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Costa Rica road trip Sweaty Goats and Invisible WaterfallsAlexandra Heatwole writes... "Our landing in Costa Rica was shaky, to say the least. The pilot circled twice, testing our plane’s aerodynamics, before making a bumpy touchdown. But the passengers didn’t mind much - we were getting a bird’s eye view of the whole country. I couldn’t believe that, within a matter of two minutes, I had seen both the Caribbean and Pacific coasts, and the enormous mountain ranges in between. I had never been above anything that didn’t look like tiny, Lego-like, gridline patterns below me. And here I was, over the lushest countryside imaginable. I felt transported. This, I thought to myself, is what the world looked like billions of years ago. And this may be the only place that hasn’t changed. Evolution seems to have stopped at the borders of Costa Rica.  As we waited to exit the plane, my boyfriend Marios asked a fellow passenger - an older man in a business suit - how many hours it would take us from Alajuela to Fortuna. Just a few, the man said. An hour and a half, even. Shocked, we thanked him. Our guide had given the route a three-hour minimum. 'I suppose we can trust him,' I said. 'He lives here.' The man tapped Marios on his shoulder. 'You see that man, up there, with the white hair?' he said. We nodded yes. 'He’s the former president. They call him the Savior of Costa Rica.' I looked in the history section of my guide, frantically, trying to find a picture I could compare with the man in front of us. I couldn’t find any mention of him. Our trip to Fortuna took four hours. We climbed the seemingly endless mountain road toward the elusive Catarata de Fortuna. My previous experience with waterfalls was limited to the tourist attraction that is Niagara Falls - I’d always wanted to see a real waterfall, out in the middle of nowhere. And this was, indeed, the middle of nowhere. The sights along the way were simple but beautiful - tiny fincas on either side and little butterfly houses here and there. The road became completely unmanageable - the rocks were so jagged I expected our tires to burst open any second, and if we hit one the wrong way, I was convinced we’d go flying off the steep cliff on our left. Finally, we passed a sign that said 'La Catarata'. We parked where the road ended. 'La Catarata?' we asked some fellow tourists. 'It’s another 2 km walk away. You pay over there,' they said, indicating a shoddy station with a little metal gate attached. Disappointed, we returned to our car. We had a few hundred kilometers to drive that day, and we weren’t taking our chances with night-driving again. We went on our way. The waterfall remained shrouded in  mystery, waiting, invisibly, behind a sign reading '6$US'. As we made our way around Lake Arenal toward Santa Elena, we stopped occasionally to take pictures. The place was unbelievably beautiful, and full of a vibrant, impossible green that I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams. As we drove on, we passed a glimpse of furry beasts scrounging in the foliage beside the road. I screamed in delight, frightening Marios, and demanded we go back to see what they were. Three white-nosed coatis were sniffing around amid the flowers and vines that hung down into the grass. I rolled down the window quietly, hoping not to frighten them away. This produced a completely opposite result - as I leaned my camera out of the window, the coatis came rushing toward the car, pawing the door to raise themselves to my level. Shocked, I drew back. They were like dogs expecting a treat. Clearly, I was not the first to stop for them - they had been scrounging for leftovers, not bugs or plants. I sadly rolled up my window. Later, we saw several coati corpses along the Interamerica highway. Another stop on our trip was Manuel Antonio. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life. The rainforest stretched down to the beach, and the waters were clear and green, as if they’d been taken from a postcard. We set off on a hike. We passed groups of monkeys who tried to attack Marios when he came too close and a few lizards basking obliviously in the sun on the way. We reached a signpost. It gave us a number of options, including one that read: 'Sendero La Catarata: 1000m.' Armed again with the hopes of reaching the perfect wild waterfall, we set off. What seemed like an hour later, we came upon another sign: 'Bienvenidos al Sendero La Catarata! 1.6 km.' 'You have to be kidding,' I said, hot and out of breath. We stood still for a moment. 'Let’s go,' said Marios. We forged ahead, hopping ditches and climbing over fallen branches. We couldn’t help but notice that the 'river' that had been shown on the map on the entrance sign seemed nonexistent. It was supposed to follow along to the left of the path, but all that was nearby was a dry, leaf-filled trench. 'If I don’t hear running water soon...' I threatened. We trudged ahead, following another poor, deluded couple. Finally, we saw some hikers approaching in the distance. 'Excuse me,' said the man in front of us, 'But is there -' 'No agua,' one of the hikers said with resolution. They passed us by without a glance, seemingly too disgruntled to converse. I sighed. 'Another hour wasted.' Another waterfall just out of our reach.  We paid about eight dollars at a little ranch outside the park to take a sunset horseback ride along the beach. Our guide, Luis, took us through a privately owned forest in which he knew all the good hiding places for animals. Every few moments we’d stop and he’d turn to us mysteriously. 'Slot', he’d say, pointing high up into the topmost branches of a tree. And indeed, once our eyes adjusted, we’d see the sloth hanging silently from a branch, completely oblivious to our interest in it. At one point, we were pointed toward an iguana on a perch sixty-five feet above the ground. All we could see was what seemed like a very spiky branch. Occasionally, our eyes didn’t adjust fast enough to suit Luis, and he’d descend from his horse, find a rock at the side of the trail, and hurl it in the direction of the creature in question. The technique almost always worked, and he had a good arm - so good, in fact, that he came quite close to nailing a very peaceful-looking sloth who then became more animated than I imagined him capable. We were inexplicably accompanied by a little goat named Pacha, who simply seemed hopelessly enamored of Marios’ horse. He followed the horse (named Macho) everywhere, at times inserting himself into the line between mine and it. He could hardly keep up, and took every photo break to make a panting attempt to catch his breath. But whenever a picture was taken, he never failed to line himself up directly with the horses and pose right along with us. He was a huge hit on the beach, and several groups of surfer girls chased him around trying to photograph him. In San Jose, I attached myself to Marios’ arm and wouldn’t let go. No one showed much interest in us, but occasionally we’d get accosted quite aggressively by small children begging for alms - we passed by a young boy whose skin seemed to be falling off in patches. I relied on Marios’ direction to curtail my desire to save them from their own lives. That was something no amount of alms could do. In the pedestrian center, a network of street vendors was set up on little mats in a straight line down the middle of the walkway. They sold all kinds of goods - jewelry, wind-chimes, clothing. Occasionally, a police car would slowly make its way down the street. A sudden whistle or cry would sound at the beginning of the chain of salesmen, and, in moments, all of their goods would be wrapped up in their mats and they’d be harmlessly ‘minding their business’ on the outskirts of the walkway. As soon as the cop was out of sight, the vendors would pick up where they left off.  The next morning, we sat back in our seats as the plane left Costa Rican soil. Once more, we looked down upon the unbelievable scenery of Costa Rica, painted with that impossible green. But now it seemed much more believable, and much more possible. Below us lay a land that was no longer unconquered. Of course, from above, it still seemed as perfect and untouched as it had appeared on our arrival. But we had seen what lay beneath the treetops and through the mountains. Some of it was perfect, and some far from it. I think I will always remember Costa Rica as a land of mixtures, of taking the bad with the good - and the good was always wonderful. The single image that will always remain ingrained upon my mind, as completely representative of our journey through Costa Rica, is Marios, riding Macho along the flawless Manuel Antonio beach, at the edge of an overflowing rainforest, with a sweaty goat trailing closely at his heels." Click here >> for Alexandra's tips for travel in Costa Rica Click here >> for more Costa Rica info Click here >> for gap year placements in Costa Rica |
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