Date Archives → March 27, 2015

Boca Tapada: Playing With Fire

To read my Costa Rica journal from the beginning, click here.

Marco had suggested a nearby hike through the forest. If I understood the Spanish correctly, we could make a simple 2 km loop, or (taking a left-hand fork in the trail) a longer 4 km loop.

Well duh, that’s easy! We’ll do the 4 km hike, thanks. The little trail led us through the jungle, its edges dotted frequently with placards identifying various plants with both scientific and common names.

Occasionally a big scary sign in all capitals would appear: “CAUTION! BULLET ANTS!” which always launched Martin and Dakota into an agony of indecision. They were both powerfully drawn to the fierce tropical ants. They desperately wanted to see them, so they nervously peered around the forest floor and poked long twigs into every nearby hole, prodding the cavities to see what might swiftly emerge.

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Boca Tapada: Kayaking With Crocodiles

To read my Costa Rica journal from the beginning, click here.

Martin, Dakota and I waved cheerfully at our host, Marco, as he drove away, leaving us alone in the remote Costa Rican jungle.

He had driven us an hour up isolated dirt roads, bumped down tiny dirt tracks, and dumped us off on the muddy banks of this small river. It would be up to us to find our way back to the ecolodge, kayaking down this, the Cas Del Mar River, into the Tres Amigos River, and then onward to the great San Carlos. From there, we hoped to spot the take-out site for our ecolodge, buried in the dense jungle.

If we missed it, we would end up at the Nicaraguan border.

Going kayaking, baby!

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Boca Tapada: Hungry

To read my Costa Rica journal from the beginning, click here.

It was our last morning in Arenal – we would shortly be heading northeast, towards the Nicaraguan border, to stay in a remote ecolodge in the depths of the jungle. Martin went out early, as usual, to photograph the soft sunrise light. I got up early-ish, as usual, to make coffee and sit in the rocking chairs, enjoying the bird songs and the volcano-and-lake view. Dakota got up late, as usual, staggering out with bleary eyes and his shock of hair standing on-end, reaching blindly for the coffee.

On one of their more memorable camping trips to the desert, Dakota needed afternoon coffee, but was uninterested in going to the trouble of actually brewing it. So he famously spooned the dry coffee directly into his mouth, chewed it up with focus and determination, and swallowed the bitter granules down. Dry.

Gritty? Yes. Unpleasant? Yes. Worth it? Apparently, yes!

The man needs his coffee. Do not stand between Dakota and his coffee!

So the morning found Dakota and me sitting companionably in the rocking chairs on the front porch, binoculars in one hand, coffee in the other, Dakota slowly coming back to life – when suddenly he cried, “Toucan!”

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Arenal Rappelling: Extremo! Maximo! Super!

To read my Costa Rica journal from the beginning, click here.

In Monteverde, we had been accosted with huge billboards and countless flyers, hounding us to take extreme, adrenaline-filled adventures through the canopy. Zip-line across yawning chasms! Bungee-jump from high cliffs! Tarzan-swing from dizzying heights!

“EXTREMO! MAXIMO! SUPER!” screamed the signs.

No thank you! We preferred wandering through the quiet cloud forests, listening to the music of tropical birds rather than the shrieks of pumped-up people.

And yet… here we were, in Arenal, signing disclaimer “We won’t sue you if we die” forms in the front office of Pure Trek, a canyoning company that offers adventures for stupid plucky folks like us.

Adventures like, you know, risking your life rappelling down the thundering throat of waterfalls. EXTREMO! MAXIMO! SUPER!

Sounds great, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?

Hello?

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