Costa Rica Part 2

The sign said Hotel Buena Vista: a Chic Hotel. It was a small hotel, in Alajuela, a suburb of San Jose.  A row of lawn chairs in the little patio garden looked out over a distant San Jose spread out below, its lights twinkling as darkness fell. Sunset was around 10 minutes to six, so darkness was not long in falling.

Our room was on the second floor, with a tiny balcony. We heard a birdsong that sounded like a ringing cellphone. Downstairs, in the dining room, the van driver turned out to be our waiter.  We ordered dinner—a conventional menu with Costa Rican touches—and while we were eating, Barbara appeared.  She and Ron had started their day in Chicago and arrived later then we did. David and Simone, flying Alaska Airlines (!) from Los Angeles, were still en route. We didn’t talk long with Barbara and were soon asleep in our comfy queen-sized bed. Gotta say, the hotel had advanced plumbing. Everywhere else we went, we had to put used toilet paper in a strategically-placed lidded waste basket. It took me nearly a week to learn to do this consistently, which necessitated some icky fishing expeditions.

David and Simone showed up the next morning at breakfast.  At 9 AM, we six piled into a van for a 3-hour ride to Monteverde.  It was Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride all over again. Costa Rica is a small country.  It’s about the size of West Virginia, covering a little less than 20,000 square miles.  That’s why we were surprised to see a large body of water to the west as we climbed toward Monteverde.  We guessed it was a lake until the driver set us straight:  we were looking at the Gulf of Nicoya, which is part of the Pacific Ocean.  

After many miles on a rough and winding road, we arrived at Cala Lodge in Santa Elena, the gateway town to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve. 

The lodge was owned and operated by a family. Vases and paintings of cala lilies brightened the reception/dining area. Each couple had a “junior suite,” a room with a balcony, a private bath and two beds with forest-green quilts, a queen and a twin. We were too tired to do much else than have pizza at a nearby restaurant and fall into bed. Costa Rica prides itself on encouraging an earth-friendly lifestyle. Signs in the bathroom urged guests not to waste water, to re-use their towels, and to use the same sheets throughout their stay.  Costa Rica has also banned the use of Styrofoam for take-out. I was delighted to see that the box in which I brought my leftover pizza back to the room was made of sturdy paper, unlike anything I have seen before. So there is a life after Styrofoam after all!

Overnight, a roaring wind made Ron dream he was back in Chicago. It woke my husband, Phil,  at 3 AM.  He went out on the balcony. Millions of stars in a cloud-free sky twinkled down on him.

Costa Rica Part 1

Flower placed at entrance to shower stall at Hotel Buena Vista

March 14, 2019

Dear friends and family,

We are back from our trip to Costa Rica.  The trip was thoughtfully planned by my sister, Barbara, who is more seasoned a traveler than I am, which made it all the more delightful.  We traveled with her and her husband, Ron, who celebrated his 82^nd birthday in a foreign cloud forest, as well as their son, David, and his wife, Simone.  We enjoyed getting to know David and Simone better. Simone turned out to be my Sherpa on some of the more perilous hikes.

On March 1 it snowed in Laurel. Bundled up in winter coats, we parked our car at the Baltimore airport at 4:45 AM and were on the plane to Houston by departure time at 6:00 AM.  In Houston, we walked as fast as our elderly feet would take us to make connections with the plane to San Jose.  No time between flights to grab anything to eat, and American carriers no longer provide meals. You have to purchase them. The pretzels were good and so were the cookie, the coke and the juice.  Horror # 1: on the HoustonàSan Jose flight, while fumbling with the ear buds to watch an in-flight movie, I dropped my hearing aid down the space between the seats. All I could see down there was a jumble of unforgiving metal mechanisms which would surely crush the hearing aid or put it forever out of reach if I tried to move the seat. Fortunately, the man beside me in the aisle seat located it.  I gave up on the ear buds and watched Can You Ever Forgive Me? without sound at least 3 times before eventually returning to Baltimore. It’s about a writer who did something bad.

Arrived in San Jose late in the afternoon.  Going through customs took forever, but soon we were outside looking for the promised van from Hotel Buena Vista.  At least 300 greeters/drivers were waiting, some holding signs that said things like “Welcome, Bill and Melanie”.  Total confusion. The hotel had advised us to e-mail them in advance to arrange transportation and we all had tried. All we received from them was a message, in Spanish, that said, “Thank you for your e-mail. We will reply as soon as possible.”  Repeated e-mails elicited the same response, so we gave up and hoped for the best.  After all, we had reservations and they knew we were coming.  Still, there we were, tired and hungry and stranded.  A lively little lady of about 70 seemed to be there to guide and direct the lost.  She had us sit on a certain bench and told us to just wait.  She stressed that above all, we were not to take any taxi.  Eventually a van from Hotel Buena Vista showed up. We had the first of our “Mr.-Toad’s-Wild-Ride”-type trips during our stay in Costa Rica. Up the mountain the little van roared, heedless of the abrupt no-guard-rail drop-offs  and the many rocks in the road.

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And Still It Snows

Enjoying a snow day in suburban Washington, DC.  The schools and county government offices are all closed.  No zumba class for me today. I think I'll make waffles for lunch.

Fine Dining on Raccoon

We try to attend this community fundraiser if we happen to be in Danville, OH on the first Monday in February. Bad weather usually keeps us home in Maryland. This year, heavy snow delayed our start by one day.  There was little chance of encountering more snow the day we traveled, but the temperature was bitterly cold. We arrived at our gate at 5 PM, only to find a frozen padlock.  We have several very nice neighbors and one of them stopped by on his way home from the auto shop where he works to help us out. Thank you, Mike!

Temperatures reached the mid-fifties by the day of the dinner, four days later. We went to the dinner with a former neighbor, who used to live in the farmhouse down the road, but has now moved to town. We walked with him through misty rain and darkened streets to the parish hall of St. Luke's Catholic Church, where the dinner is always held.   Thank you, David!

About 500 raccoons are trapped or shot beginning in the fall and frozen at a local meat locker.  The weekend before the dinner they are "dressed" and roasted by volunteers. The dinner is served cafeteria style.  Mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn bread and green beans are piled on each plate as it passes down the line. At the end of the line, you have a choice of either raccoon or ham, and you get to select your own piece of home-made cake.  Raccoon does not "taste like chicken," but it's not that bad, either. My sister-in-law likens it to pot roast. 

There were also three raffles (two fifty-fifties and one for a rifle).  We didn't win. We never do, it seems, but I have no idea what we would have done with the rifle if we had won it.

The Danville High School Jazz Band began the evening's after-dinner entertainment in the high school auditorium, followed by "Chestnut Ridge," a local gospel/bluegrass group. Sorry for the man's cap. I'm a rank amateur at point-and-shoot photography.

As we were leaving, I happened to notice this sign above the trophy case in the hall.  You wouldn't think such a sign would be needed in a close-knit community like Danville, OH, but there it is, a sobering sign of the times.