San Vito

The drive through the mountains was beautiful, if hairy. The roads swoop and swirl up and around, and the trucks come at you with a force that parallels that of a major highway. On the way down to Neilly, close to the Panama border, part of the road had been washed out on a big hairpin turn, and the cars were backed up to wait for a huge bus to try to navigate the rubble and dirt and get up the hill. Of course, the whole time I am driving, as you can see, I am trying to take photographs, so if these are not the most evocative, forgive me. Solo road trips are just like this, and my fellow Costa Rican was too busy to join me...

On the way through the mountains I stopped and had lunch in San Isidro where I photographed these stained glass windows in the enormous church that lorded over the center of town; I thought the abstraction of the windows bizarre enough to share. Maybe they aren't even stained glass, but the colors were peculiar and the images were disjointed. I couldn't get much closer because there were several pew-seated men looking somber and reverent.

The town of San Vito was begun in the 1950s by an Italian man from Rome, and although my Lonely Planet said the people spoke Italian, I heard none and learned that they are in the process of changing the high school to a bilingual Spanish-Italian school to maintain some of the culture. This is a photo of the municipal hall, which had a quirky architecture and hence worthy of a photo. The town itself was full up with a conference of coffee growers, so I had to stay in a truck stop named Hotel Pittier, which was certainly clean, but when one of the trucks revved its engine until 9:30, I got up out of bed, trotted down the hill to the owner's house and requested that they do something, a difficult task when the truck was a refrigerator truck and turning off the engine meant losing the cargo! However, I thought it reasonable so that I didn't die of asphysiation.

There WAS a fantastic pizzeria, which was the original restaurant in town, and according to a 90 year old former NY actor, "really, the only restaurant in town." I ate spaghetti with squid, and the inky sauce was comparable to that I remember in southern Italy itself! Mangia, mangia!

The next day I drove on along the precarious mountain road to the San Cruces Botanical Garden, set up also in the 50s by the Wilsons. It now houses the Organization of Tropical Culture, and the gardens are magical. I seemed to walk on endless trails for 2 hours, but had to buy a book at the end so that I could remember what I'd seen and learned.

There were small Agoutis snarffling around all over the place, snatching fruits from under trees and scrambling off to eat them, all looking as though they needed diaper changing - or at least tails. There were sections of palms, ginger plants, orchids, azaleas, and other more obscure plants. Here I show only the surface of the experience:

After I left, having "supported" the institution by buying T-shirts for grandpeople, I drove down to Neilly, a rather non-descript town on the Pan American Highway. Looking for a place to eat some lunch became cumbersome because, as you remember, I was also taking window photos as I drove, but once I got on I-34, heading up to Jaco, I was on more familiar territory; right before the turn off to the Osa Peninsula and the bridge, there was a Soda Naomy. It was crowded with trucks and men, AND my mother's name was Naomi, so I was sure it was all meant to be. I walked in, looked for a menu, and the men all pointed to the kitchen, where I found an over-heated bustle of grandma and daughter. The grandson was playing with 2 broken trucks on the floor and lugging a big bottle of Coke; his teeth, I might add, were still baby teeth, but rotten so profoundly that half the two front ones had been eroded away, just the way the commercials used to show... I had gallo pinto and two eggs; she threw in some fried plantains as well, and I just KNEW the whole thing had been cooked in that same vat with all the bacon, meat and other manly things that were being consumed around me.

I drove hard to get home to my familiar surroundings and down to sea level where I feel most comfortable. The sun was warm, the clouds told of rain in the evening, and I even had some edible leftovers in the fridge.

Coming home...

Nothing like feeling that you've come "home" and you aren't even home! Bejuco feels homey to me, and I was glad to get back to my house, set up my hammock, buy a hook for my hummingbird feeder and walk with Eva on the beach. This is the first critter I found on the way to the beach - a pink dragon fly who sat still enough for me to take two photos.

I walked twice on the beach yesterday and ran this morning on the road, which is hairy because the huge 18 wheelers careen by me, trying, I know, to kill me - if only in their hearts - as they sit and jiggle behind those wheels, sloth-like and blubbery. God, I'm an awful person, but friend Farlow reminds me that Jung says we should embrace our demons.

This is one of the wonderfully lewd pods I found on the beach yesterday, and I took a series of shots of them in various stages of opening; they are so delightfully clitoral and vaginal that I had to laugh.

And, as long as I'm getting artsy here, I shall load up some of my quirky images I captured along the trail to Carate, the first being this double wheeled image that pleased me though my cousin wondered what the hell I was doing photographing wheels! But I also love images of chairs, and this one seems to speak for itself and Porto Jimenez, referred to by the gringos as Port Jim, not a terribly upscale town but one that has had moments of striving with one fancy restaurant that never made it and several hotels that tried, but by the time we got there seemed more tired.

More another day and another adventure, but for now, adios. I think my next adventure will be picking up trash along the side of the road... Sigh.

Carate

Once we arrived at the end of the road, we unloaded our packs and gear, Brookie laughing at my little shoulder bag and high heeled sandals, and began the 45 minute walk along the misty beach toward the entrance to one of the parks. We came to a heavily rip-tided stream and had to take off shoes, roll up pants, or take off pants, which several young women did, wading - or swimming - across in their underpants. Funny, I didn't notice any of the men stripping down like that... There was this little cart that La Leona Lodge sends over for its guests, but I didn't notice how the heck THEY got across...

Once we got to Leona, I was set to stay. We'd had several days of long adventures and drives, and I was happy to settle in for a day, so we booked a cabin/tent here, close to the park, overlooking the waves, and hammocked to the hilt. Meals were included in the price, so we had a hearty lunch and lounged awhile before we trekked off into the rain forest to see an endless array of Macaws, monkeys, etc... Before we left, Alehandro, our friend who steered us to this haven, walked us up to the top of the hotel's trails to show us the panoramic views. He built the steps along the trail and some of the cabins on the site; he also was responsible for one of the wooden sculptures in the open lobby, a whimsical depiction of a macaw with an egg nestled into the belly of the piece of wood. In fact, Alehandro had to return to Jimenez that night, but he met us when we returned the next day and brought me two plants

of Momochino, which is the spanish word for the red spiky asian fruit called rambutan. I bought a kilo of them on the way down, and we munched on them in the car. I polished them off by lunchtime.

Here is one of the raucous macaws we saw in the rainforest, which was dark and dense in places, so we went down to the beach and lolled on the black, poppy-seed sand. The waves were gorgeous, and I wallowed just long enough to feel the tug and pull of the rip-tide but allowed myself the pleasure of floating and drifting back to shore.

After the evening meal in the main lobby, we were ready to crash but had no real flashlight, and the hotel has no electricity although they do provide candles. When we stumbled back to the tent, we tried to light the candles, but the matches were so wet that we had to hunker down on the floor to get out of the wind and wet. Here is a photo of our garden bathroom where the toilet sat to the far left, overlooking the shower (through a coconut head) and the little garden. We slept soundly and left at 7:30 in the morning, forging the tidal stream andco bumping along the ride in the refugee truck back to Jimenez. Then a 6 hour drive brought us safely back to Bejuco and our beddies. We ate a comforting dinner of shrimp rice at Hotel Bejuco where I also use the internet. Bless them.

Osa Peninsula

My Prima, Brookie, and I drove to Porto Jimenez down the Pacific coast to the Osa Peninsula where we stayed in a damp hotel on the water overlooking this little view of a dock and then part of the Gulfo Dulce. We could have taken a ferry across the Gulfo but decided to catch a collectivo down to the bitter end of the road in Carate.

The collectivo turned out to be a truck with two benches in it, and it picked passengers up along the way, so it was crowded with SRO folks swaying and jiggling over the bumpy, pot-holed, dirt roads. The journey seemed endless as we crossed over rushing rivers and swirling streams, but we stopped for coffee towards the end; all piled out for a stretch and a breath of fresh air. But once we arrived in Carate, our journey had really just begun...

Sleeping Sloth - not I!

This is a photo from our excursion to the Manuel Antonio Park today where our extraordinary guide, Michael (introduced as "Mikey") showed us sloths, frogs, capuchins, snakes and poison apples. It was a lazy kind of day for this sloth, but he was soaking wet - bad hair day - and his fur really WAS green. Our guide was full of himself and his biological prowess, but he WAS a master at spotting species and getting his telescope lined up so that we could see and photograph. It does trouble me that the park - a space that should be a sanctuary for rainforest species has become more of a honky tonk town with trinket shops selling geegaws instead of maintaining the integrity of its ecological function.

Sigh.

After seeing and photographing the wildness of the place, we drove to Ronny's, a restaurant that required our driving up and over rocky terrain and steep, curving pitted road. Once there we had the most sublime glasses of sangria and overlooked the sea and mountains below and in the distance.

Tomorrow Brookie and I head down to the Osa Peninsula to MORE rain and drear, but I hope I can report on some spiritual spaces - at least some more serenity than I found today.