station after the driver got pulled over for... speeding? Forcing passengers to stand in the aisles holding onto non-approved handles? Who knows... finally this tiny guy got off and went to get the driver out of the police station- "C'mon man, eat your donut & chat about the futbol finals when you're off work... we got tours to catch!" However, if you check out the photos you'll see we were still beaming... vacation is vacation, no matter the physical discomfort! After 4.5 hours spread-eagle-armed, none of us felt like spending the afternoon continuing to hold on for dear life while dangling several hundred meters in the air, so we rescheduled our zipline tour and had a late lunch. As it happens on vacation with detours to the plan, this was all perfect because instead we went horseback riding into the sunset. B & T's enthusiasm for horses got me on one, and I soon decided I actually like riding... although it did make me even more sore than ziplining the next day! Ziplining was great, just as before- actually better, bc this time I had no fear at all- pure enjoyment. I couldn't believe I'd just been to these very spots less than 2 years ago... never would have guessed I'd be back to Costa Rica so soon, and this time with an entire new group of friends. Life is good! Decided to take the jeep-boat-jeep tour to La Fortuna (faster to jet across the Lake than try to navigate around it). I guess the jeeps no longer exist, probably bc the trip is so popular. Now they use mini-vans. We had 3 French ladies riding in ours- very red & purple hat types. I tried to use my French to make pleasant conversation and ask what region they were from, but ended up saying "Je faisais des études en Aix-en-Provence il y a nueve años... nueve années... nueve ans?" Good grief... I can't even count in French anymore! The ladies' bilingual tour guide was really sweet though (and intellignet! native French woman who'd been living in Costa Rica the past 20 years... and spoke to us in perfect English as well). One of the ladies was really eager to use her rusty English (probably dated back to her high school days). She made the driver stop so we could all take photos in the countryside with the Volcan Arenal in the background. "I take your photo! ... It's very beautiful!" she exclaimed. Actually, rolling over the countryside passing well-groomed cows, the mountains and lake in the distance... and especially with the driver and guide chatting in Spanish in the front seat, the three gabbing, giggling Frenchies in the middle: "Ici, est le lac. Les vaches sont mangent de la terre"... it seemed more like we were crossing some French campagne. I half-expected the cows to lean over the fence rails and let out a "Rit!" (as in La Vache qui Rit cheese ads). Apparently the Frenchies were at the same time saying something along the same line, as I overheard between the giggles, "...avec trés tout petites americaines a la derrière!" (with 3 cute little American girls in the back seat!")
We arrived in La Fortuna at Gringo Pete's, a hostel recommended by a Swedish girl who was traveling through Costa Rica during her 6-week volunteer vacation working at a Jaguar sanctuary. (Why didn't I sign up for that volunteer effort? I'm quite sure handling jaguars is easier than Santa Clara students.) José, the manager, was neither Gringo nor Pete, but very full of helpful info. After grabbing yummy foods we crave in Juticalpa but cannot get (or afford) at the mini-super down the corner, we got a taxi to take us to the backpackers' hot springs- a bridge next tot the Tabacón Resort. We didn't believe the taxista at first, as he waws telling us to walk in the dark under a graffitied, trash littered tunnel and murkey water... but then a few girls came out and verified that this was the place. Fortunately on the other side of the tunnel was a group of quiet, clean rock pools of 90 degree water-- and lots of young American & Canadian couples hanging out. We dined on bread, gouda, kalamata olives, pineapple (the best I've had in my life), mango, and Malbec out of our special party mugs (bought at the mini-super for the occasion). Funny that in Juticalpa I would never splurge, but when on vacation it is suddenly perfectly fine to drop $30 on a meal of bread and cheese. Back at the ziplines, an Israeli guy on his honeymoon (whose wife chickened out after a few ziplines) had told us about this place, and advised we bring candles, for which tip we were ever grateful. It was great- hot springs at $0. Last time Kristen, Ron, Alexis and I paied $30 apiece for an amusement park pool and unmentionable buffet at the nearby hot springs resort.
The next AM we took the public bus to the National Park Volcan Arenal (or the highway drop-off point) and walked the rest of the 2 miles to the park entrance. The park was kind of anticlimactic after my last summer's tour-- walking on steaming vents at Pacaya a mere month after its massive eruption. Got some good photos though, and a reminder of how rude the French can be. I tried to ask a girl (en français) from a French high school group to take a photo. She not only acted like I wasn't even talking to her, but later agreed to take the photo, asking "What do you want as your background?" in perfect English. Ok Frenchies, I understand you're all so much more multilingual than we Americans, but did anyone teach you the beauty of manners in a multicultural situation? High schoolers! We tried to hitchhike back to La Fortuna bc we had to catch a 2pm bus to San José in order to make our beach journey shorter on Wed. No luck so we started walking in the direction of a sign that advertised an info center another 3 km up the road. We hardly made it 3 steps and a turismo bus rolled to a halt to let us in with a blast of A/C. The driver, Jorgé, became our pal for the next 5 hours. Turns out he was on his way back to San José, so he dropped us off at the hostel to grab our bags and we took him out to lunch on the way back to the capital. Afraid we weren't much company for him, though- we all passed out in the refrigerated bliss of A/C full blast. Almost made the 4pm bus to Limon (1/2 hour from the girls' beach house in Puerto Viejo). But the 16-year old bus concierge warned us the city was "peligrisissimo" and didn't warrant the risk of arriving after dark. So instead we taxied to Tranquilo Backpackers Hostel in San José for the night-- the crazy Eddie Izzard look-alike taxista commenting as he jack-knifed through the 4 blocks from the bus station, "No es tranquilo allá." No kiddin' buddy, neither is your driving. The place wasn't bad though, if you don't mind the thick scent of pot wafting around the lobby as rastifaria-haired South Americans walk around aimlessly, starting up chatty conversations only to turn away mid-reply, as soon as something at another table catches their ephemeral attention.
Bright and early we got on the 6AM bus to Puerto Viejo de Talamanca. Must maximize surf time. And it was 2 days of pure Caribbean bliss! Relaxation, sun, fresh tropical delights, and native wildlife abounding (but not in the house, thank God. Oh there was one roach one night, but I noticed that even it looked prettier than the Honduran roaches). The house Maki and Lacey had rented with Maki's friend Kristen was phenomenal-- just like a beach cottage or lakehouse Mom & Dad would have rented for a family vacation. We ate scrumptious breakfasts at an all-natural homemade café called Bread & Chocolate. I ate 2 fresh organic bagels within a 24 hour period. We drank fresh licuados with no sugar or neon coloring added. We visited an animal sancutary where an adorable monkey fell asleep on my head. We rented a surf board and a boogie board, and I rode colossal-sized waves and almost got pulled out to sea in the afternoon undertow. I bought handmade local jewelry for a few dollars. We souvenir-shopped and generally felt wholesomely American-tourist...even slovenly so (as I walked to the beach, restaurants, shops, the ATM- everywhere- in my red string bikini and white cover-up). Yet important to mention- although I was practically naked compared to any self-public-presentation in Juticalpa- NO one said (or whistled, or ogled) a thing. Now this was a vacation. We rented cruiser bikes for $5 and tooled around the paved road of town. I bought the best-tasting pineapple I've had in my whole life and carried it back the block to the house in my bicycle basket. I walked to the French bakery on the corner every morning and ordered a (real) espresso. Was this Costa Rica, or was this... Heaven?
When it was time to get into our expensive private transport van Friday afternoon (no public busses on Good Friday) the only
reason to look forward to heading back to San José was that we had one night left together, and we got to see Jeff and hear about his vacation with the 'rents. Hardly recognized him as he was darker than an Indian and appeared to be molting (the first day sunburn was that bad). Some nice hotel's restaurant on the main calle saved us from having to do Holy Saturday dinner a la Christmas Story (fa-ra-ra-ra-ra at the Chinese restaurant). Iced the Coronas and we played the worst game of gin in my personal history (yeah, even compared to the games against Grammi- it was that bad) back at the room. The next morning we were up waaaay too early for a very silent ride back to the airport and a final Cinnabon huzzah! before heading back to Honduras, the land with no American comforts (except Coke and Pepsi) and much heat, smoke, and burning trash. I was sitting on the Discovery bus out of Tegus, looking out the window and wondering what in the world possessed me to select this country as my home for a year, when I saw a homeless man pulling some sort of nasty black gunk out of a sewer, possibly to eat it... and I remembered our purpose here- to bring education to a remote area of a very poor country, in the hope to end corruption and narrow the gap between the very rich and the very poor. Yet it was good to have a rest and a week of escape. Costa Rica was a literal paradise in these possibly longest 10 months of my life. Pura vida! And God, may the costarricenses at some point rub off on their Central American neighbors.
Don't forget to check out the pics!
1 week in Costa Rica= the cost of my entire living expenses for the 8 months in Honduras to the date.
Photo of me with a snoozing monkey on my head= priceless.
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