Archive for March, 2007

The Road Less Traveled

March 20, 2007 · Filed under Costa Rica, Monteverde

Faith is driving up a dirt road to a mountain town you cannot see. I learned this as we made our way to Monteverde a couple days ago. We had all heard that the road would be rough, but when we actually saw it, calling it a “road” seemed to be a rather optimistic description.

When we didn’t see any signs for awhile, we stopped and asked a man walking by.

“Is this the road to Monteverde?”

“Yes, you can go this way, but the road is ugly and it’s better to go back to the highway and take the other road.”

Turning around sounded daunting since we’d driven for three hours already, coming from Nicaragua. Plus, none of us really understood his Spanish description of how to get to this “prettier” road. So we continued on.

From that point on, our only indications that we were going the right way were two spray-painted arrows on a brick wall, one man on a horse, and one farmer who stopped us to ensure that we didn’t make a common directional mistake that evidently had left many poor tourists wandering lost in the mountains.

Every time we trudged up another steep, rocky hill in our Daihatsu, I thought we’d see some town or sign of life in the distance. But every time, all we saw were more rolling hills and the long, winding dirt path we had come to trust as our guide.

As the sun sank lower into the valley, I couldn’t stop my mind from conjuring up images of the four of us huddled inside our tiny jeep in the dark, rationing our water and portioning our the remaining Ritz crackers and Oreos we had, waiting for morning to come. At one point we reached a ridge of a mountain that fell to both sides of us. We were on top of the world and the only thing we could see were cows grazing on the hillsides. But we kept going—no turning back now.

Four men on horseback, 3 pee-breaks (for poor, pregnant Shannon), 2 hours, and 1 spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean later, we rolled into the beginnings on the town of Santa Elena. To our amazement, a whole slew of amenities from a big Super Mercado, to a tree-house restaurant, to wireless Internet were available in this middle-of-nowhere place. We even ran into Chris, our former British roommate from back in Antigua. The next day we spent the day hiking through one of few remaining cloud forests in the world—and all because we stuck it out with our little dirt road.

-Jessie, March 22nd, 2007

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Crossing The Border

March 19, 2007 · Filed under Nicaragua

Granada, Nicaragua is a sleepy town. It is midday Sunday and the central plaza is nearly empty, save for a handful of people finding shade in some of the park benches scattered under the trees. Located on the shores of Lago de Nicaragua, and an hour north of the border of Costa Rica, Granada is the oldest colonial-style city in Central America. Large colorful buildings line the streets. Peaches on Cremes on Oranges on Blues on Greens. Every few blocks someone is sitting in the street outside their home in a rocking chair, listening to the radio or catching a nap. There are no porches and it is a hot town.

The rocking chair just might be the most popular item in town. The only thing that could rival it in popularity is beisbol. In any other town in any other country in Central America you will find find kids kicking a ball towards goalposts made of rocks or tree trunks. In Nicaragua, baseball is king. On our first walk around town, we stumbled across an afternoon adult league game. Those not playing lined the outfield fence. Two consecutive batters lofted balls over the rather short porch in left field. Both times they stopped at second, victims of the local parks ground rule double restriction.

We didn’t come to Granada for the baseball though, we came to see the lake. Lago de Nicaragua is the 10th largest lake in the world and it is the largest lake in Central America. It rests just north of Costa Rica and stretches nearly the entire width of the souther pit of Nicaragua. It is home to several islands, the biggest of which has about a dozen towns on it and two volcanoes, the larger one dormant and the smaller active. On our second day in town we visited Las Isolitas, a series of small islands just south of Granada.

We followed a series of dirt roads that led us past beaches, several homes, some restaurants, and boats for rent before ending at the home and restaurant of a rather large family. We were looking for a place to read or write. After buying some beverages, we sat down at a table on a small point looking out into a protected bay surrounded by several islands. After about 30 minutes we were approached by a man European man wondering if we were interested in going for a ride in his sailboat. His name was Tomas and he moved to Nicaragua about two months ago. About two months before that he had bought four boats from a friend of his in his home land of Austria. And about one month before that he had learned how to sail. Actually, that last sentence is not true, but I would have bought if he would have told us so. In reality, he had been a sailing instructor in Austria for the last fifteen years and he and his friend Wolfgang had decided to move to Nicaragua to start a sailing school. They are hoping to get on the ground floor before the country is too developed.

A fter a few minutes of deliberation, we were in his boat sailing. There were a toal of five of us and the boat was a bit crowded. The water was a little choppy, but we had life vests on and we were told the water was not too deep. Tomas warned us of the risk of sailing and the possibility that we could always tip, but seemed assured this would not happened. Apparently, Lake Nicaragua is the only lake in the world with freshwater sharks – Tiburones Nicaraguas. It is believed they migrated up one of the rivers that connects it to the Pacific Ocean. We were determined not to see them up close. Tomas told us the only thing we had to worry about was the water depth and rocks that might scratch the base of the boat. Once we got away from the shore we were able to turn and see the lakeside. On land, Nicaragua seemed very dry and dusty, but from the boat you could see just how green the trees truly were where the hillside jutted up above the shore. Our trip went smoothly and we made it onto shore without incident.

When we docked our boat the family was in the middle of a baseball game in their yard with a makeshift bat and leather mitts. Home plate stood along side their restaurant and the branches of some tall trees hung down over second and short. If I had had a little more courage (or if I were Dane Steinlicht) I might have tried to join in on the game. Instead, we said our goodbyes and headed back into town.

Back in Granada the central square was filled with action. Old men were sitting on park benches, birds were singing in the trees, and a soccer games was taking place in the area outside of the Catedral. Teenagers lined the edges of the imaginary touchlines. It appeared completely impromptu, save for the guy with the whistle signaling the occasional foul or hand ball. I briefly changing into some sneakers and trying to get into the game. Tomorrow we’ll head to the border, back to Costa Rica. I decide to leave my sneakers at home and join the sideline and this scene.

- Josh, March 19-20 or so, 2007

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Living the Dream …

March 16, 2007 · Filed under Costa Rica

When the time had come for my family to arrive, I was surprisingly anxious to see them. We had arrived in the rainforest-surrounded Lost Iguana Hotel the day before them, and spent the day and night relaxing in the beautiful setting, anticipating their arrival. Part of me kind of doubted that everything would go off without a hitch. I mean we had traveled from Guatemala, then by bus from the beach in southern Costa Rica to this remote hotel in the middle of nowhere in the jungle. My family was flying from Minneapolis and Chicago, meeting up in Atlanta, renting a car in Costa Rica, and driving in to meet us. But lo and behold, at about noon on Saturday we got a call that they were in the lobby.

Since then we have been exploring various corners of this beautiful country together in our Suzuki. Some of the more interesting finds include:

  • There are monkeys that roar like lions.
  • It does actually rain—a lot—in the rainforest.
  • Luke and I have a love-hate relationship with provoking each other into heated political/philosophical debates.
    (Josh’s Note: Luke has a deeply rooted sense of justice inside him. Once, when he was about eight, his dad accidentally rolled his hand up in a car window. Despite Jim being very apologetic, and the incident a complete accident, Luke insisted on having his dad roll his hand up in the window to make things right. Jim politely declined.)
  • Little tiny insects can produce more pain then you’d think.
  • Josh’s Spanish level has exceeded the point that he can get directions from locals when we are lost, driving through dirt back roads, trying to find the beach.
  • Some roads in Costa Rica are actually not roads, just stretches of beach you get to plow through.
  • Speaking English loudly does NOT in fact make it easier for Spanish-speaking to understand (I love you mom).
  • My dad is a better surfer than both Josh and Luke.
    (Josh’s Note: This is an entirely subjective opinion based on no particular system for judging such things)
  • I am not a natural beach person. I wish I were. I watch the people lying right in the sand, going back and forth between the salty sea and the sandy towels, and I am jealous of their carefree ways. But alas, I am a Minnesotan, and being salty and sandy is not natural for me.
    (Josh’s Note: Touche beach. Touche. I am with you on this one, wife.)
  • Family vacations only get more fun when everyone is an adult.

This evening, our friends Shannon and John arrive at the beach next to ours. If everything goes as planned, we will see them tomorrow and spend the remainder of our time in Costa Rica with them. It is great to be renewed and refreshed by spending time with people who know you so well. No need for small talk or to explain yourself. Even the little annoying habits and character flaws are refreshing to me.

-Jessie, March 16th, 2007

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The Sun Goes Down

March 6, 2007 · Filed under Costa Rica, Guatemala, Manuel Antonio

It is 6 A.M., Jess and I are waiting in the airport for our flight to Costa Rica, and I have just spent the last 24 hours wondering if this is the first time I will poop my pants since I was about 8.* It is our last day in Guatemala for a few weeks and my stomach has decided to turn on me. The same thing happened the last time we were on our way out of this airport nearly a year ago. We were with a group from our church, Solomon’s Porch, and I am hoping history does not repeat itself. Sort of.

A year ago we were on our way home via Houston after a week of building homes with and for some Mayan people. The flight was a mostly uneventful one, save for the brief time preceding and up until the take off. Nearly everyone on our plane was white, save for less than a hand’s count of Guatemalans. A large group of about 50 people from another church took up a large portion of the plane. They were mostly high school aged, save for a few leaders. They were probably on their way home from a spring break trip. As we boarded the plane the were getting rowdy, laughing, most likely anxious to get home.

Jess and I were seated together in front of Eric Smith, a member of our group and the regular drummer at Solomon’s Porch. In his row was a man from New Orleans, who had made a practice of spending a week every year volunteering on construction projects in Guatemala, and a Guatemalan man. As the airplane began to take off the large church group took to raising their arms up, roller coaster style. Most everyone outside this group were resting their arms at their sides, but as I lifted my head to look around** the Guatemalan man decided to join this group. It didn’t take him long to realize that he was the only one outside of this group practicing this pre-flight ritual, slowly lowering his arms to his sides. In his mind, he was probably just following what momentarily seemed to be airplane protocol. The funny thing, though, is that he had probably never ridden on a roller coaster, let alone in an airplane.

I am quasi hoping for some sort of cultural misunderstanding like this to happen on our way to Costa Rica. unfortunately it is a mostly uneventful 90 minutes trip. Most of the passengers are of latinos and everyone is speaking Spanish. When we land, in San Jose, we are greeted by the nicest airport in Central America. There are tiles everywhere, fresh cut flowers in the bathroom, and you can even flush the toliet paper down the toilet. After getting our luggage*** we take a $20 taxi ride 20 minutes to the bus station for tickets to Manuel Antonio National Park, a national park and beach town in the Central West Coast. We are immediately greeted by a taxi pimp who proceeds to ask us no less than 5 times if we want to spend $80 on a taxi to our destination, this despite having walked us to the ticket office and watching us buy our tickets (retail value: less than $10).

It is 10:54 a.m. and our bus does not leave for another two hours. Lunch is in order. A few blocks from the bus station we find a food court across the street from a hospital. Most of the doctors in line here do not seem deterred by this fact. Two sodas, a burger, a chicken sandwich, and some fries later and the bathroom is sounding like a good idea before our three hour plus bus ride. The only problem is that the men’s bathroom went ahead and decided that toilet seats and toilet paper were not necessary. I disagree, and my stomach is on my side. Jess informs me that the women’s bathroom are much nicer. She checks to see if the coast is clear, waves me in, and head down I rush into the nearest stall. I move quickly, wash my hands, and get out without incident. Onto the bus we go.

The seats are cramped but their is air-conditioning, so long as the windows are open and the bus is moving. The buses are nicer than in Guatemala, and their is actually assigned seating (as opposed to the Guatemalan school bus style three to a seat). Outside of San Jose, the roads are like the interior pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Our ride is extended by a good hour due to an accident, several construction zones, the occasional one-lane bridge, and some unmarked bus stops dropping passengers off seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

As we near the coast the roads straighten out. We pass over mountains, rivers with crocodiles in them, a plantain farm, and several towns. We arrive into Manuel Antonio 100 meters from the ocean, about a half-hour until the sun will set, sweating, and without a place to stay. A wet man in a bathing suit on a bicycle takes us to his place, Jorge’s Cabinas where we will spend the next three nights. We drop our bags, get out of our sweaty clothes and watch the sun go down on our time in Guatemala on our first night in Costa Rica.

- Josh, March 6, 2007

*I had been camping with my family, we were on a hike, and I didn’t quite make it behind the tree that was to act as an outhouse in time. Needless to say, the underwear found a new home where I had been hoping to fertilize some trees. Unfortunately, I remember this.
** In reality, Eric is the one who caught this and pointed it out. I was sitting behind them and only realized what was happening after Eric made it clear to me. It just sounds better in the context of the story like this and would not flow as well to describe it in terms of what Eric saw.
*** One thing I think would be extremely funny in airports is a photo booth, like the kind amusement parks place at the end of a roller coaster. A flash of a bulb from a camera set up when you get off the plane and then a booth where you can buy photos of yourself looking dumbfounded and quizzical while you try to figure out where your bags are or how this airport differs from the ones you are used to (it doesn’t really, just follow the signs). Maybe stick the booth after customs, maybe next to the baggage claim. Probably wouldn’t be much of a money maker though.

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