1998

The tour company that had planned our expedition met us at the arrival desk and guided us effortlessly through the customs/immigration rigmarole to a waiting van. Unlike the other louts in our party, I speak some Spanish –which meant I was saddled with the thankless task of translator. "Tell her that I don’t want the eggs too runny." "Tell them that they have an extremely nice monkey." "Tell him I think he’s got a fat(ish)-ass."  Not right now – after I’ve left the table, of course.  That’s what I had to look forward to.  Fortunately, no translation was necessary on the way to our first destination, the Hotel Alta, and our guide explained the history and culture of Costa Rica in accent-free American English.

Do U Know the Way?

The Hotel Alta was nestled gently in the foothills of one of the toniest neighborhoods in Costa Rica. We shared this little suburb with all of the Superpower embassies as well as the Costa Rican elite. And despite the relatively urban setting, the rainforest seemed to be creeping in with confidence – growth sprouted up in deserted lots, wandering vines climbed poles and wires, and tenacious sprigs poked through crackled sidewalks.

Hotel Alta was brand-spanking new (even the airport driver had to radio for a street address) – so new in fact that it seemed a bit devoid of people. Nevertheless, it was very impressive with a cobbled front courtyard, dramatic entrance and spacious, secluded rooms.

Patio Groove

It almost felt like we were staying in some rich Spaniard’s sprawling Europe-in-the-reclaimed-jungle castle. The host escorted us down narrow hallways with arching ceilings to our spacious and immaculate garden-level rooms. The staff also provided welcome fruit-based drinks that helped us settle in after a long day of traveling. We sipped these fruity concoctions on the rooms’ ample patios, which spilled into manicured tropical gardens. In the middle of all this greenery sat a shimmering (and extremely inviting) new pool. Aside from a nifty dining room and bar, a modern gym and sauna, the hotel boasted an upstairs library with an expansive balcony offering breathtaking views of the rolling hills.

That evening we relied on the trusty guide book to point us in the direction of a Costa Rican restaurant that typified the flavor of the city. We ended up in a quaint, Victorian house known as the Grano de Oro in the heart of San Jose. The food turned out to be decent and went well with Costa Rica’s own Concha y Toro wine, but the restaurant seemed to lack authenticity and culture. If we wanted to hang out with a bunch of American families bitching about their sunburns or yacking up some spicy chicken would have stayed in L.A. and signed up for a Conde Nast Traveler focus group. I guess Costa Rica is still seen as somewhat of a eco-hippie destination, as was evidenced by the multitude of long-haired Americans sporting Tevas, tattoos, leather rope-thingies and amulets. Ah, what the hell.

Observation: Cab rides around the city were inconsistent at best. Rides to and from destination seemed to vary greatly in price (it always seemed that the price returning to the hotel was twice as much as those originating from the hotel. What a racket.)

The next morning we met up with our guide for the day, Eduardo, who drove us about two hours out of town to the remote Caño Negro Wildlife Refuge.  As we approached, the road narrowed until we finally sloshed and bumped our way to a base camp near the river's edge.  After a quick bite of fruit, we walked on narrow planks through the marsh to a riverbank and awaiting flat bottom riverboat. We posed for a picture then boarded - it was just Eduardo and the boatman and the four of us in the skiff as we pushed off under the looming rain clouds.

Shoving Off

And we were off on our African Queen voyage. As we descended further into the jungle we saw an unbelievable array of colorful birds - toucans, roseate spoonbills, parrots, etc.  In fact, Eduardo was even blown away when out from the mist flew a flock of no less than 30 giant majestic scarlet macaws.  Eduardo had made this trip several times and yet he had never seen this many Macaws in one flock.  Cool.  The main focus of the cruise however, was the pursuit of the enormous-yet-timid South American crocodile. We were lucky enough to see a few, but only from a distance before they disappeared into the murky water.

Cruisin'

Rain fell intermittently thought the cruise but the weather actually added to the mystique (and kept the temperature down to a manageable level). Oh, and another good thing about the rain: we just spent a bundle on rain gear and hats, and were damn happy to put them to use. The tour lasted several engaging hours, but afterward we were soaked and happy to see the van waiting to whisk us back to the hotel.

Back at Alta: Quick catnaps and hot showers for all, then it was time to eat! We sought a traditional, albeit upscale restaurant with genuine local flavor, and the concierge recommended her personal favorite. The taxi driver knew right where the restaurant was and embarked on an near-vertical winding road to the heights of one of San Jose’s surrounding mountains.  When the lurching cab finally came to rest, we were sitting on a plateau in front of what looked like someone’s driveway. We walked through the entrance and were blown away by the sparkling view of the city far down below. What a find.

High on the Hilltop

The views were spectacular, the clientele seemed legitimately local, and the food was exceptional.

We dined on bistec a la plancha and botines that were well worth the drive.  The ever-adventurous Jake even went so far as to sample the restaurant’s famous orgasmo to the bemusement of the waiter.

Anyway, the lighting was dim and romantic and we couldn’t believe that there weren’t more couples here taking in the fine food and wine and the amazing night lights of San Jose.

Sensory Overload

Unfortunately, none of us had a decent camera on the trip so we were stuck with rather disappointing instamatic photos. I guess that makes us dumb-asses – because if there is anywhere in the world that you want a nice camera it’s Costa Rica.

Early the next morning we met up with Manuel –who was to be our guide though the remainder of the adventure. Manuel was a smiley and locquatious native and was a great source of humor and information.

Two of Us

At his recommendation, on the road trip out of San Jose, we stopped at an earthy open-walled roadside restaurant and enjoyed a round of local beers (better known by their nickname "aguilas," so named for the large silver eagle on the label) and a plate of papas fritas. Jake was brave enough (dumb enough –who knows?) to power down a shot of clear, pure sugarcane alcohol popular in the region (called Quatro Plumas, after the four feathered Indian on the label).    Arenal - here we come . . .