Costa Rica: Escaping the Cold and Snow

My stomach tightened as I stared at the thirtyish female pilot from my seat directly behind the co-pilot. The single-engine plane gained altitude just after takeoff from San Jose and headed toward the Nicoya Peninsula in Costa Rica.

REALLY? I refrained from sharing my thoughts and concerns with my husband Dave who sat directly behind the pilot.

He knows that I’m nervous when flying on small planes. Before boarding, he’d again reminded me that we survived the twin-engine airplane flight from Kathmandu to Lukla, Nepal. Lukla is considered the world’s most dangerous airport because of its very short runway next to a mountainside.

As I stared in disbelief at the profile and hands of our stern-looking pilot, I reminded myself that I’d gained some confidence in her after she’d eased the Cessna down onto the runway just hours before at Douglas Bay on the Osa Peninsula and then again at San Jose’s regional airport. On that flight, we’d sat in the middle of plane to avoid crawling further forward than necessary in the four-foot high passenger compartment.

After a two-hour layover in San Jose, we reboarded the same plane, manned by the same pilot and thirty-something male co-pilot. Because all the other passengers would deplane at Nosara, our first stop, we chose to sit immediately behind our two-person crew, separated from them by only their seatbacks. No screen or curtain.

Dave looked thrilled as he watched the plane’s instruments before and after takeoff.

I watched in horror as the pilot retrieved a cell phone encased in a rose-colored OtterBox type case. GOOD GRIEF!!

The pilot stared at her cellphone and read what appeared to be Facebook notifications. I couldn’t see her right hand’s thumb or her left hand. Was she reading or texting? I saw a bank of clouds fast approaching. That meant certain turbulence.

Just before the plane entered the clouds, she put down her phone and placed two hands on the “steering” wheel. Minutes later, she retrieved her almighty phone just after the turbulence. She repeated this scenario numerous times until she flawlessly landed the plane at Nosara.

Dave and I remained on board while everyone else, including the pilot and co-pilot, deplaned. The co-pilot said we’d only be on the ground for five minutes but we could use the restroom in the terminal. We declined his offer and thanked him. He sauntered over to our pilot who stood next to the terminal that included a small office, outside waiting area, and a restroom.

After fifteen minutes alone on the aircraft, Dave and I decided to deplane. “Potty” I said to the pilot, who smiled for the first and only time, and nodded.  Dave and I hung out on the tarmac until our crew marched back to the plane about fifteen minutes later. Nine other passengers joined us. After takeoff, the pilot AND co-pilot focused on their cellphones. I was SO relieved that this was our last domestic flight in the country. We’d take a public ferry to the mainland before heading back to San Jose.

Thankfully, the pilot set down her phone before landing on Tambor’s short runway that starts at the ocean’s edge. No terminal here, just a few outhouses!

Just as we’d observed at the three other domestic airports outside of San Jose, security was only barb wire fencing around the runway.

Our introduction to “security” at these domestic airports was at Port Jiménez. In a small office, an airline employee checked our passports, weighed our bags and then us, holding our carry-on luggage. She handed us boarding passes and we  waited for instructions. A fellow passenger laughed at our puzzled looks. “You have just gone through security and you’ll know when the plane arrives,” he said.

He was right. A roar of the plane announced its arrival on the landing strip that was adjacent to a large cemetery!

Our itinerary called for us to first travel by car to Cano Negro in northern Costa Rica, where we’d see lots of birds, monkeys, and other wildlife. From there, we’d head south to the Arenal Airport to fly to the country’s southwestern area to stay in a rainforest, renowned for its wildlife viewing opportunities, and then finish our trip by flying north along the Pacific coast to the more populated Nicoya Peninsula which offered spectacular white beaches, surf, and sun.

By flying, we’d save time by avoiding many tedious, narrow, and painfully slow roads. But local airlines foiled our plans. First our flight from Arenal was cancelled. That meant we’d return to San Jose by car and fly to Port Jiménez from San Jose. Next, the day before our departure from Cano Negro, our San Jose flight was rescheduled to depart two hours later than scheduled, requiring a full day of travel to reach our southern-most destination. Then our flight from the Osa Peninsula to the Nicoya Peninsula was changed to add two stops and a two-hour layover in San Jose! We surmised the airlines cancelled/changed our flights because an insufficient number of passengers had booked. We stopped in Port Douglas to pick up only one passenger and were the only passengers who deplaned at Tambor.

So much for our time-saving plans!

Traveling by car or bus in the country is slow because heavy traffic makes passing nearly impossible. Drivers love to tailgate, don’t use signals, drive at whatever slow speed they desire, pull out in front of oncoming traffic, and crawl over huge speed bumps in the road.  Motorcyclists weave in and out of traffic, and a few hardy cyclists brave the narrow roads. Fortunately, our drivers took different routes to and from Cano Negro so we saw more countryside.

Everyone, just not pilots, has cellphones. We even saw a guide glued to his phone as he led tourists on horseback along a beach. Satellite discs also are plentiful, including on roofs of run-down homes.

Theft was an obvious concern in central downtown San Jose where we spent two nights. We noticed a heavy police presence in that tourist area. Driving north to Cano Negro, we spotted bars on first floor windows of homes and businesses in San Jose and along the four-hour route to our accommodations. We also saw bars on windows when we walked around Port Jiménez that has an estimated population of less than 7,000 residents. When I inquired about the window bars, one driver/guide told us, “Anything left out will be stolen.”

Interestingly, we noticed far fewer bars on windows in Santa Teresa on the touristy Nicoya Peninsula.

Our guides didn’t share much about their country unless specifically asked but even then, gave vague answers. It seemed obvious that the influx of foreigners—including Americans— had its good and bad effects: more employment, more traffic, increased home prices, and a higher cost of living. Prices often seemed comparable to those in the United States. Many Costa Ricans spoke English.

At dusk one afternoon, several police cars “raced” by Dave and his companions as they walked back to our Cano Negro lodge situated in a village next to a remote wildlife preserve. Our guide advised the authorities were searching for illegals who’d snuck across the Nicaraguan border just ten miles away.

We enjoyed our stay in that area— far from the bustle of San Jose. We walked around on our own and sometimes with a guide. A 6 a.m. boat ride afforded us close up views of a plethora of brightly colored birds and a caiman (crocodile) before fifteen to twenty boatloads of tourists descended on the waterways.  One night, a guide pointed out a baby opossum, frogs, owls, and sleeping birds on a forest walk. Thankfully, we didn’t spot a snake. Spider monkeys treated us to their antics as they swung from tree to tree.

After deplaning at Port Jiménez, a motor boat whisked us across the bay to a secluded lodge where we went to sleep each night to the sound of rain or the roar of insects. Howler monkeys woke us up every morning. On one hike with a delightful English couple, one of our guides spotted a Fer-de-Lance, a highly poisonous snake, just off the trail. That’s why it’s best to hike with guides in the jungle, an important a lesson that I’d forget the next day.

Our friends and another English couple joined us the following day to motorboat to a river where upstream we climbed into two-man kayaks with fantastic back supports! Then we paddled downstream, looking for snakes in trees, birds, and crocodiles. We weren’t disappointed.

We encountered a turbulent sea on our return to the lodge. Waves broke over the motorboat’s bow, repeatedly soaking us all for more than an hour. Our British hiker friend kept us in good spirits by laughing all the way back! After changing into “dry” clothes— nothing really dries out in the rainforest because of the humidity— I suggested to Dave that we hike a loop trail in the rainforest before dinner. My suggestion proved unwise, as dusk is when snakes come out of hiding. Dave used a stick as a staff to clear away the abundant leaves on a slippery, muddy steep trail that led to an unspectacular viewpoint. We quickly descended on a shorter and easier but also slippery trail, arriving at our cabin just before dark.

Santa Teresa’s bustling town of 3,000 people on the Nicoya Peninsula jarred us back from laid-back  Costa Rica. Lots of tourists; surfers; loose dogs mostly on the beach and in open air restaurants; bars; eateries; and throngs of humans watching glorious sunsets. We observed lots of canines— including a few purebreds— a Labrador, an Aussie, beagles and a Doberman.

One part-Lab lay patiently at the feet of four young women diners as they ate hamburgers. He declined a French fry and then sauntered off in search of an acceptable offering. He never stopped at our table because we were eating fish, not red meat!!

Reality set in when we walked out of the terminal in Denver into six-degree temperatures. So much for our warm weather holiday!

Photo credits: Dave Olmstead, my husband, took all of the photographs except the one of himself and the horse and rider.

Related South American travel posts: https://www.caryunkelbach.com/the-galapagos-islands-a-nature-lovers-paradise/

https://www.caryunkelbach.com/machu-picchu-via-the-salkantay-trek/