After I picked up Ellen from the airport, I suppose the correct tourist course of action would have been to pick up our rental car. But also being typically cheap Americans, we opted to take the bus to La Fortuna, at the base of the Arenal Volcano. Now, Tim and I have been to the area together twice before, and his family has been there many times. I'm not sure if it's just coincidence, but after Tim mentioned that his mom had brought student groups to a particular restaurant, we got a free flambe dessert.
Our first full day was full of tourist fun. We spent the morning and afternoon riding the Class-III rapids of the Rio Toro, or Bull River, which sounds like it was named with travel brochures in mind. We all stayed in the boat until the very end when our guide Roberto decided to have some fun by making us all crowd on the back of the raft, which created a ride as if we actually were on a bull. Unfortunately, Roberto, Ellen, and I got bucked off. I got a wet wedgie as I was thrown back into the raft, then I had to catch and hold onto a rescue line so our boat wouldn't head past the disembarking area -- the kind of extreme adventure only a tourist can treasure. (Photo courtesy of Desafio Tour Company)
After almost three hours in some pretty chilly and rocky rapids, we headed to the steamy and tranquil waters of Eco-Termales, one of three hot-springs attractions in the Arenal area. With this visit, Tim and I completed the trifecta, so I can say with confidence that although Baldi has more pools and Tabacon has better ambiance, Eco-Termales has the best piña coladas, the required nectar of tropical tourists. (Photo courtesy of Ellen)
The next day, we had some time to kill before our next tourist activity, so we walked (yes, I know we should've taken a taxi) to a nearby swimming hole, where the locals were performing some crazy acrobatic stunts as they dropped from a rope swing into the water. After watching a few of them come quite close to the rocks of the waterfall, I was perfectly happy to not embrace local culture. (Photo courtesy of Ellen)
Our next excursion was quite atypical of my traveling style: I paid someone to take me on a hike. At the volcano, it is necessary to hire a guide if you want to go into the national park, but we didn't even do that; we visited Arenal 1968, a private reserve where you can visit the lava field of the volcano's most destructive eruption, which buried three villages and killed 87 people on July 29, 1968. While there, we discovered that the loud booms we thought were thunder were actually explosions from the crater, spewing out rocks that crash together as they tumble down the volcano.
As we headed further around the volcano in hopes of seeing lava flow, our guide stopped to show us a red-eyed tree frog. As exciting as the animal's eyes were, the red simply could not compare the glow of the sparks on the volcano's face. I have no photographic proof of our sighting because it was hard enough to see with one's own eyes, much less with a camera lens (although that didn't stop many fellow observers from trying to take pictures -- with flash -- a tourist ritual in which I refuse to participate). (Photo courtesy of Ellen)
With nearly all the tourist activities in La Fortuna exhausted, the next day we took the bus to Quepos, on the Pacific coast. We exhibited our American sensibility by finding the first Mexican place we could for lunch, even though we were in an area renown for its local seafood, such as the red snapper on this man's bicycle. But hey, at least we had fish tacos, right? (Photo courtesy of Ellen)
The next day, we went on a canopy tour, during which we were unable to keep from learning about the local culture. As we headed through a plantation, our guide told us about the palm-fruit industry in the area, which flourished after the banana crop was killed off by disease 20 years ago. Despite my American sensibilities, I couldn't help but empathize with the workers, who not only have to risk the venom of snakes that hide in the dead palm leaves on the plantation ground but also have to pull down the fruit manually with a long sickle that would make the Grim Reaper envious.
We braved the Reaper ourselves as we completed the canopy circuit of 10 ziplines, 2 rapels and even a Tarzan swing. After yet another tourist-friendly Costa Rican meal (surprisingly similar to our school lunches), we celebrated cheating death with some beers bought from a bar owned by the family of one of our guides. (Photo courtesy of Canopy Safari)
As if the beers weren't enough, after getting back to town, we went in search of fruity drinks to complement the sunset. We found them at El Avion, a restaurant built around a plane that was funded by the United States during the Iran-Contra affair and that was abandoned at the international airport in Costa Rica. Leave it to some gringos to take a piece of Costa Rica's dirty history (the U.S. built an airstrip in Santa Elena, in the northwest part of the country, to help the Contras strike into southern Nicaragua, but it was never used) and turn it into a nightclub. (Photo courtesy of Ellen)
On our last full day of vacation, we headed to Manuel Antonio National Park, where in the American fashion of lack of class and cash, we didn't hire a guide but simply looked where other group's guides were pointing. In the end, we managed to spot quite a few species on our own, the most ubiquitous of which was the "rowdy American high-schooler," which displayed pre-mating rituals on the park's sandy and swimmable beaches.
But there were some native species as well, such as the three-toed sloth, which is not nearly so slothful when it defers to gluttony.
And when committing the same sin, the white-tailed deer loses much of its shyness.
The white-faced capuchins were the opposite of shy as they boldly stole snacks from sun-bathers. Even this one with a baby was unruffled when we came within feet of it to get photos.
This agouti was more difficult to find, but it exhibited the same politeness in letting us capture it on digital memory card.
Our last spotting, as we headed out of the park, was the blue iguana, which quickly jogged our minds about numerous American bars of the same name.
I thank Ellen immensely for letting us view Costa Rica from a tourist's perspective, which negated some of our lesser attitudes about the country -- at least until we returned to pouring rain in San José, which soaked us as we had to do laundry, get groceries, and find a hot plate to replace our sole and now non-functioning source for cooking. Costa Rica, it's a great place to visit, but sometimes I wouldn't want to live there.
