After spending three days in Bocas Del Toro, Panama at the end of July 2012, I took a side trip to Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica. Puerto Viejo is a great little sea side town on Costa Rica's Caribbean side, about an hour north of the Panamanian border. Puerto Viejo definitely has a stronger Afro-Caribbean feel than anywhere I have visited on Costa Rica's Pacific Coast. We saw plenty of sun despite visiting during the rainy season.
There are plenty of hostels and budget hotels in town, but three are worth mentioning. Rocking J's is about a 15 minute walk south out of town and is Lonely Planet's pick for Puerto Viejo. This huge, beach side hostel sports its own bar and a sizable built-in backpacker community with which to hang out. Rocking J's also enjoys a party spot reputation, making it a great place to party and meet folks.
Just north and across the street from Rocking J's is it's polar opposite, La Ruca. La Ruca is smaller, much quieter, and much more hippie. When my traveling companions and I walked in, several bearded hippie guys were strumming guitars and smoking while their female companions listened quietly. The friendly staff showed us a private room and the dorms. I liked the granola vibe, the private bathroom attached to the private room, and the numerous trees and flowers on the property, but my traveling companions were looking for something more...conventional.
Lazy Mon is right in town, right on the beach, offers a dorm and several private rooms with balconies overlooking the beach. There's a bar restaurant right downstairs that features foosball tables and talented singer-songwriter music nearly every night. Its location in the heart of Puerto Viejo, chill vibe, and beach side access made it a great choice for my traveling companions and I. Dorm beds are $15 per night and private rooms are $25 per night.
Baby Sloth at Jaguar Rescue Center, Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica
Once you've checked in to your place, you'll definitely want to check out Puerto Viejo's list of things to do. At the top of that list for my traveling companions and I was the Jaguar Rescue Center, a 25 minute bike ride south of town. We rented bikes for $5 for the whole day at a spot across the street from Lazy Mon. The Jaguar Rescue Center doesn't have any jaguars, and only very rarely does. The center is named after the first animal they tried to save, a jaguar. The center does have monkeys, plenty of baby sloths and a whole lot of snakes. Do note that the center is neither a zoo, nor a preserve. The center nurses injured animals back to health and then releases them into the wild as soon as they are ready. Certain animals can't be released back into the wild because they were kept as pets. These animals are instead released into the nearby forest, also part of the preserve, and are regularly offered food if their hunting skills are weak (perhaps because their parents were killed and were unable to teach the animal wilderness skills). Highlights of the tour included seeing baby three toed and two toed sloths and having monkeys climb all over us for 15 minutes in the monkey reserve.
Tours happen every two hours and last about two hours in total. The preserve conducts tours in English and Spanish. Entrance is $15. Contact them at 506-2750-0710 or jaguar.resc@gmail.com. Check out their website at www.jaguarrescue.com.
Punta Uva, Costa Rica
About 15 minutes south of the Jaguar Rescue Center by bike is Punta Uva with Playa Manzanillo about 10 minutes further south of that. Punta Uva is a beautiful white sand beach that emerges from thick jungle. It's in the community of Cocles, which has several restaurants and hostels, so don't expect to be alone. Also, don't try to swim outside of the red flags posted on the beach because the rip tides get bad there.
Playa Manzanillo, Costa Rica
For a truly deserted beach, bike south to Playa Manzanillo. There are few signs, but you'll see beach access through trails that lead through the thick jungle and mangrove swamp. The brief trek from road to beach is worth it, though. Playa Manzanillo is a picture perfect, deserted, white sand beach with clear warm water and moderate currents. My companions and I spent about an hour there sunning and taking pictures of the beach's striking beauty. Palm trees stretched over turquoise waters, and thick green jungle hid all sings of the road and human civilization. Aside from my traveling companions, not a single person disturbed the peace. If you've got the time, go to Playa Manzanillo.
Alright...now you've visited an animal rescue center and biked to two beaches...the second of which is nearly beautiful beyond words. How do you cap off your day? Tasty Waves is a small bar just north of Rocking J's and is the perfect place to go nuts with the locals (Tuesday night is when the entire town hits up Tasty Waves) or melt into the Caribbean ease with a beer and a game of pool on the other nights of the week. Alternatively, you could hit up Stanford's bar beneath Lazy Mon for foosball and live music. The live music ends around 9:00PM, though, so you could easily start your night at Lazy Mon and end at Tasty Waves. A cab ride from town to Tasty Waves should cost no more than $5 round trip. Make sure to arrange a time for your driver to pick you up because it's a long, dark walk back into town from Tasty Waves.
Safety Notes:
Our hostel's manager, Justin, advised that parts of the town are not safe for tourists after dark. Take a cab if traveling after dark, especially of going to the bars in the far south end of town like Tasty Waves.
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.
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.
