The First Stamp: Journey from the U.S. to Costa Rica

Much like a 6 year old on the night of Christmas Eve, I couldn’t manage to get a full night’s sleep. Traveling had become something of a drug that I needed in regular doses, and today was the day I stepped up to the more addictive substance:  My first stamp in my crisp, new passport. This comes as a surprise to most who know me, since I spend so much time going on adventures throughout the states, always with a good story to return with and hundreds of pictures. I have also always prided myself on the quest of knowledge, and I knew a lot about life in the world outside the U.S. borders- but only from books. I have friends who reside in all corners of the globe. I plaster my walls with maps of the world, and geologic maps of caves from just about everywhere. Yet here I was, up hours before my alarm sounded, wonders of international travel flashing through my head.

I arrived at the airport several hours earlier than necessary and checked my duffel bag. I had chosen to fly with Frontier Airlines for the first time, carefully avoiding anything tied to Continental Airlines (A story many of you know from my trip to Baltimore, MD in March of this year. ) Turns out I had made an excellent choice: Frontier is tied to Midwest Airlines, and that means warm chocolate chip cookies in flight, comfortable seating, and dependable service, all wrapped into a value priced fare. I flew to the Denver airport for a 6 hour layover, where I had the best chili I have ever tasted (A green pork chili). I spent a few hours exploring every corner of the airport looking for a unique tornado shelter sign that a friend had informed me to look for. I never did find that sign, but I can now tell you where every gate and restaurant is in the Denver International Airport. I rode the subway that goes between terminals for several loops, trying to discern the design behind the fans in the tunnels….a producer of electricity, perhaps?

My flight out of Denver left at midnight: I was taking the red eye flight to San Jose to meet up with the Wilsey’s on Friday morning. This made three  ”flight firsts” for me: My first flight with Frontier, my first international flight, and my first red eye flight. My seat was an aisle seat, but I was too exhausted to even care about the chocolate chip cookies being doled out among the passengers. I put my orange, Jeep-branded backpack on my lap, used it as an awkward pillow and dozed in and out of sleep.

August 6, 2010

Arriving in Costa Rica was a little surreal. It wasn’t  hitting me that I was in a different country: in a new place that didn’t speak English as a first language. Almost everyone at the airport spoke English very well. I made my way through customs and this was the moment I was waiting for: The first stamp in my passport. It sits there now on the first page, a faded-red stamp proclaiming that my first step outside of the U.S. (aside from Mexico and the Caribbean) was Costa Rica on August 6^th, 2010. I exchanged my U.S. Dollars at the counter for the Costa Rican currency: Colones. The bills come in denominations that I was sure to be confused by (despite the conversions in the mini-reference book I created pre-trip) In the U.S. we have dollars and cents. In Costa Rica there are only Colones. This means that approximately 520 Colones equals 1 U.S. Dollar. A bill of 10,000 Colones is equal to approximately $20.

I was right in my theory that I would make a mistake in Colone conversion with the very first purchase I made: The Taxi ride from the Airport to Adventure Inn, where I would meet with my friend and her family so we could head down to Manzanillo in the far southeast of the country.  When I arrived at Adventure Inn the taxi driver gave me the total in U.S. dollars, knowing where I was from after our short conversation on the drive to the hotel. Having just exchanged all my U.S. dollars for Colones, I did what I thought was some quick math and handed him a colorful bill.

Lucky for me, he was a lot like everyone else I tend to meet on my adventures: The Oklahomans who pushed me out of the ditch when I slid off the road into 6 inches of snow and ice (Dec 26, 2009), the citizens of El Paso who helped me get two new tires and a new wheel (Dec 28, 2009), and even the helpful waitress at Iron Horse Café in small town Roscoe MO who introduced us to a local cave/landowner (and a subsequent obsession with caves that will never be satisfied). The taxi driver corrected my taboo and handed me back the extra money I had handed him by mistake. The good will of the world around never ceases to surprise me despite how many times I have experienced in it. I still smile every time, genuinely touched that there are so many people out there that are still honest and caring.

I joined my friend and her family at the breakfast table. There were many fruits I didn’t recognize, and one I was happy to see: Star fruit. Since a kid I have always loved this fruit, probably more because of the shape when sliced than the pleasantm citurs taste. Here in Costa Rica the fruit was offered on the plate like it was a regular garnish- the equivalent to lettuce in the U.S. I was going to like this country.

Many of us take the public roadway infrastructure of the United States for granted. In the U.S. all roads have signs. They are even color-coded to designate whether the road is an interstate, state, or county highway. In San Jose you are lucky to find a sign, and the locals give directions in terms of houses, churches, rocks and trees. Loaded into the rental SUV we wandered the streets of San Jose. We started singing the song “Do you know the way through San Jose”. The song suddenly had a whole new meaning.

After our long journey of twisting and turning through San Jose we finally arrived on 32 highway and we twisted and turned through the beautiful Parque Nacional Braulio Carrillo. Huge yellow and blue butterflies flitted through the air, high above the highway, and water trickled down the sides of all the road cuts, which were covered in dense, green foliage.

 

When we found ourselves descending from the mountainous ridge, and out of the Parque Nacional Braulio Carrillo, roads were bordered by rural towns and villages, open-air schools, and large banana and pineapple farms. The banana bunches on the trees were all covered with a blue bag, something to help prevent pests from destroying valuable agriculture.  Our elevation was slowly approaching sea level when we could finally see the Caribbean Coast just off the shores of Limon. It was a beautiful sight. From Limon we drove south, driving on a road that flirted with the sea, until we reached the place we were to spend 5 days: La Petita in Manzanillo.

La Petita was a cute rental house nestled in the Refugio Nacional Gandoca-Manzanillo. In the shade of tall trees covered in green, this house was made of beautiful local woods with an open-air kitchen and hammocks to rest in. Howler monkeys swung from the trees, cacao trees dotted the landscape, and many colorful birds, including Toucans, flew overhead. As if this landscape wasn’t wonderful enough, the icing on the cake was the path through the rainforest to the beach. It was a walk that stimulated all your senses, winding through the rainforest on a path of wooden planks, where the sound of the waves crashing into the sand became progressively louder. When we returned after dark you could watch the lightening over the horizon even though the sky was cloudless and you could see every star imaginable and more….