Karmic Backlash Fixed - Sunday 3-29-2009

About 3:45PM, I leave to rectify a small injustice. I did not pay the $8 entrance fee when I visited Monteverde waterfall yesterday. When my camera switch broke off at the falls, I immediately thought “karmic backlash.” I walk back to Monteverde Waterfall and find Simon sitting in the information shack. He recognizes me from two nights ago. I say hello and explain to him that I came yesterday and didn’t pay because there wasn’t anyone to pay but now I’m here to pay. Simon grins and thanks me for coming back as he happily accepts my money. We talk and I learn that the Monteverde waterfall is on his parent’s property. His dad is a local expert on bats and bought the property around the waterfall to preserve it from development. Their house is down the dirt road a bit. I tell him that it must be nice to live amid such beauty. “For sure,” he says with a smile. Simon asks where I am from. “Los Angleles, California, which is not as beautiful, not as green, not as peaceful, and not as quiet as Monteverde,” I say. I tell him how my camera switch broke off yesterday at the falls and how it was karmic backlash for not paying. Simon laughs. I take his picture for my blog. “Pura Vida!” Simon shouts as I wave and head up the dirt road back to the gravel road. Pura Vida, Simon.

I walk east toward the Monteverde Preserve. I pass a woman walking to dogs and say hello. Half a mile east of Monteverde’s center, I pass the Quaker cheese factory and marvel at how modern it looks. I go as far as Rio Shanti, a yoga, massage and day spa past a half mile past the Quaker cheese factory and turn back. Not far along, I pass the woman and dogs again. This time, she asks if I am looking for something in particular. After I tell how I wanted to walk to the Monteverde Preserve but decided against it because it was too far, she asks if I want to at least look into the preserve. I say yes. She quickly walks us back to Rio Shanti, and then into the forest behind it. She finds a barely marked trail and she leads me through the forest.

I introduce myself and she does the same. Her name is Annie and she teaches at the Quaker school. School enrollment is 50 percent Costa Rican children and 50 percent expatriate children. This year’s high season has been so disappointing that Costa Rican families are openly concerned about paying for next year’s tuition, she tells me. I ask about the expatriate families in Monteverde and she says that they do nothing to support themselves because they are so rich, which is noteworthy because she also tells me that living in Monteverde is not much cheaper than living in the US. I ask Annie if she is Quaker. She describes herself as “kind of Quaker and kind of Universalist” in that she likes some tenants of the Quaker religion but hangs on to some things she learned as a Universalist while in college. When I tell her how modern the Quaker cheese factory looks, she laughs and says Quakers embrace modern technology and that I’m thinking of the Amish. After a fast-paced ten minute walk through thick forest, the trees open up to a deep valley and countless trees. “Here we are,” she says. I snap some pictures. Annie leads me back to the gravel road connecting Santa Elena with the Monteverde Preserve. I thank her and walk back to Manakin Lodge.

Upon my arrival at Manakin Lodge, the owner's daughter tells me that they need my Family Room for some guests and asks if I could move into the Superior Room I was unable to move into during my week here because it was always booked. I immediately agree. I move my gear and spend the evening sitting on my balcony, gazing into the darkening rainforest, listening to the crickets, cicadas, and monkeys call in the night. Karmic backlashed fixed.

Career Options and Monkeys - Sunday 3-29-2009

I eat breakfast with Rose and Ann. They ask me about my journey. I am hoping this trip will spark some hidden career aspiration, I tell them. So far, I love traveling and writing so perhaps I can survive as a travel writer. I also tell them that freelance work or entrepreneurship appeals to me. They ask about my previous career path. I tell them it was interesting work that I did mostly for the money, but that now the money no longer compensates for the stress or the overpowering feeling that I should be doing something else with my life. Rose starts suggesting alternative careers. “Are you interested in teaching English,” she asks. I tell her no. “How about teaching economics workshops?” I tell her that I think Austrian School economics would be worth teaching, but who today remembers them? She suggests I could write an article, or perhaps self-publish a book about my experience traveling. She further suggests that I could tailor my blog towards people who are either traveling alone or traveling cheaply. Now there’s an idea, and I have always wanted to be a published writer.

Rose asks me if I enjoy cooking, because cooking is a great way to connect with a foreign culture. I say cooking is more hobby than career interest. “How about the Peace Corps or volunteering,” Rose inquires I lack that certain personality that would love the Peace Corps lifestyle, but economic development work in a foreign country might be a better fit; ecological volunteer work interests me, too I tell her. Then I tell Rose and Ann about how my afternoon in San Jose with Laura got me thinking about development work.

Rose tells me about a high-strung body builder from her hometown who took a summer to drive across the US, sleeping where he could and talking to everyone he met. In the end, he moved to Boston and is now a happier, mellower yoga master who credits his summer long trip with prompting his transition. Rose says my trip might lead to a similar transition. I tell her that I brought a couple books to help me formulate this new path, but I have enjoyed talking to people so much that I have been doing that instead of reading my books. She tells me talking to people is better. I agree. The conversation pauses. “Have you had much time for romance,” she asks. I’m embarrassed to say that I haven’t, that my jobs have been all-consuming, and that I was married to my career but we’re divorced now. That last part gets a good laugh.

Just past noon, Tiffany calls everyone over to her balcony because the monkeys are in the trees right outside her room. Rose has some cut bananas in her hand. The monkeys eye the food carefully, creep in from the trees, grab the food from Rose’s hand, and then jump back into the trees to eat their fruit.

About 1:15PM, I accompany Rose and Ann to Sabores, (100 yards down a dirt road leading west from Manakin Lodge; can also follow for 50 yards the dirt road that runs south from Atmosphere Café on the road to Santa Elena) the local ice cream shop from where they will catch their cab to Santa Elena and then their bus to San Jose. Sabores offers cones in local flavors like banana or condensed milk with figs, as well as familiar classics like chocolate and vanilla starting from 540 colones (about $1) and sundaes and banana splits from 1,250 colones ($2.50). They also sell sandwiches starting from 1,725 colones ($3.50) if you’re looking for real food.

Rose tells me about her Turkish dad, how he swears that olives keep his skin young and soft, how he won’t let her date until she’s 35 and then how he’ll just arrange a marriage for her anyway. She won’t have any of it and has a boyfriend back in Maryland, but I laugh because Mom used to tell me similar things when I was young. We exchange emails and Rose graciously tells me to email her about my travels or even just to talk. Rose and Ann’s taxi arrives five minutes early. I walk them to the taxi, hug them both, and wish them a fine stay in Costa Rica. They wish the same to me. Turning, I walk back to Manakin Lodge. Constantly saying goodbye is the hardest part of my trip.

The door to the Superior Room next to my Family Room is open. I could never move into this room because it was booked during much of my stay. It is empty now, though, and so I sit on the balcony to write and enjoy the afternoon. The balcony faces the rainforest. The family of monkeys I photographed earlier are in the trees mere feet from me. A baby monkey, no longer than a foot and a half, jumps from its tree to the wooden balcony, and then climbs the railing and walks on the railing a foot from me. I smile and say hello. He runs off without returning my greeting.

Monteverde Waterfall - Saturday 3-28-2009

I eat pancakes for lunch (from last night's batter) with Rose from Maryland and Ann from Wisconsin. They are college students back in the States who are in Costa Rica for a semester doing social work. They work in soup kitchen. Ann also works a couple days a week at a local program similar to Headstart back home. Rose's soup kitchen operates out of a priest’s house in San Jose, serving people who are so hungry they dig in San Jose’s landfill for food. Both women love their work, and are in Monteverde for a weekend getaway.

After lunch, I walk east on the paved road that to the Monteverde Preserve. Retracing yesterday’s steps, I walk about one mile to the Monteverde Waterfall (opens at 8AM, closes irregularly, $8 per person, night tours available; from Manakin Lodge, walk east along the paved road towards the Monteverde Preserve until the paved road turns to gravel and then walk another half a mile down the gravel road; it will be on your right) just off the gravel road that leads to the Monteverde Preserve, but before the Monteverde’s town center. I walk down the dirt path to the information shack. A note advises me that the attendant is away and to pay when I leave. A yellow sign points towards the trail and says the waterfall is one kilometer away. The trail leads steeply down and I have to hang onto the climbing ropes several times to keep my footing. The ten minute walk to the river valley passes quickly. I follow the trail along a brook, and then past several shallow, wide pools. I continue until a rope originating from the opposite river bank and strung across the river blocks my path. I turn back and rest a while, soaking my feet in the cold water. Feeling adventurous, I go back to the roped off trail. Taking a closer look, I can see that the trail continues along the other bank and that this rope does not block my path. Rather it is a guide rope for me to hold as I cross the slippery rocks leading to the opposite bank. I grab hold of the rope and cross easily. I follow the trail and walk right up to the waterfall. One small pool and one larger, deeper pool separate me from the waterfall. I stop to take pictures, then drop my gear except for my camera and wade into the cool water. I climb on a rock and take several pictures of the waterfall and surrounding valley. The valley walls are nearly perfectly vertical. Strangler vines and tree roots descend the cliff walls. I notice that no direct sunlight reaches this hidden spot. I wade across the pool to a log and climb on it for a better shot of the waterfall. Satisfied, I cross back to shore, but then I try to jam my camera into the waterproof pocket of my swim trunks. The switch that toggles picture taking mode and picture reviewing mode breaks off. I search the leaves and muck for the switch in vain but come up empty. I put my camera down on shore and wade back out to the deeper pool. It’s peaceful here. Even the roar of the falls is calming. The water flows around me. I hang onto a log and test how deep the deeper pool is. The water is nearly up to my waist and I still I can’t touch the bottom. I’m cold. I hang on a few seconds in the cold water, then pull myself up onto the log. I linger a few more minutes to admire this beautiful waterfall and its pools. Finally, I gather my things and leave.

Monkeys on the Roof and Wisconsin Girls Make the Best Pancakes - Friday 3-27-2009

Other than taking pictures of a family of monkeys in the trees outside my window, I do little until the evening. At about 5:30PM I follow the paved road outside of Manakin Lodge east, away from Santa Elena and towards the Monteverde Preseve. The cool evening air is welcome a respite from today’s heat. The road bends left a half mile on, and I see rainforest, ranch land, and grass land all the way to the ocean. I sit on a small rock next to the road for several minutes, just enjoying the view. Continuing, the road turns to gravel. I spot four early twenty-somethings walk down the road from Hotel Belmar on my left. I continue on and soon the forest rises tall on either side of the road. A few cars pass me. On my right I see a worn wooden sign with “waterfall” and “night tours” painted on it. Curious, I turn and follow the dirt road down. An SUV passes me. I come to the end of the path, seeing only a small house, the parked SUV, and an information shack with an “Open” sign on it. Turning back, a light-skinned Costa Rican meets me partway up the dirt road. He tells me they are closed for the day and that I should come back in the morning. This is the Monteverde Waterfall, not the more famous San Juan Waterfall; that is another several kilometers east on the gravel road. This waterfall, however is 30 meters high, has a trail with climbing ropes to better navigate my way to the waterfall, two natural pools for swimming, and costs only $8 per person. While the man tells me this, a small boy runs up the path and wraps his arms around the man’s legs, greeting him with a loud “Papi!” I thank the man for the information and ask his name. “Simon,” he says. I shake his hand and introduce myself. “Mucho gusto,” Simon says and I continue my walk.

I walk east along the gravel road and arrive at what a large wooden sign proclaims to be the center of Monteverde. To my left rises a small hill upon which is built Hotel El Bosque, a large hotel with a chocolate shop, an Argentine restaurant, and a live bat exhibit. Ahead of me to my right is Tramonti, an authentic Italian restaurant my guidebook recommends. I walk past and look inside. I see five staff members, no customers, and many nicely-set but empty tables. Walking on, I pass Stella's Bakery, empty despite a recommendation from my guidebook. Further on, a small hotel, the three story artists cooperateive with a large sign that reads CASEMCOOP, and a small grocery store attached to the small hotel. I walk further. A group of twenty-something Americans pass me from behind. I ask them what lies ahead and they say the Quaker cheese factory that made Monteverde a real town is another fifteen minutes ahead. The evening is darkening; passing cars are now using their headlights. I turn back. I have walked about three miles.

Thirty minutes later, the sky is black and I have returned to Manakin Lodge. I walk up to my room, grab my laptop, walk down to the dining area and begin writing. Five minutes later, the Wisconsin girls enter the kitchen. One comes out and asks if the Internet is up. “No,” I say. “I’m just writing my blog in Word for posting tomorrow.” She tells me her friends are making pancakes from scratch for dinner. I get up and walk to the kitchen. Sure enough, they are cracking eggs and mixing batter in a big bowl. They ask if I would like some for dinner. I put my laptop down, sit at the kitchen table, and happily say yes.

We sit and talk and they tell me more about living in Wisconsin, and the different towns they’re from (two are from the Madison area, one lives near the Iowa border) and how strange it will be for them to be back in the States with no set plans. One sounds interested in attending college, the other two seem more interested in alternatives. I joke a bit about cheese before it becomes clear to me that they know as much about its varietals and subtleties as friends in San Francisco know about the varietals and subtleties of wine.

Each of the Wisconsin girls takes turns making batter, mixing, and cooking. I feel like I should offer to help, but they have the situation so under control that I feel like I would just get in the way. They offer me the first two pancakes and they are excellent, flavorful from the whole grain flour with just the right amount of sugar. I put butter on my pancakes and wolf them down hungrily. We eat and talk for maybe an hour. When we are all satisfied, they graciously wash my plate and utensils.

I’m glad the Wisconsin girls showed up when they did, and I tell them so. I had a day or two to myself after my Portuguese friends left for Nicaragua. Those days were a bit lonely, especially because Manakin Lodge is a quiet place with only a handful of rooms. Monteverde itself is also much more a highland escape than a tourist center, despite all the tour companies and half-filled hotels. I am learning that I am indeed quite social and that I enjoy being around people, even if I am not necessarily interacting with them. Hanging out with the Wisconsin girls eased my loneliness greatly.

The Wisconsin girls start planning for their departure tomorrow for La Fortuna, near Volcan Arenal. Johnny comes in and advises them on how to get to La Fortuna via the public bus system. They will have to catch the bus at 7:00AM sharp in Santa Elena, travel all day, wait seven hours in a town, the name of which I forget, and finally arrive in La Fortuna around 8:00PM. The trip will cost only several dollars. Tiffany, the Canadian woman who never relinquished the room I booked because she is now staying at Manakin Lodge indefinitely to teach English at the local, suggests they take a taxi-boat-taxi combination that will cost about $20, but allow them to reach La Fortuna by mid-afternoon. I suggest a private shuttle for its convenience, but $35 per person is outside the girls’ budget. They settle on the public bus. We all talk a bit more, then Johnny walks to his room and Tiffany catches the cab she called. I give the Wisconsin girls my email, my blog address, and my sincere wishes they enjoy the last six days in Costa Rica. They retreat to their room to pack for tomorrow’s trip. I retreat to my room to write.