San Jose and Manuel Antonio

New Year, New Continent

Chapter Two of our year-long story is set in Central America. We start in Costa Rica and, wanting to avoid the dangerous durian gap between Colombia and Panama (essentially a no-man’s-land of warring drug gangs and illegal immigrants), we opt to fly over it. Our journey once again has us stop in Panama City to catch our connecting flight. A few people seem shocked we’re skipping Panama but we’re confident we’re not missing much, and would rather spend time in other parts of Central America.

We land at San Jose airport in the capital of Costa Rica. We’ve pre-arranged a taxi shuttle to take us 30 minutes from the airport as the hostel price was half the Uber estimation! Our man greets us with a hand-written sign with our names and hostel scribbled on, always a nice way to be greeted at an airport. He walks us round to where a car waits for us and loads our bags into the boot. “Any tip for me Sir?” He politely requests. Hmm, better get used to that in a country heavily influenced by American culture. I give him a dollar, which he seems happy with, and the driver sets off. On our way through San Jose there is a tonal shift from Colombia. At times it’s subtle, the driving is less frantic and the incessant beeping has stopped. Some of it is more obvious, huge signs advertise Denny’s burgers, McDonald’s, KFC, Subway and half of the billboards and shop names are in English. The radio station plays Green Day and R.E.M and we feel excited that our travel has taken on a new personality, albeit one injected with American consumerism.

We only have one night in San Jose, it’s more of a stopover city than a place you’d consider for tourism. There are three items on our to-do list for the afternoon, withdraw cash, buy bus tickets for our transit to Manuel Antonio tomorrow and purchase a SIM card. All three chores go smoothly and we’re shocked to be back at our hostel after a couple of hours with no hiccups! A first on our travels in a new country!

In the evening we head back into town for a cheap bite to eat, Costa Rica will be one of the more expensive countries in Central America so we’re aiming to make a headstart on our budget. Town is quite quiet after dark and most of the “soda” cafes (aka cheap eateries) are either closed or completely empty. We give up searching and, wanting to avoid an American fast-food chain, settle for a mid-range taco joint. Around town the streets are not busy, many of the people still about are trying to sell something, cigarettes, souvenirs or simply ask for money. Once again it’s uncomfortable to witness these desperate people living in poverty, hoping spare change from tourists can keep them going.

Heading to the West Coast

We have an early start, buying breakfast at the hostel to save time so we can eat and make our 8:30am bus. We’re slightly surprised to see the bus leaves right on time, and despite a standstill traffic jam, we still arrive ahead of schedule! Colombia time is a thing of the past.

On the way across the country, I talk to Alex about her Dad, Jeremy, who sadly passed away 19 years ago to the day, and now each day marking more days without him in her life than with him. It’s one of those awkward things talking about those that are no longer with us, but I’m keen to hear more about the person that makes up half of Alex’s being. She tells me about the time they would spend together in the garden, cycling around the area, how he picked her up from Otford station after school and she did her homework in his gardening car while he finished work. Their similar sense of humour and their bond over computer games and nerdy stuff.

Arriving in the town of Quepos, we make the somewhat foolish decision to walk it. With all of our bags and in the mid-day sun, an uphill hike leaves us panting for breath and sweating buckets as we arrive at the Planet B hostel. The young fresh-faced staff check us in and we decide it’s time to eat. A quick Google suggests the “Rasta Bar” next door is an ideal location and it’s not wrong. A friendly face welcomes us and gives us some advice on what to order. I have the Rasta Burger with it’s 12 toppings while Alex has the Land and Sea fries, topped with avocado, shrimp, nachos, pulled pork, plantain and cheese, yummy. For drinks, we opt for natural lemonade with a peppermint twist, it’s devine!

Alex finds a local viewpoint we can go to and watch the sunset. Around a thirty minute walk from our hostel (via getting a bit lost in the marina and boat yard) we arrive with plenty of time to watch the sun sink for another day. It’s a beautiful uninterrupted view of the Pacific Ocean and as with every good sunset there is a myriad of colours painted across the canvas of the sky. After the show, we head back through Quepos to pick up some supplies for the days ahead. Bored of cheap ham and tasteless cheese filling in our wraps, Alex has the smart idea of cream cheese, tomato and beans as an alternative. She’s on to a winner.

Back at the hostel, we take the opportunity to practice some yoga and mindfulness on the terrace, it’s a welcome break after a lot of transiting and planning. For the first time in a while, we’re staying in a four person dorm. Luck would have it that the other bunk is empty and we have the first night as just the two of us.

White Sands and Whiter Knuckles

The main attraction of this area is the Manuel Antonio National Park, but we have a spare day before our ticketed entrance allows us in. For the morning, we head to Esperilla Del Norte, a public beach that neighbors the main park. The beach is actually split into two, with the South half being inside the park and this North section sitting just outside it. We take the bus and find ourselves a spot in the shade of some palm trees. Despite the usual warnings of not being able to enjoy this beach because of all of the hawkers, we’re mostly left in peace. We actually find it amusing to see what the hawkers are flogging. One man pushes a mobile barbeque along the sand, selling grilled seafood and shrimp; another sells fresh coconuts; beer and water are dragged along in cool-boxes plus the usual stone bracelets and colourful shawls.

It doesn’t take long before Alex wants a dip in the sea. It’s like walking into a warm bath, I’ve never seen her get into the sea without baby steps and hyperventilating before! We both enjoy a dip in the waves that occasionally wash over our entire body before we realise what’s happening. We sprint across the red-hot sand back to our cool spot in the shade and dry off. I relax reading my book while Alex enjoys basking in the peaceful atmosphere. After a few hours, we head back to our hostel and enjoy the new wrap ingredients, with a side of crisps of course.

We take a couple of hours to recover from the heat in hammocks overlooking the hostel’s garden and enjoy a hit of air conditioning in the dormitory. Never ones to sit still for long, we’ve found a waterfall we can walk to from the hostel and attempt to reach it before sundown. We clutch to the side of the busy main road and I regret taking pavements for granted back home. Eventually we turn off and head down a gravel track. Just before we reach the trail that will take us to the waterfall I spot a huge red object in a tree above us. “It must be a kite” I guess. Nope, it caws and moves along the branch. It is in fact a scarlet macaw. I can’t believe my eyes, this beautiful red, blue and green feathered bird must be three foot tall at least. I never knew such magnificent birds existed at this size outside the world of pokemon. Annoyingly I could not get a good picture of it, this is what they should look like:

Picking up the trail again, we cross a very dodgy bridge with nothing to hold onto and several of the metal floor panels missing or not attached on one end and too loose to stand on.

This highly recommended and 4.2 star Google reviewed trek is a royal pain in the backside to hike. Trip-wire roots, slippy rocks, deep stream crossings and God knows what wildlife lurking around us make it a 30 minute trek to forget. The only other lunatics mad enough to do this are a French family of four we meet about halfway along the route. Their faces full of regret but determined to carry on and reach the cascading goal ahead. Upon hearing the gushing of water we realise we’re close and it soon becomes obvious there is only one real way into the pool below… jump. Alex immediately rules that out and the French family look sheepish, their children getting dangerously close to the precipice before their Dad claws them back to safety. We contemplate our next move.

Assume I’m saying some sort of prayer here…

I’ve not come all of this way for nothing, I’ll be the crash test dummy. I peel off my sweat-soaked clothes and pick a suitable spot to use as a diving board. As I teeter on the brink beside the stream rushing over the sharp edge, fear overwrites my dumbfounded bravery. It takes me a couple of minutes to compose myself (2 minutes 33 seconds actually as Alex filmed the whole debacle). It’s not the height per se, I’ve jumped off much higher but doubt clouds my mind. Is it actually deep enough, how do I get back up, how do I avoid that ledge of rock sticking out, what if I chicken out and mess up my jump? I reason with myself that it will be two seconds of free-falling terror followed by that rewarding, drug-like feeling of euphoria that washes over you after such a white-knuckle experience. Screw it. A couple of hand claps to make sure I’ve not frozen with fear and I take the plunge.

It’s a wonderful feeling as you sink deep underwater knowing you’ve done it and the ride is over, you want this fleeting feeling to last longer and I immediately want to do it again! Funny how the mind works. There’s a knotted rope to climb the 20ft cliff back to the top but it looks like hard work. I advise Alex doesn’t bother, if one of us hurts ourselves out here it’s going to be one hell of a journey back to civilization. Perhaps discouraged by my display, the French family soon disappear, thinking better of it. A local appears out of nowhere and plucks up the courage to jump from even higher up but even he looks apprehensive about it. I climb the makeshift rope, ignoring the giant millipede perched half-way up inside one of the handholds.

We need to get a shift on to make it back to our hostel before it gets dark. As we hop across rocks and roots we hear the disturbing sound of a howler monkey exercising it’s vocal cords. It sounds like it is just above us, grunting and growling like a possessed demon. We don’t have any food to tease it away with and my futile attempts of making sounds with sticks and stones does nothing to deter it. Thankfully a local friendly dog comes up to reassure us we’re safe and guides us home. We later read that howler monkeys are about as dangerous as hamsters…

Returning home, as we approach the bend in the road our hostel sits on, Alex has a brainwave. She suggests we go to the Rasta Bar for a refreshing mint lemonade and see if they will let us use their pool to cool off. They are happy to see us again and invite us to use their pool until 10pm if we want to! The crystal clear water and crisp temperature of the pool is incredibly cleansing. Feeling rejuvenated we enjoy our lemonades over a game of Uno and return to our hostel for the gourmet meal of instant noodles and Oreo cookies for desert.

Manuel Antonio Park

Our final full day in this tropical region of Costa Rica and we saved the best until last. Our timed entry to the park is 8-8:40am, plenty of time for pancakes and fruit with scrambled eggs at the hostel first. Again we take the bus to save our legs and avoid the heat, which is already baking hot as soon as the sun comes out. We avoid a couple of tour guides trying to lure us into their group “special discount just for you” and “you’ll miss so much without a guide” are their sales pitches. We kindly decline and join the queue of gringos waiting to get in. It’s forbidden to take food into the park and our bags are briefly searched on the way in. Someone from our hostel said she managed to sneak food in, but we believe it’s better for the animals in the park if we don’t do that. As we near the front of the queue two macaws elegantly fly over our heads. The first animal sighting of the day, we hope they’ll be many more.

Inside the park, the large tour groups stick to the main path, we take the smaller side path that runs parallel without the blockades of tourists in the way. We keep our eyes peeled and try to walk slowly to improve our chances of spotting something. There’s plenty of stunning flora around us but apart from a few huge webs glistening in the sun, we don’t see any sign of fauna yet. We pass through a mangrove swamp section, the paths here are raised above the ground so we don’t need to worry about what we’re stepping on or in.

We reach a beach, the other half of the one we visited yesterday, it’s practically empty but we agree we’ll return later when we’re tired out and want a rest. Passing back through the disconcerting swamp of mangroves we’re back in the forest and find our first creatures. Not ones we expected to see either. Grey and white bodied crabs with bright red legs and pincers have come out of their hidey holes to say hello. At first we just spot the big guy at the back but the more we look, the more we can see, camouflaged in the dusty sand. We count around a dozen and watch them for a while, they stay perfectly still and don’t scurry back into their den when a tour group passes by.

A few minutes later in the dense tropical forest, we see a tour group on the main path pointing up above where we’re walking. I get a good look at a large sloth making it’s way down a tree. The tour guide from the group rushes over to where we are “Ah you guys found the best view, perfect”…”Could you just move over a bit” he asks as he sets up his spotter lens and beckons his tour group over to where we’re stood. Cheeky git! We still have a good view as the chunky mammal makes it way down the tree. It pauses and looks like it wants to descend further but is perhaps disturbed by 40 people staring up at it, most with lenses in their hands.

We reach the fork in the path where the only cafe in the park sits, inside a cage to deter the monkeys. A chalkboard outside indicates the prices, £4 for a bottle of water, scandalous. We praise our Water-To-Go bottles, they’ve saved us a fortune and have done some good for pachamama too. There’s a handful more sloths in the trees above the cafe. There is a pair of them together, a mother and her cub, though it’s hard to make out what’s happening high up in the trees with their brown moss covered fur blending them in with the branches.

We walk passed the cafe and higher up into the forest. A bit of rustling above us reveals a white-faced monkey, oddly it seems to be on its own and passes us by without a glance. The route climbs up to a viewpoint over-looking the beach we touched earlier on. A thunderous growl from a pack of howler monkeys rumbles somewhere below us. A trio of tourists are taking a picture of something next to us while we sit and catch our breath. “What is it?” I ask, expecting it to be another monkey or sloth. “A toucan” the Aussie girl replies “there’s heaps of them around here”. We’ve wanted to see a toucan since Simon told us he’d spotted one on the Lost City trek. Of course as we stand up to get a look at this one it flies deeper into the canopy before we can even get a glimpse. Oh well I’m sure we’ll see one soon.

After some more exploration we pick up a new path taking us to a picturesque beach alcove. Here a huge iguana basks on the rocks soaking up all the sun it can get. We enjoy some shade and breeze while watching the ocean waves crashing upon the volcanic rocks.

Our next destination is the main Esperilla Del Sur beach. Making our way there we spot a large pack of howler monkeys. Most are resting in the shade of the canopy high above us. One even laying on its back, looking up, its fingers touching like it’s meditating. The only active one is a baby, playfully swinging from branch to branch in its jungle playground, as the adults try and ignore it. A few meters ahead, another pack of monkeys. This time the white-faced species we saw earlier, they casually climb around and above the tourists in awe of them. To our right, a group of squirrel monkeys, half the size of the other species, navigate across the vines. Everywhere you look there is a monkey doing something! They come close to us but never attempt to pinch sunglasses or investigate a backpack. They seem happy just clambering about and picking bugs off leaves and playing in the trees. Oddly enough, at the same time that all of this is going on, a deer appears in the foliage, looking as tame and bewildered as they usually do.

Moving on from the monkeys we reach the Southern beach. From here we can see the Northern side covered in sunbeds, parasols and other clutter. No such thing here, just sand, palm trees and ocean. We find a spot to dump our stuff and note the paw prints in the sand, there are no dogs here so it must be a monkey’s prints! We paddle around in the warm waters, read, rest and play sudoku and agree it’s one of the most idyllic beaches we’ve ever seen.

We make our way back along the beach, once again picking up the platform above the mangrove swamp to the main pathway that was full of tour groups earlier on. We discuss what animals we’d love to see before we leave. Alex wants to see a toucan, while I’d be interested to see a snake. “We’ll never see one of those” she claims.

Yet as we approach the main route, Alex’s ears pick up the S word from a nearby guide. We get closer to the group to try and spot it. At first it’s hiding in the hole of a tree but it soon emerges and begins ascending up. It’s a beautiful female Green Parrot Snake. Working it’s way up the trees and vines with the elegance of a professional gymnast.

We walk one more pathway through to a waterfall at the back of the park, desperate to try and spot a toucan, but to no avail. We admit defeat and leave the park, taking the bus back to our hostel for a cold shower and a bite to eat.

In the evening we head to El Avion. An unusual restaurant built around the fuselage of an old aircraft. It has glorious views out over the ocean where we will watch the sunset. We enjoy our first beer of the New Year, Alex states that this area is up there with some of her favourite places in the world, it’s hard to disagree. We order a couple of cocktails to drink while watching the sun go down. Around this exact time, a couple of white-faced monkeys appear and most of the tourists jump to their feet to get a look, and of course a picture. It’s quite a sight to see thirty-plus people all pointing their phone lenses at a creature just going about it’s business. Though we do admit if it had been a toucan we’d have behaved exactly the same! We decide to head back to the Rasta Bar for their delicious Land and Sea fries and a final peppermint limonada for our final meal in this glorious part of the world.

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Adventure – Wildlife spotting. Noticing the change in culture from Colombia.

Excitement – Being surrounded by troops of various monkeys, and them not caring about our presence one bit. Jumping off a waterfall. Finding beach paradises.

Trauma – The heat. Aggressive beggars. Tourists flocking to see a monkey and blocking our view just as the sun went down.