Monday, December 22, 2008

Pirate's Bay

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Day 7: Liberia to Pirate's Bay

After such a long and tiring journey, a bit of recovery was necessary, and today we slept in until 9 a.m. It was good to sleep in my own apartment again. Kim, my friend and neighbor, called to wake us up. It looked like rain, but today was our last day in Costa Rica. The four of us were headed 35 miles west to a pristine and unfamiliar beach called Pirate’s Bay, known as Bahia de los Piratas.


After brewing a pot of coffee, we stopped for chicken salad sandwiches to go at my favorite lunch place, Cafe Liberia. On the way to the highway we detoured over to the park for some fresh coconuts to drink that afternoon with our lunch. Two hours and one Reggaeton CD later, we arrived at the beach. We’d followed the signs to Playa Grande, a known leatherback turtle nesting ground on Guanacaste’s northern Pacific Coast. We turned at the last minute onto an unpaved path leading to Bahia de los Piratas.


The secluded bay is not in any of my guidebooks. If you search for “Bahia de los Piratas” online, nothing but a handful of first-hand accounts and personal photographs will pop up. The cove is virtually unknown, and I hope it stays that way. Tim, Jess, Kim and I found the bay to be breathtaking, even in such windy weather. Apart from one sleeping girl a mile or so away, we were the only people in sight. Far off, our private inlet was spotted with caves, which were violently splashing water back at the ocean like squirt guns. Rocks the size of small islands jutted from the sea at uneven intervals. The beach sand was pure and spotless, not littered with rocks or even seashells. We relaxed in the sun, sipping our coconuts and feeling like we’d been plopped into the set of our very own Corona commercial.

I thought about all the places we’d been that week, and wished I had more time to explore. I vowed to return to the Nicoya Peninsula, especially to explore the trails of Curu National Wildlife Refuge. A day of relaxing and swimming in Pirate's Bay was just what we needed bring our amazing trip to a close.






Friday, December 12, 2008

Day 6: Curu, Snorkeling at Isla Tortuga, and the Puntarenas Ferry

We awoke early to the sound of rain. I looked at my watch: 6 a.m. We had a boat tour to Turtle Island (Isla Tortuga) planned in three hours with Turismo Curu tour company. We were departing one hour east of Mal Pais, from Curu National Wildlife Refuge.

The wildlife refuge is home to countless species of animals, and runs a number of conservation projects (such as caring for scarlet macaws, coral reefs, spider monkeys, parrots and other migratory birds) crucial to preserving Costa Rica’s natural beauty.

Since it was on the way home, we had decided to pack up our things and continue on to Liberia directly after the tour. This way we wouldn’t have to backtrack. We left Mal Pais about an hour later. After a quick coffee we were on the road. Traveling inland to Cobano and then east toward Paquera, the 22 miles took about an hour and 15 minutes.

As we entered the refuge, it became obvious that we were going to see wildlife. The area was some of the greenest and cleanest land I’ve ever seen. A deer nibbled on a patch of grass as we turned toward the beach. The SUV was slowed down when we approached an old oxcart filled with rocks and stones being towed by two large oxen. Pulling into a free parking spot, I sighted a large orange iguana on the branch of a nearby tree. I parked and raced out with my camera, but it had already disappeared.

Luis, the owner and primary tour guide of the tour company, greeted us with a warm smile. We introduced ourselves and prepared to board the boat. We chose high quality goggles, snorkels and flippers from his wide variety of snorkeling equipment, and began the 15-minute journey to Turtle Island, or Isla Tortuga. The island is named not because sea turtles often visit it, but because many of its rock formations are reminiscent of the majestic marine creatures. We disembarked and explored the island for about an hour.

On the far side, we came across a friendly peccary (native wild pig) named Farismina. She was domesticated and friendly, begging to be petted the minute we approached. We stroked her spiky fur, and she plopped down on the sand in ecstasy. My hand would stop moving for a few seconds, and she would promptly stand up and hobble over to Tim or Jess for more affection. I wanted to ask Farismina’s owner if I could trade my dog for the prickly pig, but the animal seemed to belong to the island.

We headed back toward the speedboat, where Luis had cut up fresh pineapple, watermelon, and coconut for our group to enjoy. He had treated a class of ten-year old schoolchildren to a boat ride earlier that day, and one of the boys kindly offered to climb a tree to fetch a coconut for me to drink. It was the sweetest, most refreshing coconut I’d ever tasted.

A few minutes later, Luis called us back to the boat. We headed out to a smaller island a half-mile away. There the water was crystal clear, all shades of blue and green. As we snorkeled, we were able to see a number of different species of animal life. I spotted yellow and green fish with electric blue outlines, and fat bottom-feeders that looked like large polka-dotted purses. I saw flat white fish, light blue rectangular ones, and even a white eel with a long pointed nose. I glimpsed schools of angelfish and exotic, unbroken seashells. Best of all, I saw no jellyfish.

Some of our group remained on the island to feast on barbequed chicken, fish, and potatoes wrapped in banana leaves, but Tim, Jess and I had a ferry to catch. The schoolchildren rode back to the mainland with us. Intrigued by three young foreigners, they began asking me questions: How old was I? Where was I from? Had I ever been to the zoo? If so, did I see giraffes there? They were disappointed that my friends did not speak their language.

Once we reached land, we were greeted by a large family of 25-30 white-faced capuchin monkeys. They were adorable and extremely acrobatic, playing and bounding effortlessly through the trees. They raced one another to empty coconut shells, and groomed bugs out of each other’s fur. Capuchin monkeys are extremely intelligent, known for their large brains and impressive problem solving skills. I could tell they got a kick out of how obviously intrigued we were with them. With smiles plastered on our faces, we and the monkeys studied one other for about a half an hour, before I realized that time was running out.

Luis recommended we check out Curu’s famed monkey sanctuary on the way out. The refuge is a place where wounded monkeys go to recover before being reintroduced into the wild. We were pressed for time, but figured we’d pop in for a few minutes on the way out. After 15 minutes of hiking on the trail toward the monkey farm, we’d seen interesting birds, lizards, and a mysterious brown animal about the size of a small dog or large house cat – but no monkeys. Perplexed, we decided it must have been an armadillo or a peccary, perhaps Farasmina’s cousin. We gave up and headed back to the car, vowing to return someday.

We raced to Paquera, a coastal city on the tip of the Nicoya Peninsula a few miles east, where we could grab the ferry to Puntarenas. Then it would be a straight shot, about 90 miles north, back to Liberia. I was dreading how much it would cost for us to put the rental car on the boat: $50? $100? By the time we got to the loading dock, a short line of cars had formed. We bought coconuts and straws from a man who loved bargaining. Luckily, he had a good sense of humor and ended up selling them for a reasonable price, three for one dollar. As we inched closer I learned that it would only cost about $12 to transport the car on the ferry, and another $1.25 each per person. What an incredibly cheap way to travel.

The ferry was gigantic. It was composed of three floors, each more fun and exciting than the next. We ended up on the uppermost level, where a dance party was forming. Music played, and beer and snacks were served up left and right. We floated eastward and watched the sunset, chatting with each other and watching fellow passengers dance and be merry. It was hard to believe that such a highlight of the trip had cost less than lunch.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Day 5: A Mal Pais Massage and Canopy Tour

We started the morning off right with a professional and relaxing, one-hour deep tissue massage. A licensed masseuse brought the massage parlor to our suite’s porch. We unwound and listened to the ocean lap against the beach far below. Life was good.

After packing our bags and washing the dirty dishes in the sink, our trio drove ten minutes west into Mal Pais, translated as ‘bad country.’ The town is an extension of Santa Teresa, but much quieter and more spread out. While gorgeous, the beach was less swimmable because of large rocks and striking volcanic formations. The receptionist recommended that we return to Playa Carmen for surfing, beachcombing and playing in the water.

We hurriedly changed clothes and rushed off to our 3:00 p.m. zip-line tour. Having screamed along cables from platform to platform near Arenal Volcano, I was hesitant to arrange another canopy tour. After all, with so much to do around here why repeat a tour I’d already done? My friends convinced me to go anyway, and I discovered that zip-lining by the beach is a much different experience than inland.

The tour was on a 65 acre farm at the entrance to the rich and diverse Cabo Banco Absolute Nature Reserve. Our highest cable was 246 feet off the ground, where it is not uncommon to see monkeys bounding about in the trees. The views from the nine platforms set high up in the massive tropical rainforest were spectacular.

At times, we could see as far as the ocean to one side and endless jungle to the other. Watching the look of exhilaration on Tim and Jess’ faces was priceless as they whizzed through the canopy. The eight cables added up to be one mile long, including a 984 foot ride overlooking the Pacific and a thrilling 1371 foot stint through the trees. Toward the end, Tim attempted a back flip. I nearly had a heart attack as he attempted the last line upside down.

Later that night we returned to Santa Teresa and listened to live music at a sushi bar near Playa Carmen. Solo-performers took turns playing American covers with a guitar and harmonica. The air tasted salty, and the music sounded sweet underneath the nearly full moon. We went to bed early so as not to be tired for our early day at Curu Wildlife Refuge and Turtle Island (Isla Tortuga).














Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Day 4: Beachcombing Santa Teresa and Casa Marbella

The entire Santa Teresa/Mal Pais area is famous not only for its incredible surfing, but also as a coveted deep-sea fishing destination. Here, ocean currents converge to create water amazingly rich in nutrients. This, combined with profound ocean depths, creates an attractive environment for big game fish.

Driving from Cobano, a crossroads town five miles inland, the road dead ends at a stop sign. Here visitors can take a right to the bars and the lively surfer-social life of Santa Teresa. Or, take a left to the quieter, rocky beaches of Mal Pais. Last night, we’d turned right toward Santa Teresa, traveled up an incredibly steep hill, and found our luxurious residence for the next two days.

The owners of Casa Marbella were young and personable, and their infant daughter gave the hotel a family-friendly feel. I immediately felt at home and welcome. Our suite was more like a large house, with a master bedroom opening up onto a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean. We’d arrived last night at sunset, and the vista truly took our breath away.

This morning we slept in, swallowed up by our hotel’s orthopedic beds. I headed down to the infinity pool, which disappeared into the Pacific Ocean and looked out on Playa Carmen, Santa Teresa, and Mal Pais. The pool was warm and luxurious, filled with recycled rainwater and surrounded by comfy lounge chairs. We didn’t want to leave, but decided it would be best to check out the beach.

After drinking two cups of coffee at a local cafe, I was wired. The three of us trotted along the bright white beach of Playa Carmen combing for seashells, interesting rocks, and my favorite seeds Ojo del Buey (bull’s eye), which I affectionately call ‘hamburger seeds.’ We watched a man collecting young coconuts effortlessly shimmy up a tree and shake them down into the sand with big booms. Because of Playa Carmen’s even and somewhat gentle waves, both beginner and expert surfers were performing left and right.

About an hour later, Jess and I had filled two large cups with seaside treasure. “You’re only allowed to bring 1% of Costa Rica home with you,” Tim jokingly informed us. We would have to part with it back at the car.
We couldn’t tear ourselves away from the hotel that night. Instead of checking out Santa Teresa’s nightlife, we opted to lounge in our porch side hammock and go for a dip in the pool. We watched the sun set. I wished that time would stop and I’d never have to leave.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Day 3: Offroading to Paradise

My heart was beating out of my chest, even an hour after we’d reached Cobano and the incident was over. The whole thing could have been avoided had we only followed the locals’ advice.

Instead, we’d experienced a roller coaster of a car ride. My heart rate was through the roof for two and a half hours straight.

We were headed south to the small ocean town of Santa Teresa, at the bottom of the Nicoya Peninsula. The first three hours from Samara were beautiful. We traveled along the coast through Playa Carillo, Punta Islita, and Playa Camaronal. There we got out and took a walk on the beach. Recently hatched marine turtle eggs that looked like ping pong balls littered the coast.

Finally, we reached Playa Coyote. Here we stopped at the only restaurant on the beach and had some chips with a refried bean dip. Some friendly locals told us to wait a half hour for the tide to lower enough that we would have no trouble crossing Bongo River, the nearby river located about an hour outside of our next destination: Santa Teresa.

By the time we got to Bongo, a tow truck was dragging a dirty rental car out of the river, which was about waist deep. They told us that the careless tourists had caused $11,000 in damages to their vehicle; we would be crazy to try to ford the river. They advised we turn around and backtrack two and a half hours to the other side of the Nicoya Peninsula and then down and back across to our final destination. We had no choice. On the way back we found a bridge over Rio Bongo, and we decided to take the risk – after all, we might have found a shorter route. Big mistake.

We traveled a while without seeing another human being. Finally we came across a friendly old man with kind, cataract-clouded eyes and a machete nearly as tall as he was. He began drawing maps in the sand with the blade, waving it carelessly back and forth as he explained where we needed to go.

The road, if you could call it that, was exhilarating. It was marked with potholes and loose rocks, and only permitted the SUV to drive about ten miles an hour. No wonder the locals had told us to go around. I somehow maneuvered it across six rivers, each bigger and more intimidating than the last. It felt like a scene straight out of the old computer game Oregon Trail. After five hours of driving we realized that the gas gauge was broken. It still read “full,” leading me to wonder if it was nearly empty.

We drove about an hour and a half more without cell phone service, without seeing another human soul, house, fence, telephone pole, or any other sign of life. I was petrified we would reach an impassable river, and that the tide would come up and we wouldn’t be able to return. All sorts of impossible and outrageous scenarios floated through my mind. We would be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no recourse. We would have to spend the night in the car. We really should have taken the longer, recommended route instead of going off the main road.

I hit a huge pothole and the car bottomed out. I stopped daydreaming. The vehicle began making horrible sounds and screeching noises with every application of the brakes. I became frustrated and careless after the final river, and Tim demanded to take the wheel. I obliged.
Finally we began seeing cars and we reached Cobano, the crossroads town connecting Mal Pais with Montezuma and the rest of the Nicoya Peninsula. We could have kissed the ground. We’d made it.

A mere 20 minutes later we were at hotel Casa Marbella in Santa Teresa. The second I stepped onto the property my blood pressure dropped, all signs of stress vanished. The journey was well worth the deep sense of self-satisfaction we felt upon reaching the finish line.

That night we ate at an incredible restaurant called Las Brisas del Mar. The friendly American waiter served us a pitcher of their signature Watermelon Coco Loco under the thatched palm roof. We sat around the Chinese lanterns and listened to the tranquil music drifting in the background. We’d earned it.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Day 2: Kayaking and Snorkeling at Samara's Chora Island

I finally conquered the island.

Let me start from the beginning. I came to Playa Samara in 2005 to study Spanish and to complete three college credits. I’d rented the last two kayaks on the beach, one equipped to hold two people, the other a single. My five friends and I decided to paddle out to the nearby island, Isla Chora, with five people crammed into boats designed to hold only three – without a guide.

Roughly halfway out, our kayak began to sink. I had to jump overboard and swim for a quarter of an hour, praying that there were no sharks circling below. By the time we’d reached the island, a storm was brewing. It was 4:30 p.m. It gets dark between 5:30 and 6:00, and we’d never find the mainland in the dark. The clouds broke, and the biggest lightning storm I’ve ever seen ensued. Angry waves crashed violently against the rocks, and the island’s shore had all but disappeared. It was impossible to climb up its steep, rocky sides. I was petrified.

Luckily, a small fisherman’s boat appeared in the distance. I miraculously flagged it down, and the sailors offered me a ride back to shore. I wasn’t sure if it was safer to risk drowning on the island or to ride in an all-metal speedboat during a lightning storm in the middle of the ocean. I accepted their offer and made it to shore, vowing to safely and successfully visit the island someday.

Three years later, I got my chance.
The farther we paddled away from civilization, the more relaxed I became. This time we were properly equipped with the correct number of kayaks and a guide. The sky was almost blindingly bright, and I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back for applying that extra layer of sunscreen before departure. About 45 minutes later we arrived at the island. The guide taxied us in one by one, and we were greeted by a number of birds on a sparkling, pink sand beach.

Jess and I snorkeled for about an hour. We saw angelfish and purple, deep red, blue and pink corals. The guide informed us that turtles and hammerhead sharks occasionally visited the island. Somehow, this made me brave when I was stung on the arm by a mysterious sea creature. Instead of screaming and frantically running out of the water like I would normally do, I said to myself: “this doesn’t hurt that bad. This is not a shark attack, you are not going to die.” This was the first time I’d been stung by anything in my 11-month stint in Costa Rica.

Once everyone finished viewing life under the sea, our guide cut up an incredibly tasty pineapple and watermelon. We feasted and rested, preparing for the journey back to shore. Perched on the rocks where the beach ends, hungry iguanas begged for scraps of fruit like puppies at a dinner table. Some kayakers threw bits and pieces, and the lizards went crazy, scurrying about racing one another for the prizes.Despite the fact that we were the youngest in the bunch, we were the slowest in the group on the way back. We arrived nearly a half an hour after everyone else.

We grabbed a quick meal of chicken, beans, rice, salad and plantains at the tasty Coco’s Restaurant. Then we returned to Dragon Fly, across the street, to spend more money on jewelry and unique art. Buying Christmas presents was our official excuse to splurge.

That night around 10 p.m., we returned to our favorite beachfront restaurant for a second taste of mouthwatering steak. I had my heart set on the grilled mushroom and cheese appetizer I hadn’t had the opportunity to try the night before. I was bitterly disappointed to find that they had closed the kitchen for the night. The owner recommended that we try El Manglar restauarant, which would surely be open late.


We walked five minutes down the street and found this tucked-away restaurant to be run by bona-fide Italians. Here I tasted the best Italian food I’ve ever had in my life – and I’m an Italian. The waitress recommended gnocchi with four cheeses, which melted in our mouths. We also shared an eggplant, mushroom and onion pizza, and I about died at the table. We topped it off with a homemade tiramisu. I thought out loud, “If I were on death row, I would certainly choose this gnocchi as my last meal.” We were so stuffed that the three of us hobbled home like penguins.

Because we were in a tree house, and effectively among the treetops, I finally had to cave last night at 1:42 a.m. and use the mosquito net hanging over my bed. Having visited Samara in the past and never having to use one, I laughed when I’d first seen it. Now I appreciated that it was there. I spread it out over the bed and fell back to sleep.
# posted by Genna Marie : 7:02 PM 0 comments

Sunday, December 7, 2008

Day 1: Playa Samara, Shopping, and Sand Crabs

I awoke this morning, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and was pleasantly surprised to remember that yesterday I had picked up two friends from Liberia’s Daniel Oduber Quiros International airport. Yesterday, Tim and Jessica were in Atlanta. Today, we were all off to Playa Samara.


Playa Samara is a sleepy beach town on the northern Pacific coast, located 75 miles west of Liberia. The area is an attractive tourist destination because it provides many comforts of home without losing its Costa Rican feel. A short two and a half hours after departing downtown Liberia, we arrived.


I parked our rented SUV in front of our lodge where we would be staying in the exclusive treetop apartment. The inn was a bright, laid back surfer’s paradise. A friendly, English-speaking surfer dude warmly welcomed us and gave us our key. We walked up a short flight of stairs to the room.


At the top of the stairwell, we all paused. It really did feel like a tree house, Swiss Family Robinson-like, with rustic wooden handrails, hardwood floors, and a spectacular view of the treetops. The lodge is located two blocks from the beach, and the treetop accommodation was well worth the splurge. It was surrounded by spacious open-air decks, which were adorned with ceiling fans and hammocks big enough for two. We immediately cranked the air as we unpacked and changed into our swimsuits.



I checked my watch: nearly 2:00 p.m. We headed down to the beach. The sun was hot and the sky bluer than blue. We put our towels down on the soft sand and began to people watch. Tim displayed an irrational fear of sand and hermit crabs, which were everywhere. This turned out to be a consistent source of entertainment the rest of the trip.


Tim insisted upon sitting between Jess and me to reduce his exposure to the harmless, scurrying creatures. When we banged our feet against the sand, they all darted into their holes, even those a few yards away. I began wondering about them. How long does it take to dig a den, and how deep are they? Do crabs have families? Feelings? I made a mental note to find out later.

We lay in the sun and watched the waves. Playa Samara is largely protected from both strong currents and sizeable sea creatures by a long coral reef a few miles off shore. I looked out at Chora Island, locally known as Isla Chora, about a mile to the south. The land mass is known for its pink sand, live coral, colorful fish, and occasional turtle visitors. Rarely, it is also inhabited by a few species of sharks.


The three of us returned to the hotel to shower off the sand. Then we headed to El Lagarto, a Costa Rican-style BBQ restaurant right on the beach. We ate like kings, feasting on grilled fish, shrimp, steak, and bacon wrapped pork – with our toes comfortably buried in the sand the entire meal. Jessica and I sampled their strawberry coladas with strawberries and coconut cream. Next I tried the banana colada, which tasted like liquid banana bread.


On the way back to the inn, I rediscovered Dragon Fly, my favorite store in Costa Rica. The building itself is a work of art, colorfully painted inside and out, and owned by an extremely talented artist named Leo. Leo is perpetually shirtless, and always smiling and willing to tell you about his jewelry, paintings and seashell/driftwood mobiles. Jess fell in love with one of his silver and pearl rings, but it was several sizes too big. Leo offered to custom make one just for her. We returned four hours later to make the purchase, and left feeling pleased we’d supported a local artist and even happier about the reasonable prices of his pieces.


Stomachs full and bodies tan, we arrived at our treetop hotel and collapsed in our hammocks before finally crawling into our beds.

Source: this information is a mere transcription of the journal diary from Costa Rica Vactions Journal at this site : http://www.costarica.com/Blog/2008_12_01_archive.html

Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)