I am Superman (costa rica part three)

When Matt and I bought our tickets to Monteverde, we obviously weren’t paying attention. Because if we had been, we would’ve known that it wasn’t just a private bus ride. It was two private bus rides, with a boat ride in between. But I held our receipt and thought, “Oh, the company must be called Jeep Boat Jeep.” Because, really, that makes a bunch of sense. Right? RIGHT.

A large minivan picked us up at the hostel. The “bus” had plenty of space for us, which was a nice change from the uncomfortable bus ride to La Fortuna. Matt fell asleep and I stared out the window, letting the breeze dry my hair, which was still wet from the hot springs. What a great feeling that is, having your hair dried by the wind. I wouldn’t mind drying my hair that way every day. The ride was bumpy but peaceful. Until we passed over a bridge and the van pulled over. Everyone started getting out. I knew the private bus option was much shorter than the public one (three hours versus seven) but it had only been 30 minutes and I knew we hadn’t arrived at our destination. We put on our backpacks while the rest of the people in our van informed us, duh, we have to take a boat to get across. (Jeep Boat Jeep, anyone?)

We walked down to the water, where a boat awaited us. A couple other vans dropped off passengers. The boat looked like it would sink with everyone and our luggage weighing it down. I started scanning the boat for life vests. Negative. I had no idea how long the boat ride would be or where we were or what was really going on. But I went with it. No one else seemed alarmed. Look at me being easy going and carefree and flexible. Look at me staring death in the face (ok, maybe not death, but uncertainty at the least! Maybe now is a good time to admit that I’m writing this on a triple espresso, which I’m guessing is the equivalent of liquid crack.)

The boat ride was wonderful. And well worth the cost of the private shuttle. If I could commute everywhere by boat ride, I would. As long as life vests were around. SAFETY FIRST, PEOPLE.

(Boat ride to Monteverde. More photos up on Flickr.)

We arrived on the other side of the lake (I actually have no idea if it was a lake or the name of the unknown body of water, so I use that term for lack of an accurate description) and got into vans again. We weren’t sure if all the vans were going to Monteverde, but some man ushered us into his vehicle, and some other girls who were just as confused were going to the same place as us, so if we got lost, at least it’d all be together.

The rest of the drive was like we were chancing death. Most of it was on one-way roads and the driver went faster than I deemed safe, especially around corners or when traffic was approaching us. It was like an extreme sport, one in which women should’ve been notified to wear sports bras. I waited for the bouncing to be so intense that my head hit the ceiling. That never happened, but I had a mild case of whiplash. And while my body was incapable of staying still, Matt returned to his nap. Yeah, I don’t get it either.

Despite all my worries, we made it unharmed to our hostel. There wasn’t much to this small town. We’d come for the rain forest and cloud forest, but it was too late in the day to start any adventures. So we went to the grocery store near our hostel and bought food to make dinner. Matt came up with the menu of chicken stir fry, though I had to explain that raw chicken seriously grossed me out (I couldn’t even stand by the counter when he ordered it) and he would have to be the one to touch it.

The hostel had a kitchen, basically a little balcony off the back that was hardly enough room for one person. My vegetable cutting responsibilities were revoked after Matt decided that I couldn’t cut things fast enough. I wasn’t aware I was under a deadline, and he could see hostility fume from my head and responded that we’d hit the sibling stage of travel. Which is bound to happen when you’re together nonstop for five five days (and counting…) We cooked dinner two more nights, and I’m happy to report that my cutting was up to par.

A van picked us up the next morning to go ziplining. I grew up with a zipline in my backyard and thought it’d be awesome to sail through a forest. Of course once we got there and started getting harnessed into the equipment, I worried what would happen if the ziplines just fell off the trees or I got stuck in the middle or became unhooked. So many varieties of doom dangling in front of me.

After a quick demonstration from our guides (how to situate yourself, break or pull yourself in if you get stuck), the group climbed up to the first platform. We met some cool girls from Spain (interesting to hear their accents compared to the Costa Ricans) and a couple from Chicago who’d just graduated with master’s in journalism (we lamented over the pitiful state of publishing). The guides eased us into ziplining, starting off with short, smooth distances. After a few ziplines, they paired us up for a longer line. At first I thought the guide was joking because I didn’t see any way for Matt and me to be hooked together. That’s because there wasn’t. The person in front held their legs to their chest while the person in back wrapped their legs around the other person. Could you imagine doing this with a stranger? Um, awkward. The person in back was also responsible for breaking or slowing down, so all the partner ziplines turned out to be quite carefree for me.

(Matt and me between ziplines. I’m not even going to address the awkwardness of the bra harness.)

We hiked in the forest from one zipline to the next. There were 15 rides total, three of them were special: repelling, Tarzan and Superman. The repel wasn’t a true repel, as the guides controlled the drop down. I screamed as I plummeted. Then they stopped me mid-fall only to drop me down faster the rest of the way. Even though we had special gloves on, my hands felt rugburned from holding the rope as I flew down, and it also smelled like burning. I hadn’t even factored in the possibility of catching on fire!

Tarzan and Superman tied for my favorite. For the Tarzan swing, you’re hooked up (how, I’m not quite sure) and then you drop down from the platform and swing back and forth. The woman from Chicago said I had my eyes closed tight and let out a massive screw when I dropped. It seriously felt like imminent death….waiting for the cord to catch. That freefall was pure terror and absolute freedom. The swinging back and forth into the trees was lovely, and I didn’t want them to pull me back in. Matt’s swing was entertaining because he knocked over one of the guides on the platform and required back-up to be pulled in.

The Superman was a very long zipline where your back and feet are hooked to the line and as you basically fly mid-air. Getting attached was kind of weird and required creative maneuvering. As I sailed along, I looked down into the forest to see a secluded house and some cows. Mountains were all around me. I didn’t want to stop.

Matt and I tried visiting the Cloud Forest the next day, but it started raining on the drive there and continued for hours. We waited it out in the cafeteria playing an off-brand version of Connect Four. It was impossible to see anything during the downpour, and we weren’t dressed for the weather either. So after a couple of hours we caught the bus back to the hostel.

Because there really is, like, nothing to do in Monteverde, Matt and I spent a fair amount of time catching up on “Grey’s Anatomy” episodes and I introduced him to my obsession with “True Blood.” Little did I know that Matt can pull off a great impression of Vampire Bill.

When it came time to buy bus tickets back to San Jose (where I’d be catching my flight to New York), I made sure to actually pay attention to any signs or information about the ride. Sadly, no boats were on the itinerary.

Buenos (costa rica part one)

My mom used to say that my way of dealing with things was avoidance. And while I vehemently disagreed with her at the time (and now don’t think it’s applicable anymore), I have fallen back to my old habits. Because I don’t want to tell you about Costa Rica. Because that means it’s over. And if Costa Rica is over, my whole five glorious weeks of travel are finished. And I am stuck in New York without a job or plane tickets, left to debate whether I should wear tights under my jeans because it’s getting cold. And to think not long ago I was in a swimsuit, marveling at how many freckles I was accumulating.

But I can’t not talk about ziplining through a forest and hiking to a waterfall and how I apparently do not cut vegetables fast enough. So I will deal with reality for just a little while, just so I can share my stories with you.

(view from my plane going to Costa Rica)

The final leg of my amazing trip was eight days in Costa Rica with one of my best friends, Matt (the trip was originally nine days, but I accidentally missed my flight). If I was telling this story in person, I would pause and make him tell the part about how we know each other, because it makes me laugh. He’d say that we went to high school together and have known each other for 10 years, but we didn’t become friends until college (when we worked on the yearbook together. Did you even know that colleges still had yearbooks?). My story would say that we met and became friends my freshman year of college, but once in high school he said something sassy to me. Something he conveniently doesn’t remember. He’s lived abroad for four years and has been traveling around South and Central America for the past six months. Before I’d even been laid off, I’d been telling people that should layoffs at work happen again, I wanted to meet up with Matt. And somehow it magically worked out that he’d be in a location that I could fly to with my Jet Blue pass. I love when the Universe is nice to me.

When Matt picked me up at the airport, all I knew was that we’d be staying the night in San Jose, but our plans for the rest of the trip were up in the air. No reservations. No bus tickets. No itinerary. Six months ago I would’ve been freaking out about this, but after showing up to a hostel that didn’t exist and missing a flight, I knew I’d be fine, not to mention Matt speaks Spanish, which makes a huge difference (lest I remind you of my Santo Domingo experience).

After lunch, we grabbed coffee and ran into a friend he’d met traveling. She told us about a free film festival. The movie was supposed to have subtitles, which it did, but they turned out to be in Spanish. So I had no clue what was going on. The quality wasn’t too great either, which resulted in Matt and his friend (a native Spanish speaker) not understanding what was going on either. All I remember is lots of boob shots, some midgets and a small child wandering around with a shotgun. Other than that, who knows.

What I wasn’t expecting was San Jose’s overwhelming number of incredibly persistent beggar children. The city felt a little familiar to me, like a more modernized, tourist-friendly version of Santo Domingo. Even though the Dominican Republic isn’t as well off as Costa Rica, I never had people pestering me for money, and I was even traveling alone. One night in an ice cream shop, Matt turned down a boy asking for money. The boy then started talking to me (because that’s a brilliant back-up plan). I kept shaking my head and saying no, Matt sternly told him in Spanish to get the hell outta there, and the ice cream employees (who were oddly dressed like nurses) called for security because he wouldn’t leave us alone. This kind of encounter probably happened to us at least six other times. And we barely spent any time in San Jose. Because the next day we left in search of waterfalls.