2025 Costa Rica
Introduction
Thinking back on a trip, when you put the first words onto the empty page, the worry is about writing it all down and getting the details right. You start to wonder about your own memory. Is it possible to bring back these these moments with enough clarity? Perfection in that regard is impossible, but maybe I can unwrap the bullet points from my journal into chapters with just enough description. Perhaps that pencil that hastily scribbled down phrases onto paper can have captured an essence of an experience. And can those pages from a notebook be turned into something that puts the reader on the same beaches we walked?
May 1 – Thursday
Hey buckaroo, it’s travel time again! This time it’s Costa Rica! Specifically, I’m back with my travel companion Kate for another adventure! We’ve only got four days “on site”, but if I know anything it’s that we are both very good at having fun wherever we are, making the best of any situation, and having a go-with-the-flow attitude about things.
As is true with most trips, this one starts with some packing, driving to the the airport — the standard airport run — and dropping the car off in long-term parking. And as usual I send myself a text to remind me where I parked in case I can’t remember when I get back. The funny thing is, every time I’ve done this I always remember the letter/number combo of where I’ve left my car, without exception. “D10”, “E5”, “B12”? Every time I’ve come back from a trip I’ve not actually needed to look at my phone to know what to tell the shuttle driver. Although, also true is that I still always get my phone out to double-check that what I have in my head is correct.
My flight from Austin to Houston is obviously short, this is one of those flights where it’s essentially a parabolic curve. You don’t level off too much, you climb out, barely level off, and then very soon are descending down into Houston. I don’t think they even bothered to serve drinks! Soon I was walking to my next gate with my wheely carry-on and my backpack.
Another habit of mine while flying is I always bee-line to the next gate for a connecting flight. I don’t care how enticing the local fast food joint might look – I can be ravenous and unfed for a long time I and will still carry on towards my next gate. I can ignore the beckoning of the latest Stephen King best-seller from the book stores as I wheel by, the alluring scent of a bacon cheeseburger from a restaurant, the urge to charge my phone at an open spot in a lounge area. My main mission on a connecting flight is to get to the next gate and get the lay of the land. In this case my habit may have saved me. I had misread my next flight’s departure time and in my head thought I had an extra hour to do whatever I wanted. When I arrived at the gate they were already boarding! I didn’t believe it at first. Surely this must be some other flight leaving and we leave after? Nope, this was my plane to Costa Rica and I better get ready to get on it!
While waiting for my boarding group I had a couple funny encounters. The first was who I nicknamed “everything is bad guy”. We all know this guy. He is incapable of having fun anywhere he goes (we will meet another guy like this during the trip). Everything Is Bad Guy (EIBG) complains about everything. I also noticed that EIBG was traveling alone — coincidence, I think not? Someone was holding a baby that dared to let out a short cry, EIBG remarks, “Oh great! A baby! Better not be next to me!” Dude man, you’re getting on a plane to Costa Rica, relax!
The other encounter was a moment where I was able to help out two people. I noticed that the gate attendants had opened a special boarding lane for people with no overhead luggage. Because as usual, and apparently by company policy these days, this flight was going to end up with not enough overhead space. So this “no overhead luggage” dedicated lane was actually a pretty cool way to let people who didn’t have anything more than a backpack / purse to go ahead and get on. I also noticed that the couple standing next to me fit that criteria.
“Excuse me?” I said to the woman who was standing closer to me than the man.
“Yes?”, she replied.
“That lane there,” I say pointing, “they are letting anyone on who doesn’t have overhead luggage. I think that’s you two.” She takes a look, see’s what’s going on and then relays the information to her companion. I can see a quick flash of confusion and mistrust in his eyes — surely this must be a trick! But they go for it and are soon boarding well before their actual boarding passes would have allowed them to. With my good deed done I go back to observing EIBG, he is scowling at something that I cannot see. Soon it is my time to board, I find my seat and decide to nap. I don’t know what awaits me at the other end of this three and a half hour flight. But I’m looking forward to it!
My flight gets in before Kate’s, so after immigration I walk out into the main lobby of the Liberia airport in Costa Rica. Mission one is to change out of my jeans into shorts because it is HOT in here, there is no AC in this part of the airport. I change and make my way back to a concession stand to buy a bottle of water, and then try to figure out what to do next. I know that soon Kate will be coming out of the same immigration doors I just did, so I decide to essentially set up camp in front of the little store where I bought my water. Then I remember I had purchased an eSIM for my phone, so I should have network!
Much to my dismay I would find that my eSIM only provided internet access, not cell coverage. So when I tried to phone the hotel to ask about our transportation I got nothing but a “no service chime” in my ear. I figure I can at least send an email to them letting them know we are here, and that Kate’s plane has been delayed a little bit. I do that and then try to decide what to do next. I load Kate’s plane into FlightRader24 on my phone and see that it has landed, even though the flight status board on the wall of the airport still says “Delayed”. I figured the best course of action is to stay put and wait for her to come out of the doors. I did not want to miss her and then end up not being able to get ahold of her without a phone — I did not know what her phone status would be when she arrived, I only knew that she said she did not get an eSIM yet.
Soon enough I am checking something on my phone, I look up and right in front of me is Kate, also looking at her phone!
“Hey!” I say.
She looks up and quickly a wide grin and smile is looking back at me as she recognizes me. “Hi!”, she exclaims.
After the requisite quick hug and asking about flights and stuff, Kate heads off to the bathroom to also change into hot-weather clothes. She is also able to call the hotel and they say that the driver should be here shortly. After a while looking out the sliding doors for a sign with her name, and checking another set of doors where there were more people holding up signs, we finally see one with her name on it and follow the person holding it to a waiting van.
“You speak Spanish?” the man holding the sign asks to us as he loads us into the van. “Un poco!” I think we both replied. It doesn’t matter, the driver knows where we’re going, and we have some conversation with him on the drive with Kate doing most of the translation. Her Spanish is much better than my Duo Lingo level limited skills.
We get to the hotel, check in, drop off our bags and both agree that we’re starving and need some food! We head out on our first exploratory mission and find a place next door to the hotel, the “Surf Dog”. Here we both order margaritas, Kate orders a Chili Cheese Jalapeno Dog, and I order a double smash burger. Both hit the spot and we are soon informed that, by the way, it is “two-for-one happy hour”. We both agree that clearly we need another round of margaritas! We also discover that the tables all have decks of playing cards on them, so very quickly we are engrossed in a game of Rummy. And just as quickly I fall behind in points.
The sun is setting and we both want to see the beach. So we pay our tab and head in the direction that we were told the beach is. After a slightly-wandering path through thin trees and vines, we come out onto a beach with waves crashing and making their way right up to the place we are standing at the end of this path. The waves are large, confused, and somewhat scary, even with the sunset forming behind them. The waves look dark and powerful — not to be toyed with. Also here are two other Americans. One who informs us that he moved here a few years ago, and another who is apparently his brother. The brother is one of the more drunk people I’ve ever seen in my life, and his frequent hits from his bowl probably are not helping his situation. The more sober brother at least is able to tell us a little about the area since he lives nearby. Kate takes a few notes on her phone of places that he recommends, mostly restaurants in Tamarindo, the town down the beach and across the estuary.
I ask him what low tide is like here. He starts off by informing me that this is currently high tide. Well, thanks for that one, I kinda figured that out on my own by the fact that the waves are currently lapping at my feet and we’re standing three feet away from the trees. But he does say that at low tide this will all be a much larger, sandy beach. And that at least is an answer to the question I was wondering. Kate and I stay for sunset, and then afterwards figure we might as well go back to the Surf Dog bar.
Unsurprisingly, the two brothers, along with some other people are also there. They try to beckon us over to sit with them, but we instead decide to sit at the bar. The “more sober brother” does buy us a round, ostensibly to apologize for bothering us too much, but in reality was a second attempt to get us to go sit with them — but it was a nice gesture either way. We elect to remain at the bar and this is fine by me, I am more interested in relaxing, talking with Kate about our plans for this week, and also trying to win back some points in Rummy. I am successful in everything but the last part. The final score is something like 65 to me and 5 to Kate. Low scores are good in this game in case you didn’t figure that part out.
After a while a musician appears on stage. He sings popular songs with a backing track, and his guitar is barely audible. But his voice is good. And besides we don’t care if there’s a backing track or not. We don’t really care if there’s music or not. We are quickly letting ourselves slide into beach time as if we are wading into a comfortable pool; this is vacation time, and we are on island time (even though we’re not on an island). We are absorbing the warmth of this place, the salt air making its way to us through the trees from the beach gently reminds us of its presence just a short walk away. We are exited just to be here, and we are tired from a day of traveling.
On that last point, we eventually decide it’s probably time to get back to the room and head to sleep. We have Yoga in the morning and these bar stools are starting to feel just a little bit too comfortable, the tell-tale sign that it may be time to leave the bar unless you want to end up staying longer than you planned. We head back to the room, shower, change, and head to bed only find that the air conditioning has decided to fritz out. That seems to be a tradition on any trip to a hot-weather location – the air conditioning must conk out at some point, if not more than once. After fiddling with the overly-complicated AC remote, we succeed in getting the fan to come on, and the thermostat displays “18” (Celsius) as the target temperature, that would be a quite cold 64 degrees Fahrenheit. We give in and hope that at some point the compressor comes on at all. It never does. Sometime in the early morning I wake to pre-dawn light, and realize that at some point in the night I have decided to kick off the covers to my bed. I look over at Kate and see she has done the same thing. I go out into the main “living room” and realize that the AC out there at least is working – so I leave the door open between the two rooms and it is able to make the bedroom not quite so hot. I fall back asleep wondering what tomorrow will bring.
May 2 – Friday
So, we set 8:00am alarms for Yoga, but due to the hot room we did not need them. We were both awake and ready to do something except try to sleep in sweat. I am a touch hungover from the Surf Dog beverages but I am determined to make as much of the time I have here as possible. I know all too well how quickly trips like this go by, and then at the end of the trip I will chastise myself for any minute “wasted”, keeping in mind that “reading by the pool”, or “napping on the beach” are perfectly valid vacation time. I will not allow myself to skip the Yoga I agreed to just because I’m feeling a touch groggy. Besides, that’s what morning Yoga is for, to wake you up!
As usual, when the class starts I am tentative at first because I still feel very new at this, and I even inform the instructor of that fact. My brain tries to convince me that I should not be here; everyone else is probably better than me at it, they must know all the moves, they are more flexible than I am! But then once it starts I am only doing my best to follow the instructor’s lead, which is all everyone else is doing as well. I am able to find rhythm and synchronize with the energy and breath of the room. I take the instructor’s suggestions to “look wide” as an opportunity to soften my gaze and look nowhere but also everywhere at the same time. I am able to do more than I thought, which makes me smile. And I once again remember that even if that were not true, if I were somehow unable to follow along, nobody here would care or judge me on that fact. And when the session is over I am happy with myself and the world. I am re-energized, and thirsty for more adventure (and some water).
And more adventure we shall have! I didn’t bring any shoes except boat shoes, and we have an idea that we want to go on some sort of hikes and stuff, so I’ll need to buy some kind of footwear for that. At Surf Dog last night I asked the owner where a good place to buy shoes would be. And she said “Nowhere, there are no good shoes here.”
“Even in Tarmaindo?” I asked.
“Yes, even in Tamarindo, there are no good shoes.”
Well, we have no real choice, and we want to check it out anyway. So Tamarindo here we come! There are two ways to get to Tamarindo. You can take an Uber/Taxi, which will be about a 30 minute ride. Or you can walk down the beach to the estuary, and then take a “ferry” across. We, being intrepid explorers, decide on the walk and ferry! We don’t really know what to expect, but we head out with some water bottles, back and fanny packs, and get to steppin’.
You don’t start a long walk on an empty stomach, and especially not one that ends in Tamarindo. And we have heard about this place called Taco Star that is just up the beach from us, so we head there first. One entrance up the beach, a building appears. It is half collapsing, half being born again. From a distance, you’re not sure if it’s condemned or just proudly indifferent to things like codes or appearances. We get closer. It looks…suspect. The upper floors are clearly under renovation. The bottom floor, though? That’s Taco Star. Or at least something calling itself that.
We commit. We sit and take two seats at the bar-style counter. The counter is empty except for us. Never a great sign. As we take our seats the kitchen area becomes visible and seems, shall we say, less than tidy. A halved avocado sits neglected in a mini fridge behind a glass door, like some shriveled museum exhibit of forgotten good intentions. The griddle looks cold. A stainless steel container nearby holds mysteries I’m not sure I want solved. But still we say yes to this weird little taco shack with a questionable avocado and a view of the sea.
I order a can of Imperial beer and Kate orders some sort of sparkling juice that came in a can, a Fresca I think. We also order the same thing for food, “Combo Tacos”: ground beef, tomato, onion, jalapeno, cheese, and avocado. Yes, even after looking at the sad state of the Avocado in the fridge we both still ordered it. I think we were maybe hoping we would see a new, fresh avocado appear from some secret stash like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. Or maybe it was just habit.
However, soon the griddle comes to life and two piles of ground beef sizzle. The sad avocado wrapped in tinfoil when trimmed reveals perfectly bright green slices, and a fresh tomato is being diced into tidy cubes next to it. As the beef cooking on the griddle sends its tantalizing scent dancing through the air to our noses, we are reminded that this is why we are here, this is the stuff. There is no adventure without risk, and the best places and stories you find will likely come from being a little uncomfortable. We have sand on our feet, cold drinks in front of us, and the ocean just down the path and over the dune is soothing us with its ever-present ebb and flow of wave sounds.
The tacos are delivered to us wrapped in tinfoil and paper towels, humble and simple, hallmarks of good food. The liquid-yellow nacho-style cheese is unexpected, a little “3am” maybe, but it works. We sample the various colors of hot sauces on the table and very soon find ourselves empty-handed. Tacoless. Maybe we should have ordered two each. Or maybe not, we do have a long walk to Tamarindo ahead of us. We pay and turn back to the beach, turning left this time to head towards Tamarindo. The sand is warm. The ocean murmurs its old lullaby. And Taco Star—with its questionable fridge, foil-wrapped redemption arcs, and one hell of a griddle? It fades behind us like a fever dream you kind of want to have again and maybe will.
The walk along the beach, as all beach walks are, is relaxing and frequently encourages us to stop and investigate things. There are funny lines along the beach that we don’t know what they are made from. Some sort of creature for sure but we cannot really tell. There is the proverbial driftwood including trees that have found themselves half buried in the sand. I am as compelled to climb on them as both Kate and I are compelled to photograph them. There are the numerous shells and rocks, and seaweed making countless patterns. The walk may have been 45 minutes, or an hour and a half. We don’t really know because we were lost in time. Exploring. Investigating. Photographing. Having fun.
We find ourselves now at the edge of the Estuary, the home of the Crocodile! The sand at the edges of it is very soft, and Kate sinks one of her feet into it before retreating back to the safety of drier sand. We see a small center console boat on the other side with a blue Bimini top. We both think this must be the “ferry” but are not really 100% sure. But sure enough, the captain of the boat, after a moment of looking behind him and seeing us standing awkwardly at the edge of the water, starts his engine and motors slowly across to us. After a quick boarding, and me standing in the stern so that the sand would release its grip on the bow, the captain engages reverse and the boat slips away from the shore and begins the long three-minute journey to the other side. After some quick conversions from Colones to US Dollars, we hand him $4 for the both of us with a promise that we’ll be back for a return trip.
We aren’t sure where to go. This side of the estuary, Tamarindo, was described as more of a party and touristy atmosphere. And while true I think many people would still find this pretty relaxing and even mild compared to other “party towns” that I have been to. There are people playing volleyball on the beach, horse rides being offered and taken by some, and music coming from a bar in the distance. Some describe this town as “too hectic”, and perhaps compared to our relaxing oasis back in RipJack it is. But in any case we are here on a mission, so after using up some of my eSIM data to get ourselves situated on Google Maps, we realize that very close is the “main street” that we should head towards and see what we can find.
One of the first places we find is a grocery store, which reminds us both that I am also in need of a USB phone charger adapter since I forgot mine at home. We walk into the grocery and wander around, picking up some sort of plantain chip snacks, and then when I was about to give up I realize right next to the register is one of those revolving plexiglass cases that you might find watches displayed in. Except inside this case are electronics and adapters! And one of these adapters is the USB adapter I need! Score! Add to cart, or backpack rather, and pay with Apple Watch touch. Something else I love about traveling is the ubiquitousness of tap-to-pay everywhere, especially table-side at restaurants. This is something that seemingly every other country in the world figured out faster than the United States. We’ve nearly caught up now, but even today somehow my gas station down the street does not have it!
With USB adapter and plantain chips in hand we continue our stroll down the street. We stop at a surf shop to look at shirts, both outside and inside the (air conditioned) store. I ask the girl at the register if she knows where I might buy some good hiking or water shoes. She replies the same as the owner of Surf Dog, “I don’t think there are any. If I need good shoes I order them on Amazon.” Well shit, that’s not going to help me. I need these today! Not even Amazon can save me now!
However, as luck would have it we come upon a storefront window with what appear to be some sort of water shoes! See what I mean about the go-with-the-flow attitude that Kate and I have? I don’t think either of us were very worried that I would not be able to find some kind of shoe to buy. And even if I didn’t, worst case I would have worn my boat shoes hiking! But I did! We went in the store and a very nice employee helped me find a pair of these half-sandle water shoes. We also found some shirts!
We did some more shopping, and actually re-visited a couple stores looking for presents for family back home. Much of this was in a rain that had started up and was slowly picking up speed. Soon the light drizzle that was pleasant and cooling has grown into a larger tropical style downpour and Kate and I decided it was time to duck into somewhere to eat. We came up with a plan — we would eat and have beers at two different places in order to maximize both our time inside and our restaurant count.
First stop was Volcano Brewing, also an apt name for the rainstorm that was building around us. As the rain intensified, and the view over the water turned from blues to greys, we sat comfortable in our chairs at our table. We were nestled between the torrent of rain coming down in the street, and the slow but steadily-increasing dribble of water coming from the ceiling off to our other side. But we must have appeased the rain gods, because, apart from some wind-driven spray, we were dry and our beers quickly arrived. Soon after that our food was delivered. Kate unsurprisingly had ceviche, and I, perhaps also unsurprisingly, had Mexican Street Tacos with chicken.
But we’re not finished! We have another place picked out we want to go! We pack up our stuff during a lull in the rain and resume our walk down the street towards our ultimate goal of the “ferry”. We see a pharmacy and Kate decides we should stop in there. I am not about to ask a medical professional why we would want or need to stop in a pharmacy. I have Advil back in my suitcase in the hotel! What else could we possibly need? Oh right…a faint memory of Taco Star comes to mind and I think I might know what we’re after. As we’re about to open the door someone comes hustling out of the door. It takes both Kate and I a second but soon we immediately recognize our ferry captain!
“Hey! Hola!” we exclaim. We inquire about the last ferry ride at 4pm and he says something like “yes, I’ll be there” and then runs off into the rain. I sure hope he is there because his was the only boat I saw giving rides. In any case, I follow Kate into the pharmacy. The door closes behind us, the delicious blanket of air conditioning’s dry air wraps around us, and we are greeted by a younger man with dreads asking how he can help us. Kate, being the medical professional, and perhaps wiser traveler than I, purchases some immodium, pro-biotics, and sunscreen. The last one of those being I think the real reason we originally popped in here, the sunscreen at other places was expensive and this seemed less so. But the immodium will be our defense against any unwanted Taco Star memories if they should arrive in the future.
Having acquired our medicines and potions, we exited the pharmacy and continued on our way down the street. Our next spot was the second restaurant we wanted to try, Agua Salada.
Walking into Agua Salada we could tell this was a step or two up from where we’d just eaten. I always feel kind of bad for the restaurants who don’t quite “get it right”. It seems such an easy transition to go from a mediocre restaurant to an organized, clean, quiet, restaurant like Agua Salada. Why doesn’t every restaurant do this? I’m sure I’m showing my ignorance to the restaurant industry, and to the finances involved, or perhaps to the fact that not every restaurant needs to be an Agua Salada. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe it was the excitement of “the second day of vacation”, but this was the spot.
I think both Kate and I would agree that this is our kind of place. It’s not too fancy; it’s not over-the-top plates that grow taller than the bill you know you’ll get in the end. It’s also not a menu with six sticky pages, a menu with pictures, somehow offering you everything from all-day eggs to Irish beef stew. We were a pair of Goldilocks. Lured by the tantalizing idea of a Costa Rican Michalada, but in the end entranced by the ceviche and bruchetta that were delivered to us. We sat on the outdoor patio in tropic humidity, basking in relaxation and oblivious to the time. Time that was quickly fading away; we had a ferry to catch.
We made our time crunch known, and as I’m sure they’ve done a thousand times before, the staff of Agua Salada accommodated us, they informed us that we could take our Imperial beer bottles with us on this next adventure. A thought to quite foreign to us, coming from the “Land of the Free”. We were at first unbelieving and unsure that we had heard them correctly. But after clarification that it was in fact legal (and encouraged?), we gleefully went on our way with bottles of beer. Like semi-drunken sailors we went in search of our ferry captain.
We walked down the outside of Agua Salada, sipping our beers along the way, and made our way back to the estuary. Salvation awaited us. We knew it might be a long walk back on the beach if the rain started again but we were ok with it. Another thought ran through our minds though, we had found Shangri-La in this place. Would it be so bad if the ferry was not there and we had to stay a little longer?
Well as you may have guessed already, our captain was not there. The man, our captain, who we saw running out of the pharmacy, and who promised us he would wait for us was nowhere to be seen. In fairness however, we were five minutes late. But there was also no boat being tied up. No lines being tossed, no Bimini covers being wiped down. All the boats of the tiny Tamarindo marina were fast asleep. And to be honest, if I were that boat captain I probably would have made the same choice. It was raining and it was Friday, “I have better things to do than ferry a couple gringos across the estuary” I would say to myself. Hopefully he was home with family and friends, maybe with his own cold Imperial beer telling the story of how he met the people he was supposed to take across the estuary while coming out of the pharmacy. Maybe that is a story that lives on in his family and friends — the story of the rainy Friday and the pharmacy. If I know boaters, fisherman, and people of the sea, then I’m fairly confident he might still be telling that story today with a grin on his lips and a sip from another cold, well-deserved beer.
Back on the beach, the crocodiles were the only captains of the estuary watching us, and I suspect even they may have been sleeping. Kate and I both considered a swim across the water, or perhaps a walk across the surf on the ocean side. “We could hold our bags above our heads!” we both suggested. But in the end logic, and perhaps the desire to redirect our sense of adventure elsewhere prevailed. We would have to find another way home. The sun was still up, and as long as we were stuck in Tamarindo, wasn’t there a band that was supposed to play tonight back at Volcano?
As on a previous trip, this one also included some video skits. The first of these being that Kate had “eaten too much cheviche, and nobody told her that crocodiles are attracted to ceviche!” The second skit was me pretending to be a very-educated crocodile expert, but clearly not in practice. I proceed to point out “commonly-known facts” about crocodiles, such as that watermelon slices demarcate crocodile no-go zones, and that pineapple means it’s ok. And that ocean limes are very rare. I think we may have received more than a couple sideways glances from others on the beach wondering what on Earth we were talking about. But we did not care.
Having filled up our cameras with funny skits to be edited when we got home, we decided that since we were apparently staying in Tamarindo a little longer than we had planned, we might as well make the best of it. There are Ubers that can take us home, and a true worst-case backup plan would be to grab a room at one of the hotels here (like the one we saw with the pool oddly placed next to the driveway). We re-traced our steps from this morning, but this time with the extra glow of a few beers and good food in our bellies. And, in another example of a round-tripping, we soon found ourselves bellied up to the outside beach bar at Volcano Brewery. We ordered some mojitos and took them over to a picnic table that overlooked the beach and coastline. The rain had departed leaving behind a dramatic set of layered clouds behind which sun was beginning to set, and we sat and watched her slowly settle over the sights and sounds of people playing on a beach. Soccer balls, volleyballs, horses, I think I even spied a kite at one point. As the sun sank lower and reappeared from under the lowest cloud layer, the ocean turned into the proverbial reflective diamonds. And as the sun continued its slow swim towards the horizon, a DJ and drummer were playing somewhere behind us, and our bodies were melting into the seats of the picnic table we occupied. Life was good.
We realized that although we had two meals, neither of those included dessert, unless alcohol counts, which it sometimes does. In this case though we were after something more authentic. Earlier in the day we had walked past a Gelato storefront, and our hearts and stomachs were now driving us back to it. After gazing at the dozen or so available flavors we both ordered — Straticcola for Kate, and Almendra for me. The dream-like state of this day continued as we people-watched from our street-side table on the large outdoor patio and finished our sweet desserts. But like all dreams, this one would have to end. We were dragged back to the world of technology and cell phones as we opened up Uber and secured a ride back to our hotel — with one stop added to buy some beer on the way!
Back at the hotel we are hungry again, and go to the on-site restaurant for some dinner and maybe a couple more drinks. There is a girl playing acoustic singer-songwriter style in the corner of the outdoor dining room, and she is very successfully walking the line between soft and loud, and sultry and powerful. I know there was at least one Janis Joplin song in there, but the rest of the playlist eludes me. Her musings were the perfect backdrop and a final nod to the crazy food day we have had. To top off this day we order and share Bananas Foster, a “Kids Pasta” that was big enough that we ended up bringing some back to the room, and some chips and guac.
May 3 – Saturday
Today will be a somewhat “lazy day”. We have nothing planned and that is fine with us — we are both very good at finding fun and joy in the smallest wrinkles of time. We start off with a breakfast of Eggs Benedict (Kate) and Juevos Rancheros (Andrew), along with coffee and juice. We also notice that the hotel staff is setting up for some sort of party. We think at first maybe it is a birthday party, or some other private party, but after asking we find out that they are setting up for Cinco de Mayo! It looks like we just found out what we’re doing tonight!
With visions of future tequila shots in our heads we decide that a visit to the beach is in order, after all, that is one of the primary reasons we’re here. Along with us comes one of the beers we had purchased on the Uber ride home the night before and a major trip checkbox is checked: beer on the beach and a swim in the Pacific Ocean. The waves however are still rather large and confusing for this now central Texas swimmer, and the lack of any other swimmers and similar lack of lifeguards keeps me from going any deeper than chest height, I wanted my feet firmly planted in the sand beneath me. The last thing I want to be is on the news. The swimming and sun bathing has awakened a hunger in us though, and after a short consult we decide to check out “Origami Street Food”. This is a small area just a tad down the road from the hotel that is sort of a mix between food trucks, permanent installations, and a couple small shops. Unfortunately the food we ordered was only somewhere between “not great” and “acceptable”. According to Kate the sushi was not good at all — dried out and closer to fish jerky than fresh fish. The fried pork Gyoza were good enough, but also looked suspiciously like the gyoza that I can get in my grocery store at home. The final thing we tried, the “Tropical Tempura” can only be described as “strange”. It was some sort of fried cheese, we think? But whatever it was, it was as far away from any “fried cheese” I’ve ever had before. We did not finish that.
The drinks, however, were very good! They were in fact good enough that we cannot remember exactly what they were except that I think I ordered some variety of gin drink. We are satiated though, so we leave Origami Street Food perhaps somewhat disappointed but also in good spirits. We find ourselves back at the hotel room and decide that the pool outside our door has been neglected long enough, so we change into bathing suits and head out to the wooden chaise lounges that line the small lap pool outside our room. Only two of the lounge chairs are adorned with curtains that keep the hot sun away. One of the sun-shaded lounges has someone’s stuff on it, but there is no one else at the pool, so we snag the remaining shaded lounge for ourselves.
I see that Kate’s travel sketchbook is out, and I as yet have not made an entry in it, not even during the original “road trip”. So I take the opportunity to try my hand at some art. As my subject I decide on “Iguana” because there happens to be one sunning himself on the hotel fence. I get as close as I can without scaring him and take some photos with my phone. And these I use to create my masterpiece. I slave away, losing myself in the sketchbook. My hand flies across the tiny pages creating fence posts, legs, head and torso, a tail. I create depth by including the trees in the background, both big ones and small ones. I spend time on the Iguana itself, shading the stomach to create more depth there. I lose myself in the act of creating art. And finally I am done. I drop the pencil and hold the small sketchbook page out in front of me. I realize I have not, in fact, created the masterpiece I envisioned in my head, but it is a fair approximation of the Iguana who is now staring back at me from the fence. I am happy with it, and happier that I finally have an entry in the sketch book.
The sun is getting into the evening portion of the sky again, so we decide to head back to the beach and give Ronnie the travel mascot dinosaur some photo-shoot time, and to be on the beach again. After all, maximization of beach time is an important goal.
Afterwards we head back to the hotel for showers and some fresh clothes to go check out the Cinco de Mayo party at the hotel restaurant. We sit at the bar and quickly find ourselves in conversation with Cooper who is a great talker, perhaps not a great a listener, but for sure is a great drinker. In our conversation with him he seemed to have a never-ending supply of brown liquor being delivered to him from the bar. Often in the form of doubles. Over the course of our conversation he gives us some pointers on where to go in the area, which we note down.
The night is ramping up, and in different circumstances I’m sure we would have stayed longer and enjoyed the party that was quickly gathering strength, much like the unseen thunderclouds that were building above us up in the night sky. We have a 6am alarm tomorrow morning though, so we make a quiet exit while the rest of the party-goers at the bar continue the party.
Back in the room, we leave the door to the main room open to try to keep the bedroom cooler. In the distance we can hear the laughter and shouts of the bar, and the faint thrum of the music from the DJ is lulling me to sleep when suddenly there is the tell-tale phosphor-white flash of a lightning bolt. The accompanying thunder arrives nearly instantly, and just as quickly the entire hotel goes dark and silent as the power goes out. It is only for a few seconds, and when the power returns the background noises of appliances returning to life are joined by another sound. It is the most-welcome sound of our air conditioning fan in the bedroom coming back on, and soon it is obvious as cool waves of air descend over us, that somehow, some way, the power cycle has also fixed the air conditioner itself. We fall into easy sleep while trying to ignore the thought that our alarms will be going off sooner than we would probably like.
May 4 – Sunday
“May the 4th be with you!” (Kate says this to me as we are writing down notes in the hotel room on Tuesday morning). Today is Sunday the fourth, and for today we planned an excursion. We have signed ourselves up for some classic touristy stuff. We are promised a whole slew of activities including a waterfall, horseback riding, tubing, lunch provided, and a visit to the hot springs spa.
We make our way the hotel reception building where we assume we are getting picked up, but when the scheduled pickup time arrives and passes we start getting anxious that maybe our ride is waiting for us somewhere else. We walk over to the restaurant where there is another parking area. There is a van there that looks like it might be the kind of thing that might pick two people up to go tubing, but there seems to be nobody in it.
“We just need to think in Island Time, ” I say to Kate who disagrees saying that these kinds of things are usually pretty prompt.
We head back over to the main office area and after a few minutes a small van arrives with a driver who introduced himself as Gilbert from “Tamarindo Drivers”. The ride to the things we will be seeing is actually somewhat long, we first have to drive through Liberia again which is where the airport we fly in and out of is. The ride to Liberia takes a little under an hour, we stop in town at a shopping plaza where we check out a Supermercado Peri, use their bathrooms, and stock up on some basic provisions like sports drinks, chips and snacks, and some “enchiladas” that were more a meat-filled pastry than the enchilada you may normally think of. We chose those because as we were perusing the deli counter, a brand new tray of them was brought out, they looked really good, so we figured it was meant to be! Go with the flow strikes again!
After leaving the supermarket, we hit up the ATM to get the rest of the money for our driver and the cost of the excursion. Unfortunately we are beat to the ATM by a group of five old white people, who appeared to be doing the same thing we were — getting money for some sort of excursion. We waited what felt like way too long until they finally re-appeared and Kate and I made our way into the “ATM room” they had just exited. We are white, but we are not “old white people”, so we were able to get our cash very quickly. We get back in the van, count out the cash, and give it to Gilbert who says something like “Ok, let’s go!” and we are on our way.
Our first stop is at Llanos de Corte waterfall. We walk down a short path and sets of slippery steps built into the hillside that remind me somewhat of Hamilton Pool back in Texas. At the base we walk out onto a beach that again makes me think of Hamilton Pool. This beach is larger though, and the waterfall is also larger than Hamilton Pool, but this may have been facilitated by the rains from the night before. We take photos, and also get a view of some monkeys that are playing (living?) in a nearby tree. When we are satisfied that we have seen our fill of the waterfall, Gilbert ushers us back into the van and we are on our way again.
After a short drive we pull into some sort of compound that we are told is where the rest of our activities will take place. And after a short orientation, we are led to the first of our activities, “THE HORSE RIDE”. Now, having had some experience with vacation horse rides (see: Antigua), I sort of new what to expect; some variation of sad and unhealthy-looking horses, a guide whose job it will be to make sure the horses do not stop or get out of line, and a variety of horse temperaments . Each of these was delivered, especially the horse temperaments. Kate’s horse’s name was “Sol” but had a nickname “Loco”. And my horse was named “Spicy Tequilla” — just like the margaritas that I drank at the bar last night. Kate had one “incident” with Loco who decided he didn’t want to go in a straight line any more and instead decided to spin around in a circle up against a fence. And for me, Tequila seemed more interested in eating some sort of fruit that was strewn about the trail we were riding down. I tried to think of the Spanish to ask “Is it ok if she eats these things?” but my limited vocabulary would not let me form the question in my mind. I asked in English to the arriero behind me and got a “Si senor” in response.
At the end of the trail, we are told to dismount our trusty steeds and walk down the trail to the next event, which will be tubing. Kate, myself, and the couple we were riding with head down the trail and find an area with medium-sized rocks and a small river running past it. “Well, this must be it” we all sort of agree together through non-verbal cues. We spend some time taking pictures and relaxing to the sound of the river running past when we hear some shouting coming from somewhere up river. It turns out we were supposed to be over there! There was a fence that we had thought was “broken” but what we thought was broken down was actually the entryway that was supposed to lead us down to the river.
On that side of the river we are joined by a family of wife, husband, and three girls – who we would later learn were from Texas. The couple who we were on the horse ride with are fluent Spanish speaking, so they translated the “rules and regulations” of the tubing adventure to us as one of the employees also enthusiastically demonstrated how-to and how-not-to hang on to the tubes. One of the major rules that was described to us was to never use your feet to fend off of rocks, and it took me roughly 30 seconds to violate this rule after being launched into the river. It is a pleasant ride down the river, sometimes bouncing off of rocks, sometimes getting stuck, and sometimes trying to help each other out as our small group formed that kind of friendship that people do during things like this. All the while we were being herded and kept in relative safety by the two guides who mostly stayed in the water and pushed and pulled us through the various challenges.
One other interesting sight along the way were some small bats that were on the underside of some cliffs, I would never have noticed them I think if someone from one of the other groups had not pointed them out to me. Both Kate and I would later recollect on this fact, and the knowledge we both have that if you get bit by a rabid bat and do not seek treatment soon enough, you are a cooked goose – a gonner.
Kate meanwhile, was telling herself during the whole float “If these little girls can do this, then I can too!” And Andrew, in his efforts to be helpful and because it is fun, tried to do too much paddling around and in the process roughed up his forearms and inner bicep – which would later come back to haunt him as chafed, weeping wounds.
Near the end of the tubing section, one of the younger girls from the Texas family is near both Kate and I, and Kate yells out to the girl “Kick him!”, meaning me.
The girl, without missing a beat replies back, “Why? Because he left you?”
I try to look offended but can only laugh and reply back, “Hey! I did my best but was torn away in the rapids!” to which both Kate and the other girl start laughing as well.
After tubing it is zip line time! Kate is more terrified of this than the rapids from the tubing section, but she does it! It is my first time zip-lining, at least my first time on a “real” zip line that isn’t installed in a playground or someone’s back yard. I especially like the part where we try to slow down at the end and come to the perfect stop right by the guides by hanging our weight on our hand with the big leather glove they provided us. I didn’t know what to expect from this, I was envisioning a replay of the Southpark ziplining episode, but I was pleasantly surprised. And there were some sections that were high enough that I was certainly aware that if that line snapped somehow, it was going to be a few seconds drop and then it would all be over. Many of the zip lines also crossed over the river that we had just come down, as well as over the spa that would be our last stop after lunch.
Speaking of lunch, it’s was now lunch time! This was a buffet style spread with many different options like soup, pasta, salad, some deep-fried things, some slow-cooked pork, rice, beans, fruit, and a couple salsas to choose from. Also available were some juices in those restaurant-style recirculating juice dispensers. The tables and benches astride them were large, long, and made from rough-sawn wood that had been sanded and finished to a high polish. In other words, we were comfortable as we ate our lunch in quiet, looking out over the hill and trees that let down to the river we had just come down.
After lunch we were lead over to the spa area. The first stop is at the “mud baths”, which we both agree that we have to do even though we are both also a little hesitant. “When in Rome!” as they say, right? However, we both also agree that we have no real interest in getting it on our faces. While waiting for our “mud paint” to dry, we take the opportunity to get some photos of ourselves, including a recreation of the “Finger Guns” photo in a callback to the Road Trip photo of the same nature. While we are drying and then rinsing we both also observe another couple who we hadn’t seen before. The guy we nicknamed “lame dude” because he seemed incapable of letting himself have fun, was too into himself, and his girlfriend seemed bummed out that he was being such a too-cool-for-school wet blanket. She was trying to have a good time and he was having none of it.
We shower off at the outdoor shower and then head over to the last part of the spa which is the hot pools, something which we were both looking forward to. We sample all the different temperature pools like Goldilocks trying soups. I think we even said this at the time and realized there are four pools not three, so we would need to modify the story some. Gilbert tells us that the pools are heated from water that comes from streams that originate in the volcanic mountains above. The water from the volcano is obviously very hot, but mixed with other spring water from a different part of the mountain they are able to keep the different pools at the correct temperatures.
It’s time for us to head back to the hotel, so we go back to the main office area where there are rooms to change into the dry clothes that we brought with us. This is where I manage to drop my backpack into mouse poop that was on the floor of my changing room. I almost was able to get the whole change complete while standing on top of my shoes, but in a single moment of unbalance I reached out and accidentally knocked my backpack off the peg on the back of the door. I watched in horror as my backpack fell straight down and directly onto mouse-poop-covered floor.
We also stopped by the photo office where I spoke with “Andre” who teaches me a new Spanish word “tocayo” meaning “someone who has the same name as me”. After some confusing negotiations over price, mostly because the price he wanted seemed too low to me, I purchased the photos that he took of us at the various locations, which he said would be delivered later that day (and they were!).
On the drive home there is some sort of fire and smoke in the distance. At first we think it is at the Liberia airport and worry it may be some sort of plane accident, but as we get closer we can see it is actually after the airport. We never saw the actual fire, but we all thought it was probably farmland being burned on purpose which there were lots of other examples of around the area.
After getting back to the hotel, showering, and changing (again) we decide to go to the hotel restaurant because we’re hungry again and want food immediately, as soon as possible. Kate orders the Mahi Mahi, and I have the Spicy Chicken Sandwich. Cooper is there again, and I am beginning to suspect that Cooper is at this bar a lot more than he lets on. He shows us many photos from his Instagram, and also at one point leaves and comes back with his business card which is made of metal and in the shape of a fish – appropriate since I guess he is a fish importer or something.
We are tired from our long day, so it’s back to the room to sleep.
May 5 – Monday
We are awoken at 4am to heavy rain which sounds nice and relaxing. I have always loved the sound of rain, but since moving to Texas I am even more fond of rain since we do not get very much of it. Perhaps it reminds me of being a child and waking up in my bed to middle-of-the-night thunderstorms. I would get out of bed and softly walk downstairs wondering if my mother would be at the window watching the storm too, which she always was. Together we would look out the window for lighting, and when a flash came we would count the seconds until we heard the thunder, this would tell us how far away the storm was, five seconds means a mile away. It would also make me sleepy, and still does, so I fall back asleep listening to the rain.
We awake later in the morning. It’s Monday, and the end of the vacation is looming just around the corner, like the feeling of a weekend coming to a close but one thousand times worse. This morning we have decided to begin with yoga again. The teacher for this course I quickly realize was in our previous class as an attendee. And this instructor also has a different style. This class was somewhat less structured, and she seemed to indicate that she had something else going on in her life at the moment that was keeping her from doing all the moves with us. In the previous class she did mention something about being injured so I suppose that was probably it. The class is nice, and perhaps a little more advanced than the first one. Lots of “hip opening” exercises along with some other moves that I had never seen before (in my long history of two classes under my belt, this being my third). In any case, we leave the yoga session feeling energized and hungry for breakfast, and for breakfast we decide to try one of Cooper’s recommendations – Las Tortugas.
Las Tortugas is part of another hotel, down the road and just above “Taco Star” that we sampled what seems like so many days ago. We both agree that it is “pretty good”, and for sure the Bloody Marys hit the spot, even if some of the breakfast dishes missed a bit. Missing from my notes is what we ordered, but these many days later while writing this I feel like it may have been that Kate ordered French Toast, and I ordered an egg sandwich that actually arrived “open faced”. In the kitchen’s favor is that I think we were the very last guests to be served as breakfast was ending, so that certainly may have played a role.
After breakfast we decide to take another of Cooper’s suggestions and walk “to the right” (aka north) on the beach. Like many beach walks this one appears too long at first, the haze of the salt spray obscuring your destination in the distance seems to invite you to turn around, go back to the safety of your pool and the places you know. But slowly and predictably the frosted look of salt and sun is replaced by clarity of the place you wanted to get to, the goal, someplace new. Adventure, even if it is a small one inside a larger one, brings back childhood curiosity and the innate human experience of wanting to know what is around the next corner. And on this walk, around this corner, and just as described by Cooper that semi-drunken night before, is a very isolated large and sandy beach. We have brought towels and water, and a few snacks. And after setting up our temporary camp we find ourselves playing with the hermit crabs that are busily but also seemingly randomly scurrying around the hard-packed sand.
After a while of enjoying our nearly-private beach, of watching birds fly overhead, and closing our eyes to take in the ever-present soothing white noise of the waves down by the water, we pack up our things and head back South to the beach in front of the hotel. With us we have brought a few wooden sticks and other things that will make good sandcastle tools, which is our next mission. When we get there, I decide that since we’re close to the room I’ll go get my long-sleeve SPF beach shirt since I still have PTSD from my face sunburn that I got in Carlsbad, CA. On the way my “brand new water shoes” start to disintegrate. Well, at least they made it far enough to get me through the previous and most of today’s adventures. I guess the two people I talked to about shoes were correct; you cannot buy good shoes here!
We build our sandcastle, complete with outer walls, stone walls on the bridges, multiple levels, and spiral pinipets on the castle’s topmost roof. A few passersby stop and admire our construction, including one who has just checked into our hotel. As is common on vacations, we brain-dump as much as we can about the area and try to answer any questions she has. The opposite of the day we arrived such a short time ago, we are now the semi-knowledgeable ones. Perhaps I should have warned her to not buy any shoes! We stay on the beach until sunset, and then go back to the room to change for dinner. Upon arrival back at our room we are greeted by more “new people”. Including some kids jumping off the chaise lounges into the pool. Kate stays behind to make sure they do not sever their spines while I go in to shower first. Afterwards, while Kate is showering, my dog friend from the beach shows up on the steps. It seems even the dogs know the score and schedule around here. He wants to go inside for the air conditioning, as much as I want to let him I cannot. I instead bring him out a bowl of water which he dismisses and walks over to the new kids next door and see what they may have to offer.
After cleaning up we go to the hotel restaurant for one last sit-down dinner instead of sitting at the bar like we have been. There is a small ordering mistake where the waitress didn’t understand what we wanted for drinks. Kate somehow ends up with a Pina Colada instead of the Moscow Mule she ordered, and when it seemed the waitress was upset at her mistake, Kate went to go tell her it was fine and actually she really likes Moscow Mules! I have a G&T which I somehow have not ordered yet on this trip, and a glass of wine. Kate also tries to feed the beach dogs some of her steak with plates from the restaurant and is scolded. We go back to the room, fill out the journal as bullet points as best we can, and then reluctantly head to sleep knowing that tomorrow is traveling-home-day.
May 6 – Tuesday
Ugh….going home day always sucks. We go to the office to inquire about our ride to the airport later on in the morning that we thought was scheduled, only to find there is no record of it. But Uber comes to the rescue and we are able to secure an Uber ride to the airport with “Carlos Agustus” – what a great name!
Carlos is a very nice man who tells us he cannot take us to the airport because of some rules about licenses and such, but that he can drop us off at the Airport Raddison and from there we can take the free shuttle to the airport. He also instructs me to sit in the front seat because otherwise it would look like he was a paid driver and not dropping off his friends. I don’t think either of us fully understood everything he was telling us, but in another case of go-with-the-flow we resign ourselves to whatever happens with this ride. Everything goes as expected and we soon find ourselves standing in the shaded awning of the airport hotel. A couple hotel employees seem aware of our presence but pretend to not know that we are not really staying there. We both use the lobby bathrooms, and then soon enough we’re in the hotel shuttle to the airport. After being dropped off we make sure to tip the shuttle driver well assuming that he may be in on the Uber driver’s deal of “hey, I’ll drop people off at your hotel and you’ll get more riders”.
Then it’s wandering around the airport doing some last shopping, buying gifts for children and friends back home, and one last plate of tacos and two Bloody Marys until the inevitable hits. Kate’s plane is boarding and mine boards about 30 minutes after. As her section is called to board we say a final goodbye, hug quickly, and she gets in line to board. I stay behind to make sure she safely boards the plane, and afterwards walk down to the gate where my plane will board. Soon I am on my plane, sending text messages to Kate and other friend’s and family of that fact, unsure if the messages will send. I turn my phone to airplane mode, and look out the window to reflect on the past few days.
The whole trip has flown by, as most trips do, but this one somehow felt faster than most. Maybe it’s because it was my first “real vacation” in almost four years, and four days wasn’t really enough to even begin to decompress. I know this – I’ve had the luxury of a two-week vacation once in my life and it takes at least a week to “forget” about work. The second week is where you really start to feel like yourself again.
But I am thankful for these days I got to spend with Kate – we had great food, made a couple ridiculous skits, picked up a beach shell and got yelled at for doing so, and scavenged the sand and beach itself for creative inspiration. We let nature, the world, and anything else that wanted to dictate where we would go and do. We embraced adventure and released ourselves into relaxation. We allowed ourselves to breathe in the ocean air, and we stretched our hands to the sky and earth.
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