Today was so dull that I shouldn’t even take your time with another post, but I’m trying to do this every day if possible, and it’s possible, so there you have it.
I was once again awoken by a chorus of not-very-melodic, squawking birds at 5:30: sunrise.
If you ever come to Arenal/La Fortuna, stay at Rancho Cerro Azul (Blue Hill). A nervous and insecure traveler, I have been very demanding of their services: Where’s this, how do I do that? They couldn’t have been more accommodating.
When I’m traveling, I really don’t feel like figuring out the logistics of eating. My hotel is about a half an hour walk from town on a busy road, and taxis are expensive, so it’s just a big pain to try to find sustenance. I learned, however, that the hotel owner’s mother serves breakfast from her house across the street, so today I took advantage of that, with a giant Tico (Costa Rican) meal of eggs, beans, rice, something foul that I couldn’t identify, and something a vivid pink that doesn’t exist in nature, even in Costa Rica. I could barely put a dent in it.
On today’s schedule was a horseback ride on a farm at the base of the Arenal volcano. They were an hour late in picking me up. I’m trying to be all mellow-like and pura vida (that’s CR’s national motto), but it was a little annoying. Turns out that the tour I’d been scheduled for was full of expert riders and they made the correct assumption that I’m not among that number. So they had to cobble together a different thing for me last-minute, and as a result I was the sole rider aside from my guide, Kendall (who spoke English, as so many here do, thank the gods and goddesses).
Picture a lean cowboy swinging onto his mount with the grace of an acrobat. Now picture your great-grandmother in her dotage attempting the same feat, and you’ll have an accurate image of what I looked like.
Right out the gate, Kendall asked, “Do you want to gallop?” Ten years ago I would have loved nothing more. In the U.S. they never let you gallop on rides. I hedged and said, “We’ll see.” By the end of the ride, through streams and across open fields just begging to be galloped on, I realized that he took my indecision as a “no.” We just walked, as I rocked along in the saddle like a bobble head doll. We stopped at a little restaurant atop the hill for guyaba (like guava) juice and a fresh tortilla with a fat slab of fried cheese in it. There’s one meal knocked off my worry list. Sadly, the dismount required a remount, and then we rode another half hour and that was it.
On the way back to the hotel in Kendall’s car at about 11:00 a.m., he asked if I liked beer. I allowed as I did. “Do you want one now?” Politeness possessed me to say “yes,” so he stopped at a shop and picked up a cold can for each of us, popping his open when he got into the car. “Can you DO that?” I asked. “Sure. In Costa Rica, you can do whatever you like in your house and your car.” Pura vida.
He delivered me safely back to Cerro Azul where I tipped him $5 — a lot — and back in my room, proceeded to pour out the undrinkable brew.
Last on my to-do list was a visit to the Catarata La Fortuna. The cab driver charged me double what was on his meter. I didn’t know what to do so I paid it. Fifteen dollars’ admission and 1,000,000 steep steps down led to this:
Unfortunately, what goes down must come up, and I panted my way back. Back at the hotel I reveled in a hot shower to wash off all the insect repellent and sunscreen, and now I’m killing time till I have to forage.