Butterflies and crocodiles

The sun comes up early here and it was already high and hot by the time we reached the Manuel Antonio Nature Park, part of a 25 acre private wildlife refuge. The big attraction here is the butterfly garden but several tours are offered, including a night walk to see the over-a-dozen species of frogs and toads. Since it was 10 in the morning we opted for a more mundane experience.

Our first stop was the butterfly atrium where our knowledgeable guide tried his best to pound "A Complete Guide to Butterflies: Their Lives, Habits and Habitats" into our overheated brains. It was a hopeless task but a remarkably beautiful little garden, utterly fascinating information, and an hour well spent. But don't expect me to tell you which butterfly has four legs and which six.

Our expert guide about to point out a spider web so strong
we could pull on it without breaking or tearing it. So strong, in fact, that the natives
 used to roll them between their palms into long strands, wind several strands
together, and use them for fishing lines. The spider was pretty hefty too.

You'll have to click on these photos to appreciate the remarkable insects.

I love this little guy. 

There were about five kinds of butterflies in the garden.
The variety changes depending on their life cycles.

These big ones are Blue Morphos (Morpho peleides), a Costa Rica icon.
They fly a quick, irregular pattern so were hard to capture with the camera.

The view through the microscope shows the wings are covered with scales,
much like a snakeskin.

• 

On to the crocodiles. This is a young female.
Many of these are rescued and may be released back into the wild.
Crocodiles are seriously nasty and can run up to 25 MPH for short distances.
If you are ever being chased, remember to run a zigzag pattern;
they have a hard time turning quickly. 

And watch out for those teeth!

This is a cayman, smaller than a crocodile and not so aggressive. 

A prehistoric tail.

A male and female turtle. Can you tell the difference? Neither can we.

This is a box turtle (I think). There were several kinds in the ponds including
snapping turtles, which can take a finger off—or a hand if they're big enough.

We leave Manuel Antonio in less than a week and have seen only a fraction of the abundant flora and fauna that makes Costa Rica famous, but that fraction includes kingsized editions of every houseplant I've ever tried to grow or thought of growing; two kinds of monkeys (and another frequently heard) numerous iguanas and other lizards, black squirrels, many mostly unidentified birds, a small brown rodent in the "back yard," a poisonous viper in a jar, and four three-toed sloths. 

(Costa Rica has both three- and two-toed sloths. A local described them thus: the three toed sloth is a vegetarian and has a smile on his face; the two-toed eats insects and wears a frown. The inference is clear.)  Our visual inventory must also include the four kinds of ants, big brown beetles and two geckos that share our apartment. 

We will miss everything but the ants. 

Photography copyright by Ray Gilden, 2012

Zipping down winding up

Manuel Antonio is the perfect destination for people who love resort-style entertainment. Here's a sample of ads in the monthly magazine Quepolandia (a free guide to the area):

• Sport fishing and spear fishing
• Jet skiing
• Parasailing
• Horseback riding
• Whitewater rafting
• Mangrove island boat tours
• Snorkeling
• Sunset sailing tours
• Guided tours to the park and other forests
• Surf boarding and lessons
• Canopy tours (zip-lining)

To help you recover from all that activity there are spas and yoga salons, infinity pools, beaches, bars, and restaurants. Of course MA isn't alone in offering all this, but unlike other resorts we're familiar with (Cancun and Ixtapa come to mind) they have done a good job of protecting their environment. No high-rise hotels hug the shoreline, and new developments must set aside some nondeveloped land. 

Costa Rica is rightly proud of its green reputation, which supports a tourist industry that employs a great many people. I'm guessing that most of the working people in this town are connected in some way with tourism—not a risky guess since we see them going to and from work wearing shirts with the logos of hotels, tour companies, restaurants and bars. 

We couldn't miss out on all this fun so last week we went zip-lining. A minibus picked us up at 7:15 a.m. and carried us out of town to La Foresta Nature Resort, 180 acres of primary and secondary rainforest reserve. After checking in at the office we met our guides, Luis and Ronald, and the fun began. (But not before visiting briefly with an Alaskan man with his foot in a cast. When we asked how it happened he said, "Zip-lining—but not here." Oh good.)

Here's one of the platforms. Sometimes climbing up to these was more
 frightening than the zipping.

After the tour we sat down for breakfast, then took a walk
around the grounds. I liked this tree.

Here's Ray on a long suspension bridge.

The open-air dining room. We were lucky to be the only ones on
the tour that morning and we could relax and take our time. After Luis reported
  there had been forty people the previous afternoon, we realized how lucky. 

We took our after-activity relaxation a few days later and had
breakfast at the Mariposa hotel, a lovely place with a more than
 180-degree-view from the terrace dining room. (Rooms here start around $250.)

The Pacific was calm and hazy with humidity.

The buffet breakfast was delicious, and the tables uncrowded.
No one here rushes anything so we took our time and enjoyed the scenery.

The peninsula is part of Manuel Antonio National Park. You can see
 that although hotels and homes are present, the view
is unblocked by high rise hotels.

There are a few more things on our to-do list but time is getting short. We're down to 12 days, and honestly, we're counting them. We're ready to get back to family, friends, and our new house; to gather up our belongings, now scattered across five towns, and to get started on the next chapter in our lives.

A few minutes ago Ray called me away for our late afternoon walk. We turned left onto the now familiar road and headed downhill, saying "hola" numerous times and patting many familiar dogs. I waited while he tossed a frisbee with a little boy and then we followed the U left, through the shady jungle trees and up the hill toward the highway. Just past the U we heard the calls of howler monkeys. We've never managed to see them, but we hear their calls—which sound like roar—often. (I can hear them as I write.)

Up the hill now, the road almost disappearing into graveled chaos; more "holas." There are the bantam roosters, here are more dogs to pet. We look for the leaf-cutter ants but can't find them. We stop to watch children kicking a soccer ball around the town field, then turn left again along the highway, cursing the diesel truck and a roaring motorcycle, searching for sloths in the trees near the bus stop, waving to hard-working Khang in his restaurant. Left again at the market, one more greeting from a now familiar Tico, and here we are at home.

There are definitely things I will miss about Manuel Antonio.

Searching for pleasant

My college roommate, Dianne, had a rule that we couldn't go to sleep without reporting at least one pleasant surprise culled from the day's events. College being what it was and 18 being what it was, we often struggled to remember one, and often they were minor indeed. But we always discovered something during our mental search of the day and it was a ritual that sent us to sleep on a positive note.

On the trail in Manuel Antonio NP.

This has been a week full of pleasant surprises. For starters, we finally made it to Manuel Antonio National Park. Since we'd heard both pros and cons in regard to hiring a guide we tried it first without, to see how we did. The park itself was somewhat disappointing. It's small, and despite maps posted along the main trail indicating other paths we found only one, a narrow out-and-back that led us further and further into dense jungle. It was silent, damp, and dark. No monkeys, sloths, or crocodiles crossed our path, no birds could be seen. 

Back on the main trail we occasionally attached ourselves to groups with guides but they all seemed to be viewing one of Costa Rica's 74 kinds of lizards.

Can you spot the lizard?

There was still much to enjoy, because the variety of trees and understory is mindboggling. And since we both love trees we were satisfied. Eventually the trail led to a quiet beach lined with palms. It was early and the beach was uncrowded. We took off our shoes and waded in, then sat on rocks and enjoyed the quiet. That lovely beach was pleasant surprise #1. 

When the sun got higher we moved into the shade edging the beach and sat down on a log. A raccoon looking for food immediately headed our way.  I waved my arms and said "shoo!" He kept coming. I picked up a plastic sack containing my sandals and waved that. He thought it looked appetizing and grabbed it. Standing my ground I yanked the bag from his grasp. Pleasant surprise #2. The raccoon turned away in disgust and headed for the next group of sunbathers.

Morning on the beach at Manuel Antonio NP.

From the beach the trail followed the shoreline, which made for a pleasant walk. But somewhere along the route I lost my prescription sunglasses. This was a blow, and I went home feeling unhappy with myself. Ray said, "We'll go back to the ticket office tomorrow and ask, maybe someone will turn them in." I wasn't convinced. But you surely know what's coming? Yes, someone had turned them in and there were my sunglasses. Pleasant surprise #3.

I gratefully put them on and we boarded the bus for Quepos. Pleasant surprise #4: finding a shop that sold good fruit and vegetables at reasonable prices. We've been disappointed in the quality of the fresh food here and my guess is that the best goes to hotels and restaurants and what's left gets taken by the grocery stores. The shop we found wasn't perfect, but it is an improvement on Super Joseth, and that makes us happy.

The next day Rodney came over with a locksmith and fixed our gate. It doesn't matter that the lock is in upside down, only that it no longer takes us five to 10 minutes of struggling to get the damn thing open. This was especially annoying when it rained. We knew Rodney would get it fixed but he and we weren't sure how quickly. The speedy response was surprise #5.

A few days later Rodney alerted us via email (surprise #6) that the big iguanas were on their roof if we wanted to come see them. Of course we did. He and Eric regularly feed them (their favorite food is papaya skins) and we'd been wanting to watch. Ray grabbed his camera and we trotted down to their place. The biggest lizards weren't cooperating but we did see smaller ones. Even better, we enjoyed a few hours of good conversation with our landlords.

This is one of the smaller iguanas, heading for breakfast.

Yesterday our neighbor, Dago, brought us a still-warm homemade breakfast burrito wrapped in a banana leaf: a thin egg and potato pancake rolled into a large homemade corn tortilla. A genuinely pleasant surprise (#6). His sister makes and sells them, of course, so we ordered four more.

And now I must confess that there was one rather unpleasant surprise. We were having coffee with Eric and Rodney when I suddenly realized that jar sitting right in front of me wasn't empty. 

"Is that a snake?" I asked. 

"Oh, yes," said Rodney. "Are you just now seeing that?" He picked it up and shook it. The curled snake nearly filled the jar, floating in a bath of alcohol.

"It's a Fer de lance," he said. "And actually, it was found in back of your place." Oh great. Fer de lances are deadly pit vipers; "not to be trifled with," according to our guidebook. 

Still, what's a dead pit viper when there are six pleasant surprises to celebrate? I'll take those odds any day. And if the coming week turns up any pleasant surprises for you, let me know. I promise they will be there if you look.

*

Correction: In my December 15 blog I erred in saying 50 percent of a workers salary goes to health care. Rodney, who regularly hires people, filled me in: Currently employers pay a 22 percent tax on employee wages and workers pay nine percent. This tax covers health care, retirement, and workers comp. Each pay period the worker also receives a coupon verifying employment. The coupon makes him or her and the entire family eligible for services. My apologies for the error. 

Pura vida

A column in today's New York Times, "The Joy of Quiet" by Pico Iyer, reminded me that our intention in coming to Costa Rica was to enjoy a few months of quiet. We have not found that, though it seems unimportant now; we have grown accustomed to the daily sounds surrounding us. Iyer's focus is about saving silence and quiet time for children, but all of us who depend on the Internet and electronic devices already know we are losing something inestimable.

We rely heavily on the Internet here, for communication, news, and entertainment. Ray uses a laptop and I use my iPad. An iPod is plugged into portable speakers through which we hear music and news. Photographs are electronic and can reach the world in a few seconds. This is all good, and helpful in its way. But it is a far cry from true silence, a gift that was with us from the beginning and should be still. Now we are lucky if we recognize scattered increments.

"Listen!"

"To what?"

"Nothing."

Because our house is right next to a worn and pot-holed road and a speed bump, we hear, not cars and trucks driving smoothly past, but cars and trucks braking, driving through a gravel patch to avoid the bump, and bouncing over the bump. We hear the merchandise headed to the little living-room grocery down the road slamming and bouncing in the truck beds (the trucks are nearly as big as the shop). We hear souped-up cars scraping bottom and motorcycles accelerating across it.

Other daily sounds include the footsteps of our upstairs neighbors, the crying of the teething baby next door, the voices of conversations and calls up and down the street, the pounding rain, the barking dogs, the occasional singing of Dago, our neighbor, and when we're lucky, bird calls. In the depths of my illness I slept through it all and now it's part of my life and seldom noticed. It's also part of the culture we came to explore and thus easier to accept. ("Different culture, different customs.")

As a writer, I've always found describing sound a difficult chore. Onomatopoeia, words that suggest the sound they describe (cackle, boom, tinkle) do good work but they lack that missing element, the effect noise has on the human body. For we hear not only through our ears. Our entire body reacts when a truck bounces over a speed bump 20 feet away, or firecracker goes off unexpectedly outside the window. Our heart pounds, our nervous system twangs, our brain orders a shot of adrenalin. Even when we don't acknowledge the sound, don't hear it out of custom, our body hears it and filters it and reacts to it. Sometimes it replays, altered, in dreams. That's hard to capture in one short sentence.

Fortunately, firecrackers don't often explode outside our windows, but the constant drone of ever present noise, even when it comes from YouTube or an iPod, has a wearing affect on the body. Finding silence is one of the best things you can do for yourself, and though we misjudged its presence here, we'll never stop pursuing it. Maybe 2012 will be the year.

***

The convenience of instant communication did make it easier to meet up yesterday with an old friend from San Francisco. Robert and I worked together in the News and Publications office at Reed College when he was a student there in the early 90s. Robert stayed on after graduation to work for a year on a fundraising campaign and we occasionally commuted together. We lost touch about ten years ago and reconnected through Facebook (much as I dislike it, it does have its uses). Yesterday we had lunch together at Cafe Milagro and caught up with news of family and friends; it was though we'd spoken only a week ago.

Ray, Karen, and Robert

Back at home we had a bit of excitement when we heard a new and surprising noise. Three motorcycle policeman chased a wayward driver down our road, sirens blaring. Naturally we went out to look so we were handy when Daniel, one of the officers, came over to ask for two glasses of water, please. We watched as the car was moved and searched and we waited while the young officers stood around and flirted with young women passing by. Finally the traffic truck came and issued a ticket—or something, and Daniel returned our glasses and the excitement was over.

A motorcycle policeman and supervisor await the traffic truck.
(The suspect's white car is in front of our house.)

Daniel and Ray share a smile.

Before he left Daniel carefully wrote his email address on a piece of paper so Ray could send him a photo. Then he put an arm around each of us and speaking in broken English said very seriously, "Life is good. And the world is small." 

Pura vida is difficult to translate; the closest is "plenty of life." You see it everywhere here, on teeshirts, caps, paintings and pottery. People have said it to me on the street, always accompanied by a big smile. It's used to express many things but I like to think it's what Daniel was trying to say. Life is good, and we're all in it together.

May 2012 bring you everything good you can wish for, and may it bring all of us—together—peace, contentment, and a little bit of silence.

Pura vida!

A little diversion

Since I frequently mention our daily walk I thought I'd post some photos of what we see. A little diversion while we continue to get well. 

This was taken about half-way down the hill from our door, looking toward the curve of the U, which turns left into never-ending shade. The road here is always wet and muddy and the only house seldom sees sunlight. A boy about 12 usually lounges on the balcony so we stop and visit. He speaks good English and says his favorite subject is math. A few days ago we asked what he was doing with his vacation (school is now out until March) and he shrugged. So I said, "Swim?" Yes. "Surf?" Yes. "Football?" Yes. Always with a big smile. After that we could only agree that if he likes those things he lives in a good place.

Every Tico family seems to have at least one dog; most have two or three. They're usually mutts about knee high, short-haired and friendly. We seldom see cats, but this kitten caught Ray's eye.

Ray climbed up a fence to capture this photo of a house behind high walls. This is on the downhill leg of the U.

Here's a typical Costa Rican dog, looking a little lonesome.

This is coming up the hill toward the highway. The dense green behind me is the shady curve of the U.

Cafe Milagros isn't on our walk, but it's one of our favorite MA places and it's where we hung out during the rain, mentioned in an earlier post. Good fruit smoothies!

Sancho's is another favorite eatery, known for its fish tacos—the best yet.

Marshall, the owner, is an American expat.

Susan and Khang are recent additions who moved from Tampa to open a Vietnamese restaurant. They arrived in December and are already doing a good business. Their take-out restaurant is between the two ends of the U along the highway so we see them often. And when we're too lazy to cook we let them do it.

Back at home, and I can't resist including recent views from our window. Unfortunately, I can't say what kind of bird this is because the paperback guide to Costa Rican birds was $70 which, like many prices here, seemed excessive.

This little guy looks very comfy in the center of the banana tree.

We're always trying to get photos of the monkeys in action. So far this is the closest we've come.

Here's mom and baby trying for some food. 

The last time the monkeys visited, someone at our neighbor's house was feeding them bananas—a big no no of course—and it made them braver than usual. This little guy is right next to our window.

Okay, time for a nap.

Christmas in Costa Rica

I've been neglecting you lately and the excuse is, I've been sick. Don't worry, I won't bore you with details; I know you don't want them. Being sick is a singularly lonesome exercise. It's a little like death, which is often wished for. In this case Ray also picked up my ailment so we've been suffering in unison—we even cough in unison occasionally which is very entertaining. The fact that it's entertaining tells you something about our lives at the moment. But, I promised I wouldn't go there.

Frankly, I can't tell you much about Christmas in Costa Rica. It's probably different in the capitol, and larger cities, but in our little Manuel Antonio neighborhood there's not much going on.

A man builds bamboo chairs in front of a rare Christmas tree.

Traditionally, we're told, Costa Ricans celebrate the holiday rather simply. There might be music or parades a few days before, but Christmas Eve is a time for church and family, and a traditional after-mass supper of tamales and other favorites. I can assure you that loud fireworks are popular. Santa is not a dominant figure and we didn't see a single picture of him here, or even much in the way of decorations. Instead, children put their shoes out on Christmas Eve and if they're lucky the Christ Child fills them with presents.

We spent Christmas morning in a Skype conversation with the Gilden-Holmes family watching them unwrap gifts and eat sticky buns and chocolate Santas. That proved a little over stimulating so we both took naps and then walked our U-loop to see what holiday celebrations we might detect. Except for a couple of tipsy beer drinkers there were exactly zero signs of the holiday. No children played in the road with new toys, no adults sported new clothes. Clothes did dominate the view though, because the local housewives took advantage of the sunny morning to do laundry, and it decorated lines, tin roofs, and shrubbery all along our route.

Along the highway only two small eateries were closed, both owned and run by Americans. The big hotels and high end restaurants did of course have decorations and elegant holiday dinners planned, and I'm sure the tourists who flock to this part of Costa Rica for the holidays—it's the busiest week of the year—enjoyed it all immensely. Since neither of us could taste anything, we passed.

We are getting better though. Today we managed the walk twice and my taste buds magically came to life in time for fajitas last night. They weren't good fajitas, but still, when all you've been able to taste for two weeks is vinegar, anything is a blessing. That it occurred on Christmas Day I took as a sign.

We both wish you all the joys of the season, including that most important ingredient, good health. We intend to join you in that any day now.

The unwelcome guest

When I pulled out the wireless keyboard this morning I was surprised to find it wasn't working. The space bar wouldn't space, the r, y, h and i keys wouldn't r, y, h, or i. The caps lock INSISTED on capping. Uh oh.

A quick search on the Apple site brought us the obvious answer: humidity over 80 percent may affect this device. There's no hint whether the humidity saps the keyboard's energy as it does ours or whether mold simply overtakes its innards; regardless, it has been sent to dry out, like a recovering alcoholic.

Living in the Willamette Valley for 40 years means we're no strangers to occasional mold and mildew but it reaches an entirely new level here in the rain forest. Not long ago we found Ray's shoelaces suddenly sprouting blue hair; then my canvas shoes came out of the closet covered in gray. Looking further we discovered the backpack exhibiting a patina of new life and—oh crap—there it was again on a polyester satchel. I like to think I love life in all its manifestations but this form is definitely unwelcome.

It's impossible to keep things completely dry when humidity hovers at 85 percent so we resort to making sure the heavy air circulates as much as possible. Closet and cupboard doors and drawers are left ajar, damp towels and sweaty shirts are immediately carried outside to be pegged to the line, and shoes are no longer kept in the closet but are parked around the room's periphery. The overhead fan runs 24/7 and we keep a wary eye out for new intrusions.

For a confessed neatnik these are tough adjustments, and I struggle to ignore the chaos. Humidity, I tell myself, is good for aging skin, and it's obviously loved by the local flora. If I'm not covered with gray fuzz when we leave here maybe I'll look like a flower.

A new leaf

I've been spending a lot of time gazing out the window lately. I blame this on Ray, who has spent an equal amount of time sleeping off his flu, but in fact I might have done it anyway. The wildness outside is lovely, and so unlike anything I've known that even without monkeys the view is endlessly fascinating.

There is, for instance, a small banana tree three or four yards from the house. This week I watched as it put forth a new shoot. It appeared, rather suddenly it seemed, as a tall narrow stalk, about two inches in diameter and straight as a steel rod. It looked nothing like a leaf. For days it stood there, growing taller but never altering its form and offering no hint of what it would become. The established leaves, sails that signal the slightest breeze, drifted gracefully in a constantly moving dance, but the stalk remained motionless. There was, obviously, no connection between the old and the new.

And then, yesterday, magically, it began to unroll. Faint lines appeared along the green rod, and the lines became the edges of the unfurling leaf. Then, wider and wider it opened. By evening it looked much like a large, green calla lilly, it's leaf edges still curled tightly at bottom. Today it is just another branch, drifting on the humid breeze.

Below it are older branches, split and sagging, turning brown and curling inward in a mirrored image of the new. They must be sticky because I saw a monkey wipe his hands after handling them. At the table by the window a recovering Ray watches a livestream of Occupy Our Homes as a crowd of New Yorkers take back a foreclosed home while a band plays and police look on. Out the opposite window school children laugh and dance a little jig and a car with a portable sound system passes by, the driver hawking an unknown something. Our little apartment welcomes life in (almost) all its permutations.

A walk to the beach

There are several beach coves along the coast that stretches from Quepos to Manuel Antonio National Park. The one nearest our house is Rocky Beach, so about a week ago we took an exploratory walk to see what it was like. We went early to avoid the heat.

Our first view of the sea. The road down passes through a private resort
but the beach itself is open to all.

Ray checks a stand of bamboo.

Near the bottom of the hill are a couple of deserted buildings that
demanded exploration. We're told they are deserted homes.

The coast itself looks much like Oregon's;
 just swop the tropical trees for firs and spruce. 

Surprisingly, the beach was deserted except for a couple from the resort.
At low tide you can walk from one cove to another
along this stretch, but our timing wasn't right.

This beached log was covered with tiny hermit crabs,
who scurried away when we approached. These are the slowpokes.

The walk back about 10:30 a.m. was hot, humid, and hard, the road being very steep in several places. An old pickup carries the resort residents and their lounge chairs down and up the muddy, bumpy track but we were satisfied to be walking despite the effort. It's a nice beach and we'll definitely go back, taking our suits next time.

Unfortunately, our explorations were curtailed this week, for as soon as I recovered from my cold Ray developed a case of flu (this is day 4 and he's feeling a little better). The weather is improving though, with the rains coming far less often. Sometime soon we will hire a guide and visit the National Park. With his help we should spot lots of wildlife—I'm really hoping for a sloth.