Molasses Covered Honeymoon - Day Six

Day six of the molasses covered honeymoon adventure started a little earlier than usual. The owner of the Villa Alegre Bed & Breakfast – who also functioned as the concierge – booked us an all-day excursion to the Rincon De La Viejo National Park. We were picked up at our front door at eight am by a man named Gustavo who was driving an old eight passenger Toyota Hiace van.

Two other guests from our hotel joined us on our excursion. A pair of sisters from New York that were right out of college. They were spending the holiday with their dad, but he declined to join us on the excursion because of some chronic back issues that did not allow him to sit for long periods of time in vehicles traveling over bumpy mountain roads.

The drive up to Rincon took about two hours. We chatted with the sisters along the way, and every now and again Gustavo would tell us to look at something interesting. We learned a little about sugar cane farming and molasses production. And since we had to drive through Liberia, we learned a little about the history of that city. Gustavo also told us that the name “Rincon de la Vieja” translates to “The old witch on the mountain” in English. Apparently, old folklore attributed the periodic smoke rising from the volcano to an old witch brewing her concoctions from her hermitage on top of the mountain.

We arrived at the Rincon visitor center around ten am and stood for a bit while Gustavo paid our fees and worked out our itinerary. He was concerned about crowds and long lines for the activities, so he set up our itinerary to try to avoid the crowds. That meant our first activity would be a horseback ride to the hot springs, with a quick pit stop at a waterfall.

I had never been on a horse before so I was a little nervous. I told Gustavo to put me on a steady veteran. He hooked me up with a small white horse with a noble disposition. I put on my helmet (required by the park) and mounted up. I didn’t catch the horse’s name, so I just called him “Hombre”. Gustavo selected horses for Olivia and the New York girls, and then selected one for himself. He gave us a quick tutorial on how to stop, go, and steer, and then we were off.

Right out of the gate, we set off up a steep hill. I was a little anxious that I might not be able to hold on to my horse, but White Hombre strolled up that hill in a very smooth and steady manner. I patted him on the side and said, “Buenos hombre”. (Me espanol est mallo.) Olivia overheard this and pointed out the fact that my horse is not an “hombre”. She then informed me of the proper Spanish word for “horse”. I did not comprendo, so I said thank you and patted my horse again and repeated, “Buenos hombre”. Ole White Hombre and I had been through a lot together. It was too late to change his name.

So the four tourists, Gustavo the Guide, and one of the local park employees meandered up the hillside path to the waterfall via horseback. Every so often, two horses might decide to take the same path and bump into each other. Or one horse might decide to pick up the pace a little bit, and start trotting ahead. But these were very minor issues to deal with. Overall, the horses were extremely docile and easy to maneuver. I enjoyed the experience immensely. Olivia appeared to enjoy herself as well. Although, I don’t think she was thrilled to be required to wear a helmet.

We arrived at hitching post after about a twenty minute horseback ride. Gustavo informed us that we would have to walk down a short trail to see the waterfall. I dismounted clumsily and told White Hombre to “no vamos”. I’m pretty sure he understood me because he just stood there looking me. I said, “Buenos hombre”, and left him with the local park employee.

We walked about a quarter mile along a slightly muddy path to the waterfall. Along the way, Gustavo pointed out various flowers, trees, and plant species unique to the Guanacaste region of Costa Rica. There was another group of about ten people walking behind us, but otherwise it was quite serene. The waterfall was somewhere around 100 feet and quite voluminous. We snapped a couple of pics and returned to the hitching post.

When I returned to White Hombre I could tell he was relieved to see me by the way he was standing in the same spot as when I departed. I said, “Ola, White Hombre. I am glad you have decided to stay with me on my journey.” He stood there looking at me like he usually does when he understands me.

We mounted our horses again and began our next journey: to the hot springs. Another twenty minutes along the equestrian trail and we were there. Gustavo told us to say goodbye to our horse at this point, fore at the conclusion of our visit to the hot springs, we would return to the visitor center via motorized tram. I said goodbye to White Hombre and he just stood there looking at me. I could tell by the way he stood there looking at me that he didn’t understand. How could I just leave him behind after everything we had been through together? It was impossible to digest. So he stood there looking at me. Or she. He/she stood there looking at me. I walked away. I had to go to the hot springs. I was told it had a mud bath in which the mud contained rich minerals from a volcano. I had no choice. My skin was kind of dry. I knew White Hombre would understand someday.

The hot springs area was more of a man-made situation than I had anticipated. I was expecting natural pools of steaming water and bubbling mud next to cascading mountain streams. What I found were man made concrete pools, snack machines, and locker rooms. The steaming hot water was piped into the pools through PVC pipe. That said it was still a very tastefully designed mountain retreat. And it’s hard to complain about the availability of lockers and snacks.

We stashed our hiking clothes and shoes in a locker and changed into our swimming gear. First stop was a sauna. We were told to sit in there for at least five to ten minutes to allow our pores to open. After the sauna, we found large buckets filled with volcanic mud. We applied the mud liberally to our skin and then stood there like idiots for ten to fifteen minutes while the mud entered our pores and dried. Then we were told to shower off and go sit in the hot spring pools for as long as we like.

When I turned on the shower I found that there was no hot water. I found it odd and slightly discouraging that a hot springs facility had no hot water connected to the shower. But I was comforted by the fact that a hot spring pool awaited me as soon as I was cleaned of the volcanic mud. I manned up and entered the cold shower, but when the water hit me I screamed like a small child. This appeared to be the highlight of the day for Olivia. She giggled uncontrollably for several minutes.

After the shortest possible cold shower required to rinse off the mud, Olivia and I entered the hot spring pools. There were four different pools, each with varying degrees of hotness. We sampled each, spending the majority of time in the hottest pool.

After thirty minutes of loitering in the hot spring pools, we dried off and found the motorized tram; which was actually a large tractor hitched to an open-air passenger trailer that held about 25-30 people. The tractor hauled us back to the visitor center where a free lunch was being served cafeteria style. It was standard Costa Rican fare; black beans & rice, grilled chicken breasts and thighs, dried plantains, Greek salad, and some sort of lemonade type beverage.

After lunch Gustavo told us that our remaining two activities contained short lines, so we could choose which one we wanted to do first; water slide or zip lining. I pondered the merits of both for a minute or two before I realized that these weren’t just a couple of options to consider. These were the ONLY options to consider. I knew the Rincon de la Viejo National Park includes these activities, but I did not realize that I had paid for them as part of my package. And more importantly, I did not realize that my fee did NOT include some sort of viewing of volcanic activity in the form of a crater, geyser, and/or bubbling pond. It took a couple of minutes to register in my brain, but little by little I realized that while I thought I paid a good amount of money to go to a volcano, I had inadvertently paid to go zip lining and water sliding.

(I would learn later that due to an eruption in 2011, the hike to the crater is no longer accessible to tourists.)

At that moment, I was a little disappointed and a lot frustrated. I was disappointed that we would not see any volcano related activity, and frustrated that I paid for something I didn’t want to do. But it wasn’t a total waste of time. The hot springs and horseback ride were well worth the trip. I suppose the zip lining and water sliding would just be a bonus activity.  I can think of a thousand other things I’d rather do in Costa Rica, but I suppose this was better than being tied to the bumper of car and dragged along a gravel road.

We elected to do the zip lining first. We strapped on our harnesses and walked up a path in the forest. It must have been a quarter mile, but not too strenuous. We arrived at the top of the path to find a small group of people standing next to a wood platform, listening to a super fit Costa Rican guy give instructions for the zip line.

It took about fifteen minutes to get all the information, and then we all stepped up to the platform one-by-one and began the zip lining adventure. There were about ten platforms to zip to, with varying distances between each. No zip line was more than two hundred feet long.

Along the way, we saw a family of howler monkeys hanging out in the same trees that we were zip lining through. They were swinging around on the branches looking for snacks and paying little attention to the humans around them.

When we finished zip lining, we removed our gear and were shown to a locker room. We changed into our swimming gear and proceeded to the water slide. Before we could get on the slide we were told we had to get a helmet and an inner tube, and because the girls were wearing bikinis, they were told that they had to put on a protective cover for their rear ends. It looked like a burlap sack that had been cut into the shape of a diaper. Olivia and the New York girls were mortified for a brief moment. But since we were in the middle of the jungle, they agreed to wear it.

We walked up another forested path to get to the top of the water slide. The slide was built out of concrete right on the hillside. It didn’t look too foreboding stationed as it was directly on the ground. If it wasn’t painted in festive blues, reds, and greens then it would have looked like some sort of industrial conveyer of heavy liquid materials. Even as it was painted to look fun, it still did not look like something a rational human would slide down for amusement.

When we arrived at the top of the slide there was a single young male attendant that couldn’t have been over the age of eighteen. As the only male in our water sliding party, I felt compelled to be the first to volunteer to go down the slide. The attendant didn’t speak much English, but he was able to gesture well enough to convey to me to sit down and wait. As I sat down and adjusted myself into the inner tube, I noticed him slightly lower a hatch behind me. It was controlling the amount of water running down the slide. I thought this was very cordial of him. After a couple of seconds he asked me if I was ready. I gave him a thumbs up and he yanked up the hatch as quickly as he could. A torrent of water engulfed me and I shot down the slide like a fucking cannon ball.

As I rocketed down the slide, I was very grateful that I had the helmet and the inner tube. The water was violently banging me back and forth on the concrete embankments and very nearly tossed me clear out of the slide on a couple of the turns. I even wished I had one of those burlap diapers because my back side was getting severely scraped through my swimming trunks. It felt like I had been tied to the bumper of a car and dragged along a gravel road. I eventually tumbled into the pool at the bottom and promptly returned my helmet and inner tube and got the hell out of there.

After I handed my helmet and inner tube to the attendant, I stood at the edge of the pool and nervously waited for my wife to appear. I thought for sure she would either be screaming or weeping in pain. She has told me repeatedly that she doesn’t have a very high threshold for pain. To my surprise, when she came barreling into the pool, she seemed to be in good spirits. I think she even enjoyed it. Although, she was out of that pool and out of that diaper with no absolutely no delay.

We changed out of our swimming gear, loaded up in our old Toyota van, and drove out of the park. Gustavo got us back to the Villa Alegre unscathed. We showered up and took a cab to the most popular restaurant in Tamarindo. A little seafood place called “Seasons”. When we arrived, we were told that they wouldn’t have an available table for the remainder of the evening.  As it was our last night in town, we were both pretty deflated.

We walked down the street and found a little pizza joint that didn’t appear to be as crowded as the other restaurants. Although, after we sat down at the bar, the bartender informed us that he was short-staffed. It appeared that it was him and one other person attempting to serve about twenty tables. We told him to get us a bottle of wine and we would try to wait patiently. We really didn’t have any better options.

While we waited for our pizza, we entertained ourselves by eavesdropping on a family behind us. As far as we could tell, an American mom and dad decided to take their two teenagers and toddler to Tamarindo for a little Christmas vacation. The dad spent most of the time managing the toddler while the mom incessantly attempted to engage the two teenagers about recent and upcoming excursions. The sad (and entertaining) aspect of the conversation was how awful the kids treated their mother. It was like the two teenagers decided to travel down to Costa Rica on their own and begrudgingly allowed their mother to tag along.

From what we could hear, the son had rented a surf board and had lessons that afternoon. After he curtly answered his mother’s questions concerning the success of his surfing lessons, he informed his mother that he would be doing the same activity the following day. When she asked if he would like to take part in the family day trip, he said no. There was no “thank you” or “sorry” from the boy. Just “no” and “I’m not doing that”. It was despicable…and quite amusing. Olivia and I could not fathom how a teenager could be so scornful to someone who bankrolled a trip to a surfing village on the Pacific Ocean in December. But who knows. Perhaps he had his heart set on going to New Zealand or something. That’s tough luck. Life is hard for the young and entitled.

After our dinner and a bottle of wine and some shameless eavesdropping, we adjourned to our hotel. Our last night in Tamarindo was a little disappointing as we did not get to try the most popular restaurant in town. We saved it for our last night and it backfired on us. Alas, we were eventually sated and were able to sleep contentedly in our private air-conditioned room.

Shredding @ Playa Tamarindo

Molasses Covered Honeymoon - Day Five

For our fifth day in Costa Rica we decided to have a beach day. No organized activities or tours. I was chomping at the bit to try out my newly acquired surfing skills as taught to me by Charlo. Olivia had little to no burning desire to try out her new surfing skills, but she had no objections to spending an entire day at the beach.

We rented two beach chairs at Playa Tamarindo for 6,000 colones for the whole day. It probably would have been more quiet and secluded at Playa Langosta behind our hotel, but the waves at Playa Langosta were crowded with expert surfers. There appeared to be only one small break at Playa Langosta, and it was far too big and fast for me to attempt - even if there weren’t ten surfers waiting in line for each wave. There was also the issue of the volcanic rock littered all over the sea floor in that particular area.

So we elected to spend the day at Playa Tamarindo, which was much better suited for beginners surfing. Even though it was more crowded than Playa Langosta, it was a much larger beach with a much more diverse selection of waves (i.e. small and steady waves). More importantly, at Playa Tamarindo there was no possibility of combing your entire face with a large rock on the sea floor as you are somehow thrown violently off a plank that is only traveling 0.2 miles per hour.

I rented a massive beginners board for 5,000 colones from the same surf shop that we got our lesson from. Charlo just happened to be hanging out in the store when I was there, and he advised me on which board was best for my skill set. I’m pretty sure he advised me to get the biggest board in the shop, as there is an inverse relationship with the size of your board and your surfing skill level. As my skill level was currently hovering around the absolute zero level, I was advised to rent a thirty-foot surf board.

I lugged my thirty-foot rental board back to our rental beach chairs and just stared at it for a long time. After awhile Olivia asked me if I was going to do anything with the board, or if it was meant to just be part of our beach lounging décor. I told her I was just waiting for the right set of waves to roll in. She looked out at the current set of waves rolling in and said that she thought the current set of waves was eerily similar to the last set of waves. In fact, there was no difference at all from the current set of waves as compared to the last set of waves. And it just may be that at this particular beach, all sets are pretty much the same. I told her that she had no idea what she was talking about. Waves arrive in sets of three or four. No two sets are the same. The sea and air and sun and moon are always fluctuating, and you must observe them until you feel balanced within their motions. Charlo taught me this.

Olivia then reminded me that she took the same surf lesson from Charlo, and Charlo did not teach us this. Charlo taught us to duck and paddle and pop up. He did not teach us to sit on the beach and triangulate the position of the moon and Jupiter. Olivia told me that I appeared to be confused.  I informed her politely that she was crazy in the head and she was not helping me find my balance. She told me that if I wanted to find balance, I should go find a truncated wood pillar and practice the crane on it like Danielsan. I told her that didn’t make any sense. So she told me that maybe I should just go put that big ass board in the water and try standing on it while riding a wave. That is the purpose of renting the board, isn’t it?  I told her I would….in just a minute…I just needed another minute…I might have a nap first…I was pretty tired all of a sudden. And I also wanted to read a bit. So I read for awhile.

Note: The above conversation did not actually happen. It was more of an internal dialogue. Olivia did ask me a couple of times if I had planned on catching some waves any time soon. But that was only to find out if I wouldn’t mind watching our stuff while she went for a quick dip.

After she ventured out to the water a couple of times, I and got bored of reading, I finally worked up the nerve to head out to sea. I walked along the water’s edge for a long ways until I found a spot with the smallest crowd. I found a spot with only two or three other surfers nearby. I paddled out and was able to use Charlo’s techniques to pull my board under the break without expending too much energy. I was also able to use Charlo’s techniques to position myself properly and paddle into the break. But every single time I got that massive plank moving, and I attempted to pop up, wipeout. Every single time I got on my feet that board would shoot out from underneath me and I’d fall backwards into the white wash. I just couldn’t get the timing down. Or I couldn’t get enough speed. Or both.  I tried over and over again and never quite got it.

At one point I found myself consistently dodging out of the way of two teenage boys who were body surfing nearby. No matter how far away I’d paddle from them, I found myself just missing them on my attempts. At one point, after a very near collision, I noticed one of them sort of congratulating the other. I realized that they were playing chicken with me. As I had already inhaled three gallons of salt water through my nose, my eyeballs felt like they might actually catch fire, and my arms felt like two noodles dangling from shoulders, I was in no mood for any kind of game that involved me being a feckless target. So I paddled into one last wave and didn’t even bother trying to pop up. I laid there stoically as the wave carried me past the boys and to the shore.

I took a long break and returned to the same spot later in the afternoon. The boys were gone, the area was still relatively empty, the waves were still rolling in, and I was still unable to catch a ride. I paddled as much as I could manage, but never caught that ride.

I returned the board and went immediately to the little market next door and purchased two Imperial Light cans. I brought them back to our beach chairs and gave one to Olivia. We drank them as the sun began to set on the water. I was exhausted and my eyes felt like they might cut through my eyelids every time I blinked, but I felt a sort of contentment as my battered body absorbed that beach chair and that frosty cold pilsner beer doused the salty flame from my gullet.

When we finished our Imperial Lights, we packed up our beach gear and found a bar that was serving two-for-one mojitos for happy hour. When we had our fill of two-for-one mojitos, we relocated to a sushi bar called Wok n Roll. Olivia ordered two sushi rolls and I had a bowl of beef and broccoli and a fried egg on top. We feasted merrily, and then merrily caught a taxi back to our villa where we merrily sacked out.

Molasses Covered Honeymoon - Day Four

The day after Christmas, Olivia and I booked a combo snorkel and sunset cruise on a catamaran. A late lunch would be included, as well as unlimited beverages. Once again, we were picked up at the house by one of the employees and driven to the launch site - which happened to be right in the middle of the public beach in downtown Tamarindo.

There was no marina in Tamarindo, so any large vessel that desired to come ashore had to drop anchor in the bay/cove at the main public beach area. Our catamaran was parked out there.

When we arrived at the launch site, our driver informed us that we would be headed out to sea with a large group of Canadians. There appeared to be about twenty-five of them and a good majority of them were obese. Along with Olivia and I, there were three or four small groups sprinkled in to max out the manifest.

A dinghy with an outboard motor was used to ferry us out in groups to the anchored catamaran. The crew had the arduous task of pushing the dinghy off the beach and into the breaking waves over and over again until they had gained enough depth to drop the outboard motor and gun it out to sea. Olivia and I were asked to wait until the last group so the crew could get the fat Canadians on board first. This took much longer than I expected. And it appeared to take longer than even the crew expected. The Canadians were just too heavy to push out to sea.

The crew pushed and pulled and pushed for what seemed like forever. And each time they made a little headway, an unusually large wave would come along and smack the dinghy back onto the beach. I began to lose confidence in the procedure. I didn’t think it would be possible to get the dinghy in deep enough water to drop that motor. When they finally did get the motor down and ignited it looked like absolute dumb luck. But they did it. They got those fat Canadians on board, and eventually they came back for me and Olivia.

She and I were the very last two on board. Hence, we got the very last two seats on deck. It didn’t much matter though. No matter where we sat, we’d be sitting next to an obese Canadian.

The crew gave us a rundown of the itinerary and the rules of the boat. We would set sail for the northern tip of the Tamarindo bay/cove. It would take about thirty minutes to get there. Along the way, we’d be free to order Imperials and pina coladas from the crew at our leisure. The captain would do his best to find a calm and clear spot to snorkel for an hour. Then the crew would serve us a lunch of chicken & rice and Greek salad. After lunch we would sail back to the launch site at a very slow pace so we could enjoy the sunset - and once again, order Imperials and pina coladas from the crew at our leisure.

As we set sail, the crew turned on a stereo and played a collection of Bob Marley hits. Olivia and I hung our legs off the edge of the boat and held onto the railing as we watched the Guanacaste coast line and interior mountains drift by.

The place that we snorkeled was clear and calm, but the wildlife in the area was subpar. We saw only a handful of bright blue fish and exactly one yellow and black striped snakelike creature that may have been an eel. We did spot a couple of pale-skinned Canadian whales, but they were not very enjoyable to look at, and I was a bit afraid of getting eaten by one of them, so we spent the majority of our time in the water trying to steer clear of them.

The subsequent lunch was delicious as there was ample Lizano salsa made available to douse over the chicken & rice. Lizano is a smooth textured Costa Rican salsa with just a little bit of kick that is sold in a bottle similar in size and shape to Cholula or Tabasco. It’s a fantastic addition to any rice dish and its everywhere you look in Costa Rica. Meals refuse to be eaten in Costa Rica unless there is a little bit of Lizano mixed in.

I was a little worried that there would not be enough chicken & rice & Lizano to go around due to the general girth of our fellow shipmates. This preconception was proved to be unjust as I am quite certain I was the only passenger that went back for a third helping.

As soon as I began to feel guilty for my discriminatory attitude – and my own descent towards obesity – I overheard one of the larger ladies asking one of her fellow Maple Leafers if they were going to the planned lobster dinner that was awaiting them on shore, and how much she was looking forward to devouring said lobster, and how much she enjoyed devouring lobsters in general. When that conversation had run its course, she moved on to the next person, and asked the same question. When people began to move to the starboard side of the boat to get a better look at the setting sun, she followed. Not to get a look at the sunset for herself, but to continue telling whomever she could just how much she enjoyed putting giant lobsters into her gullet. Even though it probably shouldn’t have, my guilt quickly subsided into bemused delight as I watched this large woman openly salivate over her upcoming feast; and immediately after lunch no less. I think I enjoyed watching the lobster lady more than I enjoyed watching the sunset.

Shortly after the sun sank into the sea, we returned to the harbor. We were ferried back to the launch site in the fading light. We were shuttled back to our hotel where we quickly showered and headed right back into downtown for dinner and drinks.

It did not seem to cool off during nighttime on the coast. It was still very warm. There wasn’t much of an ocean breeze, either. So basically, it was hot at night. I don’t think I put on a long sleeve shirt the entire time I was in Tamarindo.

Olivia was in the mood for seafood. Perhaps she had been subconsciously infected by the lobster lady. We found a nice open air, beachside restaurant called Copa Cabana. There we were served an absolutely horrid dinner. Olivia ordered mahi mahi that she claimed was satisfactory, but as she ate, I heard no sounds from her side of the table that would indicate even the slightest notch above baseline satisfaction. Meanwhile, I had a pasta dish with some sort of Indonesian sweet sauce that tasted like old tomatoes and feet. I’m fairly certain everything in that restaurant was frozen, zapped in the microwave, and then dipped in a bucket of dishwater and soiled socks.

After dinner we walked along the main street and found ourselves at a seedy open air bar listening to a couple of locals play rock covers on an acoustic guitar and bongo drum. I ordered a whiskey straight up, partly in an attempt to remove the taste of feet in my mouth, and partly just because it makes my bones tingle. Olivia ordered vodka tonics. We sat and drank until the band finished their set. It was still pretty early for creatures of the night, but not so much for we creatures of the dusk. We took a cab home and the lights were extinguished in our room by the time the clock struck midnight.

Molasses Covered Honeymoon - Day Three

We woke up on Christmas morning to the sound of two dozen small bread plates crashing to the floor. It was breakfast preparation time at the Villa Alegra B&B. The owners, Barry & Susie, and their staff of three, were attempting to prepare breakfast for about fifteen guests. Even though they had probably done this a thousand times, there is always a chance for distraction and an accident, and this particular accident produced a crashing sound loud enough to rouse even the deepest of sleepers.

We wandered out of our bedroom to find two servants tending to fresh wounds, a small group of makeshift medics tending to the servants, and a completely untended pot of Costa Rican coffee. Olivia and I made a quick determination that the servants were well tended to, while the coffee might have been suffering from neglect. We poured ourselves two large cups of coffee and silently watched the commotion around us until our breakfast was served (sans bread plates).

Barry was not only the owner and concierge of the B&B, he was also the head chef. He told us that he tried to prepare a unique breakfast for his guests every morning. On this morning, he made us a pretty tasty bread pudding.

When we finished our bread pudding, we had some time to kill before our surf lesson. We asked Susie if there was anything we could contribute to the Christmas dinner. She said that she did in fact ask all the guests to contribute something for the meal and that we could get lettuce for salad and a bottle of wine.

We walked roughly five blocks up the molasses covered road to the general store. Again, wearing flip flops, and again picking stuck rocks from the soles along the way. I picked out a bottle of wine and Olivia located some slightly decomposed heads of lettuce. The cashier spoke not one word of English, so asking her to get the lettuce out of the display case caused a bit of confusion. After some gesturing and pointing and saying “Lo Siento” (I’m sorry) over and over again, our lettuce was successfully retrieved and purchased.

Part II

An employee from the surf shop picked us up in her slightly beat up Toyota 4 Runner, and drove us directly to the surf shop in into downtown Tamarindo. On the way, we thanked her for working on Christmas day. She said it was no problem and that everyone in Tamarindo works on Christmas day. It is the second busiest day of the year after New Years day. As we drove through town, I was shocked to see that every business was open and the town was bustling with people.

When we arrived at the Iguana Surf shop I was slightly disappointed to see that we were two of twenty students attending the 11 am to 1 pm lesson. I had presupposed - without asking anyone at all to confirm my presupposition - that this was going to be more of a private affair.

Each student was given a long sleeve rash guard to wear while we were greeted by the manager as a group. He introduced five instructors and informed us that we would be split into groups of four. Each instructor would be assigned a group and only work with that group so as to provide better attention to each student. This improved my spirits a little. One instructor with four students seemed like a reasonable ratio

The manager showed us how to carry our surf boards and then told us to carry them across the street to the beach. It was so crowded that one of the employees had to stop traffic to give us a chance to get across the street. We cross the street and walked a short distance along the very crowded public beach to spot that was not so crowded.

Our instructor’s name was Charlo. He was one of the older instructors. He told us that he was a local and that he was born in a small village just on the other side of a hill that he pointed to north of the beach. Our group consisted of Olivia and I and two young American boys. They were brothers. The older one was maybe fourteen or fifteen, and his brother was eleven or twelve.

Charlo dedicated about fifteen minutes to showing us how to lay on the board while paddling, popping up to a standing position on the board, the ideal placement of your feet on the board, and the ideal posture for maintaining a standing position while riding a wave.

We were then led out into knee depth water where Charlo gave us some pointers on how to hold onto our twelve foot long boards as we paddled into the oncoming waves so that it would not be swept away and caused to drag us back to the beach by the leash. This information proved to be invaluable, as in my limited history with surfing I found that most of my energy was expended trying to avoid getting pummeled by oncoming waves. With Charlo’s pointers I was able to save most of my energy for the paddling into the waves.

Now that we were equipped with the information we needed to surf, it was time to start surfing. We paddled out to chest deep water and Charlo picked a spot that would be a sort of launching area for us. One by one, we would paddle to him and he would hold onto the board while we struggled into the proper paddling position. He would very gingerly pin our legs to the board – while also holding the board steady – as larger waves came at us that he thought were too dangerous for us to attempt. When a good (small) wave came rolling in, he would tell us when to start paddling, and then give a little push and launch us into the wave. We’d do our best to paddle into the wave, pop up, and ride the wave until we fell. We would then paddle back to Charlo’s launching area and try again. It seemed to be a good system. The four of us each got about 25-30 attempts during the hour and a half that we were in the water.

At the beginning of the lesson, Charlo had asked each of us our names. I told him that my name was Joe, or Joseph. For some reason the name would not stick. After the fourth time he asked me my name, Olivia told him to try Jose. This sort of worked. He took to calling me Jeff (pronounced Hefee for those not familiar with Espanol). Each time I would paddle out to the launching area, Charlo would say, “joo almost got that last one, Hefee! I gonna get joo into a good wave this time! Here she comes, Hefee! Joo Ready?! This one your baby! Paddle! Paddle! Paddle!”

After our 25-30 attempts, Olivia and I actually stood up and “surfed” three or four times each. Even though that percentage is fairly low, I was quite please with myself. Two times is better than zero times. So I was quite pleased and completely done in. When the lesson was over, it took all my remaining energy to carry my board off the beach and deposit it back at the surf shop. We said our thank yous to Charlo, and the shop girl drove us back to our hotel.

Part III

We changed our clothes and caught a ride into town to look for a late lunch. We selected a pizzeria where they cooked their pies in an outdoor brick oven. As we walked by their patio, we were rendered helpless by the aroma. It was not so much as a choice to eat there; it was more like a necessity. Olivia ordered a personal veggie and I ordered a personal pepperoni. Both pies were consumed in their entirety in a sort of fervor.

After lunch we decided to walk back to the hotel via the beach front. Tamarindo Beach was something in between a large cove and a small bay. To the south, we could clearly see a large outcropping of rocks that we thought was very close to the section of Playa Langosta behind our hotel. We speculated that it would only take 30-45 minutes to walk to the outcropping, and maybe another 15 minutes to our back door. We walked along the beach for nearly two hours.

It was nice to walk on the sand, but it was far too long of a hike. Olivia nearly sat down and quit several times along the way. When we finally got back to the hotel, we collapsed into a couple of hammocks by the pool.

Before long, we started hearing commotion in and around the kitchen. The preparations for our Christmas dinner were getting underway. We noticed several other guests of the hotel were assisting with the preparations and we realized that Barry and Susie were not being flippant when they said that they asked the guests to assist with the Christmas dinner. We saw guests slicing, dicing, and mixing various side dishes in the kitchen. A kitchen that was easily 90 degrees with all the windows open and no real breeze to speak of.

I made it my job for the afternoon to avoid that kitchen. Olivia was a much better sport than me. She asked Susie if she could assist. Susie asked her to take the lead on the Italian dressing for the salad. She gave Olivia and empty glass bottle and a packet of seasoning. When Olivia asked her a question about how it should be prepared, Susie very curtly told Olivia to read the directions on the packet and follow said directions. Olivia made the dressing and did not make any further offers to assist.

Dinner was served to about 25 guests. It was a very traditional menu of roasted turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and a large assortment of casseroles. We ate ice cream and cheesecake for dessert. We drank a large assortment of wine and made small talk with the other guests. There was a mom and her three college-aged kids from Canada, a dad from northwest Washington and his two post-graduate-aged daughters, a mom and dad from New Jersey with their three high-school aged daughters, and a Nepalese man that was working in North Dakota as a child psychologist with his wife and their five-year-old daughter.

I broke a cork while trying to open a bottle of wine. When I took it into the kitchen to try to get the cork out, Barry was in there and I asked him if he had an extra jug I could pour the wine into. He located a jug and mentioned that he had some fruit juice and a bunch of extra fruit that we could use to make sangria. This seemed very appropriate for the occasion and would help cover up the fact that I broke a cork, so I happily agreed to help assemble the concoction.

After we finished feasting, Olivia and I took a very brief stroll down to the beach and watched the waves under the light of the moon. We also had the pleasure of watching a family firing roman candles into the ocean. This pleasure only lasted for a couple of minutes due to our complete lack of energy. We left the ocean and the fireworks and adjourned to our room where we collapsed into bed.

Playa Langosta

Molasses Covered Honeymoon - Day Two

We climbed into the belly of the plane. Since we stopped to take photos of the plane, Olivia and I were the last to board. There were only six other passengers, but they had already spread themselves out as much as they could in the forward nine seats. That left only the back row available to us. As we strapped ourselves in with a fairly stout seat belt -- which could also be described as a harness -- I thought back to my experiences riding roller coasters. I remembered that the back row of the coaster is without fail the bumpiest place to sit. I silently cursed myself for being so slow and tried to steel myself for the oncoming tumble cycle in this festively painted washing machine with wings.

The captain climbed into the cockpit, but the first mate followed Olivia and I onto the plane through the rear doorway. I suppose it should be referred to as the “aft” entry. He inspected each of our seatbelts/harnesses to ensure that we were properly locked in, and then proceeded to welcome us aboard the plane; first in English, then again in Spanish, as he perspired freely in one of the remaining open seats.

He then scrambled out through the aft entry, hopped into the cockpit, put on his headgear, and fired up the engine. I know he put on headgear because the cockpit was not walled off from our view. I could see into the cockpit, and for the first time in my life, I could see directly out the forward windshield of a plane.

We taxied a very short distance to the edge of the primary landing strip, executed a wide u-turn, and after a momentary pause, blasted down the runway. I’m fairly certain I felt every loose pebble and crack in that pavement as we barreled toward the end of the runway. Lift off was a most welcome relief.

Relief quickly morphed into giddy excitement as I realized that I had a panoramic view of the city of San Jose through large windows on my left and right, as well as a view of the oncoming sky through the windshield of the cockpit. I didn’t notice it until we were ascending, but the windows on this plane were easily three times as large as the windows on the jets that we usually get herded into  in the U.S. Each window appears to be the size of a 32 inch television screen. And the fuselage is so thin, even though I’m sitting in the aisle seat, I can see well enough through Olivia’s window on my right and through the window on my left.

Below us, the city of San Jose is hardly a breath taking site in and of itself. There are only a handful of buildings over five stories tall, and they are scattered around the city haphazardly. (We were told later in our trip that building height restrictions are strictly enforced in deference to the ever present possibility of earthquakes.) But what is awe invoking is that the city sits in a valley between the end of the Rocky Mountains and the beginning of the Andes, and I can see them both in stunning proximity as they – and we – ascend into the sky.

Part II

We fly in a westerly fashion over the Gulf of Nicoyo. It is a jarringly smooth flight. Not even close to the nausea inducing roller coaster experience I had been expecting. In less than an hour we are at the Pacific Coast.

We make our descent to the Tamarindo Airport. It is exhilarating to be able to see the runway come at us through the cockpit windshield; the bulls-eye that the pilot is aiming for, and we are strapped onto the arrow. This particular bulls-eye appears to be no wider than an old country road. And like an old country road, it has no markings and is surrounded on either side by a cow pasture, complete with a plethora of cows who pay little to no attention to the roaring missile falling out of the sky.

The touchdown on the runway is also shockingly smooth. Olivia tells me that at the outset she was a bit frightened of this little plane, but it actually turned out to be the most pleasant experiences she has ever had on a flight. I concur with her as I hop off the plane and I watch a teenage boy walk over to our plane with a dolly and pull our backpacks out of the undercarriage of the plane .

After he asks us if he has procured the correct luggage, we follow the boy toward the main terminal; which appears to be a sort of open air pavilion roughly the size of a large barn. I come to the realization that there will be no long slog through a concourse, nor will there be a long fretful wait at a baggage claim, where you silently pray that your luggage did not get accidentally shipped to Taiwan. The boy pushes the dolly around the side of the pavilion to a small gravel parking lot where a half dozen taxi drivers are leaning on the wall. The boy asks us which hotel we are staying at, and then communicates our response to the group of taxi drivers.

The taxi drivers decided as a collective which of them would drive us to our hotel. I couldn’t figure out their method of selection, but whatever the method was, it was very quick. A driver was selected for us in a fraction of a second. Our driver led the boy to his taxi van, the boy followed with the dolly, and we followed the boy.

The boy loaded the backpacks into the van and mentioned to us in very broken English that luggage handlers at Tamarindo Airport work for tips. I nodded my head in response for a few seconds as I initially thought he was simply informing us of some interesting little factoid about his country. Then I realized that both he and Olivia were staring at me, and that he was actually telling me to pay him. I hand him a 2,000 Coloney bill ($4) and said, muchos gracias, and we climbed into the van.

We drove through downtown Tamarindo, which was almost entirely dirt roads, and continued southward another mile or two to our hotel -- the Villa Alegra Bed & Breakfast in Playa Longasta. The entire taxi ride took about 15 minutes and cost 10,000 Colones ($20).

Part III

We are met at the door by Barry, the owner/concierge of the hotel. He gives us the rundown of the operation and we are given a short tour. He tells us that he can make the arrangements for any activity or excursion that we would like to do, and he gives us a list of the most popular activities with associated costs and descriptions. We ask him to book us a surf lesson for the following day, and we tell him that we will decide on other activities later.

We hastily unpack, change into swimming attire, and walk the hundred yard path from the back door of the hotel to the Pacific Ocean. The beach is thin, but has soft brown sand and scattered black volcanic rock formations. We thought we found a spot on the beach that was more soft sand than jagged volcanic rock, but as we wade barefoot out into the water, we find that the jagged rock is hard to avoid. We are so excited to be in the Pacific Ocean, we continue wading out. We make our way into the deeper water and swim around in the pleasantly chilly salt water for a short time as the sun begins to sink into the horizon.

As we wade back to the shore and attempt to gently step around the rocks, a couple of strong waves come in and knock us down right on top of a few of them. I make it out of the water with only a couple of light scratches, but Olivia procures a contusion about the size of a racquet ball on her rear end.

We exit the beach and get ourselves a couple of Imperials from Barry’s beer fridge. Each beer costs $1.50 and Barry simply asks that we place a mark next to our room number for each beer we take. The total is then tallied at the end of our stay.

After watching the sunset on the water from our patio, we decide to walk to downtown Tamarindo for dinner. We both chose to wear flip flops since we were in a beach town. But when we set out on the dirt road, we found that the dirt had some sort of sticky substance all over it. The road also smelled heavily of syrup. We would later find out that the Costa Rican government has chosen to apply a sugar cane extract similar to molasses to all their dirt roads in the Guanacaste Region to keep cars from kicking up dust during the dry season. The policy seems to be quite effective, as I noticed very little dust in the air as we walked to dinner. However, the downside of this policy was that tiny pebbles were sticking to the bottom of my flip flops at a very undesirable frequency. But this was a small price to pay to be able to walk along a dirt road that smelled like molasses.

Olivia and I ate a delicious chicken, rice & beans dinner at a quiet restaurant on the edge of town called Dona Lee’s. We elected to skip the club scene and walked directly back to the hotel after dinner. We drank in the aroma of molasses, the salty Pacific breeze, and the sound of the thumping bass of techno music as we trudged back through downtown Tamarindo. When we finally reached our hotel, we were exhausted. We crashed right away. As I drifted to sleep, I thought how odd if seemed that the following day would be Christmas and we would be starting our day not with hot cocoa or building a snow man, but with papaya, pineapple, and a two-hour surf lesson.

Olivia On the Tarmac of Tobias Bolanos Airport

Molasses Covered Honeymoon - Day One

We arrived in San Jose on Sunday evening, December 23rd. We exchanged some American dollars for Costa Rican colones and very quickly made our way through the tiny Juan Santa Maria International Airport and found ourselves a taxi. Not fifteen minutes after we alighted from the plane, we were whisked away in a tomato colored sport sedan into the foothills of San Jose. 

 We arrived at the Real Intercontinental Hotel unscathed. Only a minor embarrassment when we attempted to tip the bell hop with colones. I handed him 700 colones in coins and he looked back at me awkwardly. I told him I had no idea how much money I had just given him. He said it was roughly the equivalent of $1.50. I quickly sifted through my stash of colones and found nothing smaller than a 10,000 coloney bill. I apologized for having no small bills to add to the 700 coloney tip, and the bell hop gave me a sort of half incredulous smile as he turned and vacated our room. 

 We quickly unpacked and spent the remainder of the evening drinking Imperials, the national Costa Rican beer. The next morning we slept in and lounged at the pool while we waited for our flight to the coast. We probably should have slept in longer because we allotted ourselves two hours to navigate through the Tobias Bolanos Airport, check our bags, and find our gate. Alas, the Tobias Bolanos Airport was only slightly larger than a convenience store. It took us all of about 10 minutes to check in to our flight. 

 While we waited for our flight, we ate a light lunch of rice & beans at the airport buffet-style cafeteria. When it came time to board our flight, Olivia and I and three other passengers followed the flight attendant out a side door to the tarmac. We watched the flight attendant stow our luggage in the belly of a cessna 208B grand caravan - a 12-seat single turbine engine plane that was easily the smallest plane either of us had ever elected to board. A plane that we both boarded somewhat reluctantly. 

 As we walked toward the plane, the captain walked up behind me and saw me snap a picture of Olivia in front of the plane. He said hello and offered to take a picture of both of us. After he handed my camera back to me, he said, "Vomonos! We go to Tamarindo!"