Molasses Covered Honeymoon - Day Eight

Our last full day in Costa Rica started early. We arose at dawn as we were to be picked up by a tour guide at six am. We had arranged a guided tour of the Poas Volcano through our hotel concierge. We were picked up at our hotel by a guide driving yet another Toyota Hiace van. After introductions and a stern warning from the guide that it would be very cold at the volcano summit, we proceeded to drive to three other hotels to pick up more passengers for the tour. When we were finished picking people up, we had a full van of about twelve passengers.

We set off towards the Poas Volcano National Park, which was only about an hour’s drive out of San Jose, in the Cordillera Volcanica Central Mountain Range. The Hiace would take us all the way up to the 8,800 foot summit of the volcano on paved, two-lane roads, and deliver us to a viewing platform that would allow us to peer down into a bubbling green, blue, yellow, and grey crater lake.

As part of the tour we made a long pit stop at the Doka Coffee Plantation, about halfway up the mountain road. We would get a short tour of the facility after a breakfast buffet of scrambled eggs, rice & beans, fruit, and some of the freshest coffee I’ve ever tasted. The plantation staff had brewed large carafes of all their standard flavors. There were only five or six flavors to sample, but each one was better than the last. I contemplated skipping the volcano tour and just sit in that dining hall for the remainder of the day sampling that coffee. I don’t recall what “Doka” means, but it might as well be Spanish for “divine”.

Alas, I knew that a deviation from the tour would not be well received, so I joined the rest of the group for a tour of the facilities. We were shown some of the nearby fields, how the beans were processed and dried, and then of course, we ended the tour in the gift shop. Gift shops usually make me feel sad and exploited, but since this gift shop offered a multitude of coffee beans in easy to carry packages, I have to say I didn’t mind being maneuvered into that particular gift shop.

After we purchased about ninety bags of coffee beans, we climbed aboard the Hiace and set off for the volcano. As with all mountain roads, the route was steep and winding. The driver was very slow and steady, and since it was a clear day we were able to get spectacular views of the urban development of the big city of San Jose down in the valley. When we were driving through San Jose, I mostly noticed the crumbling buildings, the cheap building materials, and the poverty. But from 5,000 feet up a mountain road the overall mass of development looks sort of majestic and purposeful and very nearly attractive.

As I am enjoying the view of the valley, our driver turns into a bend in the mountain road and in an instant we are completely engulfed in dense fog. Visibility is maybe ten yards. There is nothing left to see. But this is okay because only a moment later we arrived at the parking lot for the Visitor Center at the summit of Poas Volcano.

We stepped out of the Hiace and were met with a blast of icy wind. Olivia and I threw on our extra long sleeve shirts and rain jackets, and followed our tour guide along a quarter mile paved path to the viewing platform at the summit.

With each step towards the summit, the wind seemed to get stronger and stronger, and a light drizzle of rain began to fall. My long sleeve shirt and rain jacket were helpful, but not quite enough to block the misery that comes with being cold and wet and continually slapped in the face by bitter cold rain drops. Although, there is something exciting about experiencing a quick change in climate conditions. Even if you are going from seventy degrees and dry to forty degrees and sodden.

When we finally arrived at the viewing platform, both Olivia and I walked directly to the railing and simultaneously peered down over the precipice and saw…more fog. As I was getting constantly bombarded with rain in my face, I decided to try rubbing my eyes and refocusing to make sure I was not seeing a mirage. This was pointless, but I didn’t want to be totally helpless. But even after I cleared my vision, there was still nothing to see but fog. And no emotional response except for that dull misery already generated by wind and rain.

For the first couple of minutes our entire group tried to withstand the cold and rain and wait in hope for some sort of magical clearing to occur. We could feel the power of the wind as it consistently swept over the summit. It was easily blowing at more than twenty to thirty miles per hour. It seemed that it would almost have to clear the fog at some point. But the fog was too dense. And we were too weak. Olivia and I braved the bitter cold for as long as anyone in our group. We must have stood there at the edge for nearly twenty minutes. But we never saw the bubbling green, blue, yellow and grey sulfurous crater lake.

We tucked our tails and scurried back to the parking lot. Our guide led us to a small cafeteria and another gift shop. I had no interest in the gifts, but I was keenly interested in the warmth and shelter provided by the gift shop. We ordered hot beverages from the cafeteria and meandered around the gift shop until the chill was removed from our bones.

Even though the viewing of the bubbling volcano crater lake was a wash, our tour guide ensured us that there were still some exciting things to see while we were in the Poas Volcano National Park. He was referring to the last scheduled stop on our tour, the La Paz Waterfall Gardens.

We drove a short ways down the mountain; just far enough below the summit to escape the shroud of fog. We entered another parking lot, but this one was much more pleasant as the rain and bitter wind were replaced with warm and dry sunshine.

Our guide led us through the entrance to a large resort hotel. Built into the backside of the hotel was a small zoo. We walked along a concrete path and viewed various Costa Rican animals in cages along the way to the waterfalls. We saw toucans, parrots, a hummingbird den, a butterfly den, a frog den, sleeping sloths, lemur monkeys, and a large jaguar that was stalking back and forth in his glass cage looking absolutely ready to pounce on any one or more of the children that were persistently tapping on his glass wall. I almost wished I could set him free and watch him maul one of those kids. Nothing too vicious, just some light mauling for the jaguar, and a little lesson for a callous child or two.

Beyond the little zoo cages, the concrete path ended at the edge of a steep gorge. At the edge was a series of metal stairways that descended a couple of hundred feet down to some viewing platforms. When we arrived at these viewing platforms, we actually had a clear view of multiple large waterfalls. There were five of them and the largest had something like an eighty foot drop. We took a few photos and enjoyed the view for a moment then headed out. Along the pathway way out, we were naturally guided into yet another gift shop before we could vacate the premises. And after ample time to select some gifts, we hopped back into the Hiace and headed back to San Jose.

We arrived back at our hotel around four pm. We scheduled a couples’ massage in our hotel spa and spent ninety minutes getting our tired and worn muscles rubbed down and worked over. After the massage, I spent a solid forty minutes in the steam room in a sort of euphoric trance.

Afterward, we had dinner in the hotel lobby bar. We split a pasta dish and a crepe, and drank Imperials until we could no longer keep our eyes open.

The following morning, we packed our bags and caught a taxi to the Aeropuerto Internacional Juan Santamaria. The airport was total chaos. There was a large group standing in a line, so we immediately joined the line without thinking too much about it. We just sort of assumed it was a customs line. But after standing there for a couple of minutes and the line didn’t move, we peeked around to the end and realized it was just a large group of tourists waiting for each other to fill out their customs paperwork. Not sure why they were standing in a line. They were obviously idiots.

We got out of line and found a security officer and asked her what we needed to do to get to our gate. She was brisk, but helpful. She showed us the customs forms and told us to fill them out. We had to rummage around the terminal to find a pen, but after a short scavenger hunt, we located a pen and got our forms filled out. I’m not sure what we would have done if we couldn’t find our own pen. I guess we would have had to walk around begging other travelers. As Olivia was filling out her form I looked back at that first line we were in and realized that those people were in line for a purpose. They were waiting in line to gain access to one pen. There must have been thirty of them; just waiting for access to a pen. Stupid. This bothered me for a second. But then I began to think it was nice to see people being patient and civil. And at least I didn’t have to waste my life away in a line like that.

After we submitted our customs forms and made it through security, we looked for a place to eat lunch and were quickly discouraged when we traversed the entire terminal and found only three restaurants. Each of which had long lines waiting for service. As we were completely zapped of energy from our travels, we quickly decided we had no desire to wait in line for any airport restaurants and agreed to split a pre-made Quizno’s turkey and mustard sandwich that was being sold at mobile kiosk.

It was a depressing final meal for a trip to Costa Rica. A place with cloud forests and rain forests; a place where the Rocky Mountains meet the Andes; where the Pacific Ocean is only a stone’s throw away from the Caribbean Sea; a place so rich and diverse in plants, animals, climate, and terrain that it could only be called the “Rich Coast”. But I suppose that a place that embraces so much diversity can’t help but embrace a turkey and mustard sandwich from Quizno’s. We shrugged our shoulders, cut the sandwich in half, toasted to each other, toasted to Costa Rica, toasted to the Pura Vida, and toasted to our turkey and mustard sandwich. Then we boarded our plane and went home.

Molasses Covered Honeymoon - Day Seven

The seventh day of the molasses covered honeymoon was check out day at the Villa Alegre Bed & Breakfast. We were served a delicious quiche in the morning by Barry the owner/concierge/chef. Afterwards, we returned to our room to pack our bags. As I was packing I was hit with a sudden and powerful queasiness. Something in that quiche did not agree with me. I was able to pack up, but it was very fortunate that I was packing within ten feet of my own private commode.

As I packed and periodically purged my quiche, I also began to feel a strong sense of foreboding. We were scheduled to fly back to San Jose that afternoon and I was not sure I’d be able to withstand a potentially turbulent ride on a small airplane.

When we finished packing, our new friends from New York offered to take us to the Tamarindo Airport. They had a rental car and were headed that direction anyway. Olivia hopped in the car and I very gingerly situated myself into the seat next to her.

As we were driving to the airport, a policeman pulled us over. Apparently, we were driving in a car with no identification. When asked by the policeman why we were driving in a car with no identification, the dad casually opened the glove box and pulled out a temporary license plate. He told the policeman that he forgot to put the license plate on the vehicle. He sort of chuckled and tossed the license plate on the dash. The policeman glared at him for a second and then told us to move along.

As we pulled away, the dad told us that he was sorry to cause us any alarm, but he wanted to see what kind of law enforcement he was dealing with in Tamarindo. He had been driving that vehicle around town all week with no identification just to see what would happen. Strange guy. Pretty interesting though. We enjoyed his company immensely.

When we arrived at the Tamarindo Airport, we said our goodbyes to the New York crew. We sat down on a bench in the terminal, which was essentially a half covered barn with a concrete floor, a restroom, and a snack bar. The half open barn was probably a nice place to hang out most days, but this particular day was sweltering. Or my insides were sweltering, so it was more on the miserable side.

In one corner was an old television with rabbit ears. Old plastic chairs were casually placed around the television and a young couple was sitting there watching some sort of soccer match. The display we grainy and it made me even more queasy to try to follow the action. So I sat down on that hard bench and gazed into the barren airfield in front of me.

We ordered a couple bottles of water and I remembered that I had a roll of Tums stashed away in my bag. I greedily chewed up half the roll while we waited for our plane to arrive. By the time it did arrive, I was feeling a little more steady, but was far from any sense of relief.

We selected seats in the first row behind the pilots and I braced myself for lift off. As we sped off down the runway I basically held my breath and hunched over in the seat in an attempt to fortify myself from any jarring bumps that might cause me to lose any last remaining bits of my breakfast.

But the liftoff was remarkably smooth and our ascent toward the sky was steady as she goes. As we approached our cruising altitude, I felt well enough to look out our windows and enjoy the landscape below.

We sat next to a guy that looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had carried his surfboard onto the plane so Olivia asked him how he enjoyed the break at Tamarindo. He said it was one of his favorites, so she asked him where else he has been surfing. He said that he lived near Ventura Beach in California and he had been doing odd jobs his whole life to pay for surfing excursions up and down the Pacific Coast. He said he had been to too many places to count. He did try to list some for us; there were a few in Mexico, a couple more in Nicaragua, and several more in Costa Rica. He said Tamarindo was so great his first time that he had come back a second time. Olivia informed him that we had taken surf lessons in Tamarindo and that we were now, in fact, surfers as well. I nodded in agreement and added that I also rented a thirty foot longboard for an afternoon and enjoyed an epic set of gnarly chowder. The young man stared back at me for a second and then pretended to look for something in his bag.

When we touched down in San Jose and the hatch was opened, the cool mountain air wafted in, and that first wave was like a shot of adrenaline. That fresh, cool mountain air immediately eliminated any last remnants of nausea in my system. I felt like a completely different person. I felt alive. And I felt ravenous.

We took a cab back to the same Intercontinental Hotel that we stayed at when we first arrived in San Jose. We checked into a new room, dropped our bags, and went directly to the lobby restaurant for a late lunch. Olivia ordered a shrimp salad and I ordered a massive Philly cheese steak sandwich and inhaled it in three bites. It was shocking and a bit disturbing how quickly my system recovered from the poisoned quiche. I devoured the Philly cheese steak like a tornado eating into a trailer park.

After our late lunch we caught a cab to downtown San Jose. Our guide book said that one of the best things to do in San Jose is spend an afternoon at the Central Market, le Mercado Central. The guide book informed us that le Mercado Central was a melting pot of stalls along narrow passages packed with spices, fish, fruit, flowers, pets, wood crafts, leather crafts, and cheap food carts. More importantly, the guide book also noted that this was a place that the average Costa Rican went to shop. We thought this would be a good place to get some authentic souvenirs for our family.

When we arrived we were slightly confounded to realize that le Mercado Central was inside an old three-story office building. I was prepared for narrow passages underneath a tent or some other shade structure, but the narrow passages in an old rundown building was a very different experience. As soon as we walked in, a wave of claustrophobia settled over me. There was hardly enough room for us to walk side-by-side down the narrow passages. The stalls were right on top of us. The passages were short, too. We were constantly turning left then right. I lost my sense of direction almost immediately.

We wandered down a couple of passages trying to focus on the goods. The leather and wood crafts looked interesting from afar, but it was all so similar that it was too overwhelming to digest. Most stalls seemed to be filled with cheap trinkets for tourists.

We were not wandering long before we ended up in the fish section. The smell of raw fish sort of snuck up on me. I found myself standing five feet from a well-organized stack of dead fish before I actually smelled it. But once I did smell it, it was time to go for me. I looked at Olivia and she had a look on her face that suggested the same kind of subtle repulsion that I was experiencing. I started to ask her if she’d like to move on, but before I could finish the question she informed me that she would very much like to get the hell out of there.

We found the nearest exit and hustled through it. We made no souvenir purchases at le Mercado Central.

In order to salvage the trip to downtown, we tried to spend a little time sightseeing. We used our guide book to find some other interesting destinations. We walked around the outside a couple of museums, but it was too late in the day to go inside. We found the National Theatre, le Teatro Nacional, and spent some time walking around the exterior and snapping photos. It was a beautiful neo-classical building that was built in the 1890’s. It was designed by Belgian architects, and apparently had to be fixed by Italian engineers.

When we grew tired of sightseeing, we hailed a cab and headed back to our luxury hotel. We ate a light dinner of free appetizers in the hotel club (reserved for guests staying in the high roller suites). We felt right at home, being that we are high rollers too. When we finished mingling with the other elite folks in the club – that is, we basically stared at them from afar -- we adjourned to our suite and called it a day.