LLWorldTour

I’ve been in Quito all about 3 hours and have already made some new amigos. But these aren’t other travelers…oh now, I’m making friends with the locals and some very important ones at that—a priest and two policia!

I landed in Ecuador’s capitol city, Quito, this afternoon. Things are already starting to feel more “Andean” here and less tropical than Costa Rica. For one thing, Quito sits high in an Andean valley at about 9400 feet above sea level. Also the old town part of the city is a Unesco World Cultural Heritage Site and is chock full of original Spanish colonial architecture.

Because I’m booked on a Galapagos Islands boat tour through a local travel agency, I had the luxury of being picked up at the small airport by a driver with my name on a placard. I literally disembarked the plane, went through customs, and retrieved my pack in less than fifteen minutes. Andrea, the cute brunette Ecuadorian travel agent, brought me to my quaint, old world hotel in the heart of Old Quito. I liked it here already. The old town felt very European with pastel stucco buildings and narrow cobblestone streets. I checked into my hotel which is housed in a centuries old mansion with a charming courtyard complete with fountain in the middle. I dropped my bags and headed out to explore the city.

The old town feels like ‘any city Europe.’ There are bustling historic plazas rimmed with churches and museums. I walked up the steps to La Merced, a ‘newer’ church in the city, built in 1742. But it appeared that the church was closed for a special event. I poked my head in and asked if it was ‘abierto?’ An older man in a white robe smiled at me, opened the door and beckoned me inside. Hmmm. It’s got to be safe—it’s a church, right?

He only spoke Spanish, but we spent the next 45 minutes chatting. Apparently, there was some ‘industry’ party happening inside the church’s beautiful courtyard. My new Catholic friend showed me around the whole place. We passed workers preparing the tables and chairs for the party, stacking the champagne flutes, and readying the stage for some live music. My friend was jolly and sweet and had an infectious laugh that rasped out of his throat every few minutes. He introduced me to folks as we passed as if we were old friends. Wow. I felt so special…like I was producing again and getting some kind of behind the scenes tour. I had no idea why he was showing me around, but it was fun. I eventually discovered he just thought I was ‘muy bonita’ and I realized I was the only one around who looks the way I do—blue eyes and light hair. I was a novelty. Eventually, I said I must go and as I headed out he introduced me to Father Escobar who echoed my new friend’s sentiments. This was kinda fun! He walked me to the door and bid me adieu (well actually ‘adios’) as I strode across the square with a new spring in my step and confidence in my head.

I reached the Plaza de San Francisco and saw a couple of the many policia that I’d noticed all throughout the city, nearly on every corner. I spent the next half hour chatting with these guys about the city, where it’s safe, what other towns I should visit, etc. Washington and Jose were really nice guys and fun to chat with. Not only do I love meeting locals, I get to really practice my Spanish at the same time. Tomorrow off to see some boobies (Blue-Footed Boobies! Get your mind out of the gutter!) in the Galapagos Islands.

In Costa Rica there’s a saying that permeates everyday life. Pura Vida literally translates to ‘pure life.’ But here, it’s used in many ways to kind of mean ‘it’s all good.’ When someone asks:

“How are you?”
“Pura Vida.”

“How’s the weather?”
“Pura Vida.”

A pretty girl or cute muchacho is “pura vida.”

It’s an attitude. It’s a feeling. It’s all good. It’s laid back. In the States we don’t really have this attitude in everything we do.

It makes me think about how we say we want to live life to the fullest, but how hard it is to actually do when we are so preoccupied with working, making more money to buy more things, commuting, running on the treadmill, and falling into bed exhausted. How do we have time to really ‘live life’ or ‘pura vida?’

We say “stop and smell the roses” and “work to live, don’t live to work.” But it takes five seconds to say these words and then MAYBE we think about their meaning for another five seconds before our own daily thoughts, responsibilities, and to-do lists come crashing into our brain. We fill our lives with so much crap when we need to be focusing more energy on the most important things:

Personal Relationships with friends and family
Love
Happiness
Laughter

Believe me, I’m writing about this, but I’m no expert and no better than anyone else and certainly get caught up in the daily BS. And if I figure out how to do this thing called ‘life’ better I will let you know. And you do the same for me.

Pura Vida.

…and they’re all Gringos!

I’m back in San Jose for a few nights before my flight to Ecuador. So as I’ve traveled throughout the country I’ve noticed an amount of poverty that I’m not quite used to. And this country is nowhere near the poorest country I will visit. Again, it makes me painfully aware of all that we have in the states and more specifically all that I have.

I’ve also noticed nearly every house here has at least bars on the windows and in most cases, a gate, and a big metal fence usually topped with razor wire. Sadly, the more tourism has increased, the more crime has also increased.

For my last few nights, I decided to stay in Escazu, a well-to-do suburb up in the hills just outside of San Jose. I hadn’t seen any wealth and was curious as to what I’d find here. I knew I would find many Americanos because as my bus pulled into town we preceded to pass Denny’s, Tony Romas, and possibly our worst import—Hooters. Wow. Was I in Costa Rica or Atlanta?

After a morning of catching up on my sun at the pool and catching up on my writing, I took a walk around the ‘hood. I turned a corner and there I was in Gringoland. It looked like a wealthy suburb of Miami. Coral colored stucco mansions with tile roofs one after the other lined the streets. It was the first time I’d seen pretty streetlamps and manicured lawns the whole time I’d been here. I strolled up a block that dead-ended at a security booth. I ended up chatting with the security guard (in Spanish—so thankful for my lessons!) about the neighborhood. According to Señor Security, nearly everyone that lived here was American. And they all worked for Intel.

If you recall in an earlier blog, I mentioned technology was the number two industry in the country, thanks in large part to Intel. It was like a mini Stepford with all these American housewives whizzing by in their SUVs into their gated driveways and their hermetically sealed homes. Muy interesante. AND I bet they pay beau coup bucks on the monthly exterminator bills to keep the ants out.

Isn’t that fun to say? That’s what they call the transportation method I took to get to La Fortuna and Arenal Volcano. It’s actually more like Van-Boat-Van, but I really think they should call it Bus-Boat-Bus and really have some alliteration fun. The road from Monteverde to Lake Arenal was probably the worst yet—bumpy and rocky the entire way. But the scenery was gorgeous—rolling green hills dotted with cows and a few small farmhouses. And in the background the perfectly conical Arenal Volcano arose from the hills into the clouds.

We reached the lake and boarded a boat for the other side. This quick one hour ride across the calm waters provided a nice reprieve from the unpaved roads, plus it provided the most spectacular view of the Volcano itself. Arenal Volcano is the second most active volcano in the world. It has eruptions every five to ten minutes. In 1968, it erupted violently after laying dormant for hundreds of years. A village was destroyed and 80 people were killed. Nowadays, Arenal erupts just about every five to ten minutes shooting red hot lava rocks out of its crater.

Proving once again, IT IS a ‘small word,’ I met a guy named Scott on the boat who had worked as a TV Producer for WIS-TV in Columbia, South Carolina. I was a Director at this same station for three years just out of Journalism School! He worked there about six years after I did, but we knew some of the same folks. I love random encounters like that. We got to the other side of the lake and what to my wandering eyes did appear?? A double yellow line and actual pavement! We’ve reached civilization!! Land ho!

I took the last leg of my “Jeep-Boat-Jeep” excursion and was dropped outside of “Gringo Pete’s,” the hostel Marcel and friends recommended. Pete is a jolly (and I soon learned often condescending) ol’ expat from Washington State. I’ve done it—I’ve crossed over into dormitory living. I’m in a clean room with 4 bunks and my roommates are a Swiss guy, Martin, a Dutch gal, Sandra, and a cool Romanian (who speaks 5 languages and works for a bank in Geneva) just walked in. We all end up hanging out now I have instant friends for the next few days. Oh—and the rate? Three dollars a night!

My second day in Monteverde I went on the very popular Canopy Tour
through the St. Elena Forest. This is a series of steel cables, or ‘ziplines’ strung across the top of the forest. You wear a harness and with a pulley and several carabineers, you are hooked up to the line and literally zip across the tree tops. Costa Rica has become somewhat famous for these adrenaline pumping tree top ‘rides.’ The canopy tours have popped up all throughout the country. Mine consisted of about 17 different lines of varying heights and lengths. It’s not for the faint of heart or those with a fear of heights. It’s also not really a good way to ‘see’ the rainforest since you are zipping through so quickly you can enjoy the tree tops, but little chance of spotting any wildlife.

I loved it—it’s scary and exhilarating at the same time. The guides were a bunch of fun young Ticos who made it even more fun. The craziest part was doing what they call the “Tarzan Swing.” It was basically just a rope they tethered your harness to and with a “lista?” (are you ready?), they would push you off a high platform and you would free fall until the rope caught and then you’d swing into the jungle. I screamed and then kept laughing so hard, I was crying! It was a great rush and as I was whizzing through the forest with no control, like some kind of monkey, I realized this was the ultimate feeling for ‘letting go,’ like I hope to be doing all year.

At the Canopy Tour I met some cool Americans (sometimes sadly that seems to be an oxymoron). There were two couples—one from Buffalo and the other from Aspen, Colorado. We hit it off right away and it was nice to be with fun, down to earth, outgoing people who were my own age. I ended up kind of inviting myself to dinner with them (I’m usually direct, but being alone, I feel I sometimes have to make friends quicker than I normally would) that night. We went to a place called Sofia’s and I had the nicest meal I’ve had since San Jose (these were not backpackers on a backpacker budget). I ordered the chicken in a plantain crust with a mango salsa and coconut rice. It was beautifully presented and delicious

Later that night I met back up with my roommate, Marcel from Germany, who’d gone away on a sidetrip for a few days and had now returned. Super nice guy—very friendly and easy going—he made the perfect roommate, but alas, he was also leaving the next day for Nicaragua. We met up at Amigos, the local watering hole, and were joined by Daniella and Yasmine, a couple friends from Switzerland who were also staying at our hotel. Also there was my cute Tico waiter from dinner who’d actually invited me to go dancing at the local ‘discothèque.’ He had a cherub face and the sweetest brown eyes with long eyelashes, but I think he was ten years my junior. I think I’d sit this dance out. I really enjoyed my new friends—we were a mish mash of German, American, Swiss, Canadian, and Tico. Monteverde definitely was a special place and after three days in this small town I already started to recognize and be greeted by some of the locals. That is definitely something I like and a lesson in staying in each town for a good length of time to enable me to meet and get to know the people. I’m definitely starting to meet more people which is great, but many new friendships are fleeting as we go our separate ways. It is so easy to meet and ‘bond’ with fellow travelers and swap road stories. It makes the solo traveling hardly solo at all!

I love my rain jacket. This is the best thing I packed for the world tour.

I spent three days up in the St. Elena just outside of the Monteverde Cloud Forest where when they say ‘rainy season,’ they really mean it.

The actual town of Monteverde (Green Mountain) was founded in the 1950s by some Quakers who’d left the United States to avoid a constant fear of war and an obligation to the military and the taxes that supported it. Ironically for me, my hometown of Randolph, New Jersey was also founded by Quakers. I even grew up right off of “Quaker Church Road.” But, oddly, I don’t think I’ve ever even met a Quaker…or at least if I ever did, I didn’t know it. Side note: they are actually named Quakers because in their religion they meditate in a way that actually makes them tremble or “quake.”

Cloud forests are the same as rainforests, except they exist only high atop mountain slopes. The warm, moist ocean air is swept up the mountain forming clouds which give moisture to the abundant plant life.

I took an excellent (and very wet) guided tour of the Cloud Forest given by Vernal, a very knowledgeable and excited young guide.

He

Here are some amazing stats on Monteverde Cloud Forest:

• 2500 different types of plants, including 350 types of ferns alone
• 1000 Epiphytes (plants that grow on the branches of forest trees—ferns, orchids, bromeliads)
• 400 species of birds
• 100 different species of animals

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This was truly a great example of nature at its finest. It was so lush and so full and most of the life was up above in the canopy of all the trees where the sun could get through.

On our tour we saw a multitude of plant life—ferns, orchids, huge fig trees. Animals were a little harder to spot but we saw a ‘walking stick’ insect, a praying mantis, a poisonous viper snake (thankfully far away and only viewed through Vernal’s scope), hummingbirds, a fox, howler monkeys, and even the very elusive and endangered Quetzal bird. Another guide mentioned to Vernal that he’d spotted the bird. Suddenly, Vernal scampered up the wet trail with the rest of us huffing and puffing in tow. He plopped down his high powered scope and with hundreds of trees and branches in his view, he spotted the bird within thirty seconds. These guides were amazing. They knew the forest well and knew exactly what to look for—certain torn branches, rustling (although with rain pelting everything this seemed impossible), and the areas where certain animals had been spotted before. The Quetzal was once revered by Pre-Columbian peoples of this region. It is a stunning green and in mating season, the males sport two very long ‘tail feathers.’ Sadly, today their habitat has diminished and in turn so has their numbers, but thanks to newer conservation efforts—things are turning around.

Today I left the homey and hazy beach town of Montezuma for the mountains.

Here’s how I got there:

First I took a minibus 1 hour east to the town of Paquera to catch the ferry. Our mini bus was contantly dodging potholes on the dirt roads. Then I took the 1 ½ hour ferry ride crossing the Gulf of Nicoya. From here I was to catch a public bus, but alas, it had departed just 15 minutes before the ferry arrived (seems like poor scheduling, no?). So I jumped in a cab with 3 other travelers I’d just met and we chased down the bus. I haggled with the cabbie for a lower fare and 20 minutes later we were on the “Express” bus to Monteverde Cloud Forest which was about 50 miles away. Three and a half hours later our “Express” bus rolled into the town of St. Elena just before the
Forest. Once again, Costa Rica’s horrible roads slowed us to about 15 miles per hour most of the way here as we swerved around pot holes and dodged oncoming traffic while clinging to the side of a mountain blanketed in a thick dense fog. So combining my mini bus, ferry, taxi, and “express” bus it took me a total of 8 hours to get here. It took me less time to fly to Costa Rica from
Chicago. But that’s okay—it’s all part of the adventure!

Plus, getting off the ferry and dashing into the taxi I met my first traveling partner who was also on his way to Monteverde. Marcel, from Freiburg, Germany, is traveling through Central America and Mexico for 3 months. With his new surfboard in tow, he had just come from a month of learning to ride the waves in one of the beaches on Costa Rica’s Pacific coast. I was planning on staying at a hotel recommended by my book and also by a couple I met in Montezuma. Marcel’s budget was about $10 a night. I thought maybe this is it—tonight I will really take the plunge into hostel-dom and go for it. I’ve been a bit reluctant to give up my personal space yet and share a dorm room with smelly strangers, but since I’d have a friend in tow, I figured ‘what the heck?’ I needed that extra push to get out of my comfort zone. I could go with him to check it out and if I hated it I could always just go to my originally planned hotel.

As soon as we stepped off the bus from our LONG journey, we were bombarded with the ‘hotel hawkers.’ A group of about ten men and women with laminated pictures got in our faces shouting things like:

“Nice rooms!”

“Stay here get breakfast!”

“We have nice warm shower for you!”

I ignored them all and focused on retrieving my bag from the bus’s baggage compartment. My backpack is my number one priority. One woman had Marcel in her clutches and we decided to go with her and check out her place—if we didn’t like it we could always leave. Her and her husband drove us in their jeep about “500 meters” to their Cabinas. Surprisingly, it was actually very nice and VERY cheap. We have our own room with 2 beds and a private bath for…get this…$5 a night! Wha?? Now, that’s how I can afford this trip!!
Costa Rica you so cheapa!

It literally felt like I was in heaven or at least close to it as I lay on the massage table feeling my muscles melt while listening to the sounds of the ocean. You know how back in the States, when you go to a spa for a massage how they play some soothing CD with ocean sounds? Well, here there was no CD—this was the real thing. Wow. This was so incredible.

I was at the Ylang Ylang Resort just about a 10 minute walk from town. But I’m not talking about walking down the street. There are NO roads to Ylang Ylang. The only way to get here is to walk on the beach. This IS paradise.

I was a bit early so I sat at the bar and had a nice cool Michelada (In Costa Rica it’s beer with lemon on the rocks with salt). The place had an all around resort feel and was a nice step up from the dusty main street of town. After my one hour open air massage I headed back to the bar for some Sushi. Here I met Matt and Craig, two Northwestern Grads who were here on vacation with their wives. They were having a grand old time and were already a bit hammered from a day of drinking and relaxing by the pool. After being regaled with tales of the ‘old days in Wrigleyville’ and Cubs memories, the boys went back to their wives and I finished up my sushi and Mojito and headed back to the beach for the trek back to town.

It was dusk as I headed back and the beach was deserted. Crabs scurried under random flotsam and jetsam as the waves rolled onto the beach and back. I stared thinking about all the expats I was meeting who had moved down here for a slower, better life. There was definitely something appealing about it—less money, but less responsibilities and less stress. Not sure if I’m ready for this lifestyle yet, but maybe someday…

At 8am this morning, I left Jaco, the busy, noisy “Daytona” of Costa Rica.

I hopped in a motor boat taxi, sped across the Nicoya Gulf and by 10:30am I was taking a dip in my hotel pool at Playa de Montezuma. It was an easy commute except for the all-too-common need for a sports bra while cruising through the choppy seas of the Pacific. Also, it was the first time on the trip that I had to hoist my backpack/suitcase with wheels actually onto my back. The reason? We actually had to wade into the ocean with our bags to get on board one boat and then climb into a second boat about 50 yards out to sea—I’m guessing the waves were crashing too much for the boat taxi to come ashore. And of course there was no dock. For awhile, I was second guessing this large purchase wondering if I should’ve just brought my regular rolling small suitcase. At least this confirmed the need for this huge backpack.

Our dinghy wasn’t much bigger than the first boat. It held all our bags, three crew muchachos, and four passengers—a couple from my home state of New Jersey and another solo traveling girl from Big Sky, Montana. The one hour ride over to the other coast was a little bumpy, but the breeze was a welcome change from the hot, stagnant air.

So now, I’m lazing about at the pool at my hotel in Montezuma. This tiny beach town at the southern tip of the Nicoya peninsula has a funky laid back vibe. Apparently it has seen its hippie/artist times and now attracts Euro backpackers, vegetarian rasta types, and even UFO seekers! The beach stretches for miles and is virtually deserted—especially now in the low season. My hotel, Hotel Los Mangos, is just a few minutes walk from the center of town down a bumpy dirt road. It appropriately sits underneath dozens of mango trees. There are several private ‘bungalow’ rooms sprinkled through the property. I have a tiny colorful room in the main building of blues and yellows and share the bathroom just outside with one other room for just $20 a night. There is a porch in front of the rooms with rocking chairs that are great for sitting in to watch the surf below and pelicans sour above and cool off with the ocean breezes. The best part is the pool . It is up on a hill where you can see the ocean and towered over by palm trees. It is surrounded by stone and even has a waterfall going into it giving it a very natural feel.

This town is very relaxed and a very good place for me to catch up on some reading and writing. It’s funny how little I have to worry about now compared to back home in ‘real life.’ I really want to appreciate this. At home I had my job and all its daily responsibilities, plus my other job teaching part time at Columbia College. I had my condo to pay for and worry about plus my other condo which I leased out to renters. I had my cat to take care of plus constant relationship issues and all around other responsibilities and ‘to do list crap.’ Here my job is to figure out how to get from one place to another, find food, find lodging and take in all there is to see and learn. That’s it. Oh—and the packing and unpacking is already becoming quite tedious, but I’m trying to look at it as one small task that’s just part of my new existence.

So here I am, finally relaxing at the pool. Sometimes I have trouble relaxing. I’m so used to always going and going that I get bored very easily when there’s nothing to do. Here in Montezuma it’s super relaxed and I laid at the pool for hours trying to let go of my inner anal, tightly wound self. I felt good doing nothing and thought I was slowly accepting ‘doing nothing’ UNTIL I came back to my new cute room to find big nasty ants crawling in my bag and all over the walls. Yuck! One thing I hate is bugs. Just one is enough to send me into a tizzy, but they were everywhere. I literally killed about 15 or so until I went to the reception desk across the grounds. In broken Spanish, I managed to communicate my problem and walked away with a can of bug spray to eradicate these ‘hormigas.’ Well, it temporarily killed some, but that didn’t stop them from continuing to come in from cracks in the ceiling. In the room next to me two girls from California said they have ants too and it’s just from all the trees and stuff. “That’s why we have these,” said one brunette as she pointed to their mosquito nets.

So here I was all relaxed and happy with this hotel after a nasty one in Jaco last night and now I can’t stop scanning the walls for movement. Great. How am I going to sleep now? I took the can of ‘raid-ito’ and literally sprayed the perimeter of my bed and also made a line around my big backpack–kinda like you would find at a murder scene. My pack was on the floor because, like in most places I’ve stayed, the furniture is sparse or non-existent in these rooms. As I write this, I’ve killed about 8 more ants. This sucks and now I’m completely un-relaxed. I don’t think I will learn to love bugs on this trip—I just don’t think this is possible to change. And now they will probably will be crawling over me as I sleep. Fun.

After a restless, hot, itchy night I awoke this morning to hear the cleaning lady next door. In Español, I asked to change my room to the one she just cleaned.
“Quiero cambiar mi cuarto porque hay muchas hormigas y no me gusta insectos. Esta bien?”

My new room actually has an ocean view (and therefore ocean breeze—which in this heat is more important). I don’t know if it will be any better, but I’m hoping it just can’t be any worse. I hope.

Spanish classes go from eight in the morning to noon. Then on certain days four of us walk down the hill next door to the surf shop. Here Jorge and his gang take us to the beach with the best waves for that day. How cool is it that during my first lesson I was able to stand up and ride a wave all the way in about three times? Now, of course, I fell the other ten or so times. Jorge, my surf instructor, is from here originally, but like most surfers, seemed like he was from Southern California. He had bleached blond streaks of hair and was lean and tan with a laid back ‘it’s all good’ kind of attitude. And when I did well, he shouted with glee and gave my high fives. He was great. Unfortunately, I didn’t do as well my second day. That is actually quite normal for me. When learning something new I tend to get worse before I get better. I think on my first attempts I just ‘dive right in’ so to speak and don’t hold back. Then once I learn a few things I tend to ‘overthink’ everything and my brain messes up what my body is trying to do. Plus, this day Jorge wasn’t there and I had Juan a new, sixteen-year-old instructor. Oh, and he didn’t speak English. The only surfing words I know in Spanish are:

1. Surfiar=to surf
2. Olas=Waves
3. Mierda=Shit!!

We both used a mangled mix of Spanglish, but he was no Jorge!

On the third lesson, Jorge was back and we went to the beach at Manual Antonio, much prettier, but also much bigger waves and much harder. I managed to get up on a few waves, but the hardest part is actually just going back out to sea once you ride a wave in. These waves were big and mean and wouldn’t let you come back out. Every time I jumped under one and came up to wipe the salt out of my eyes, another wave would shove me back under—sometimes forcing sand in my mouth, up my noise, and other places unknown. These waves were mean! After an hour and a half of being beaten up by the Pacific, we called it quits.

So now with three big surf lessons under my bikini, I am ready hit Australia’s Gold Coast! Well, maybe just to watch. I can’t imagine doing it without hearing Jorge in his heavy Spanish accent say, “Paddle! Paddle! Paddle! Now standup!!”