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

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 constantly 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 soar 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!!”