The Circa de Cataratas Adventure

(photo courtesy Scott Robinson, wiki commons)

The Abercam resort is located at 1800 feet above sea level. Downtown La Fortuna, by contrast, is slightly below sea level. The two are 4 kilometers apart.

Twice a week, typically Tuesday and Friday, I have been traveling the steep down the Circa de Cataracas to run errands. The hike takes about 40 minutes to an hour each way depending on your pack and the weather.

I slide the huge wooden door that connects the Grande Tapia Blanca just far apart enough to edge through and close it behind me.

On a clear day, you can see Nicaragua to the North - a pile of distant green mountains.

The Circa is not yet fully paved. It alternates gravel and tarmac, gravel and cement, gravel and grey brick as though the public works department could not decide how to approach it.

In truth, the project is so large for La Fortuna the city must do it in stages. These bits of paved road represent the curves and grades that must be reinforced when the road is entirely paved next year.

About half of the homes along the road are private residences. Squat, single story, no basement. These homes typically have a garage and a small acerage. Since would be difficult to farm on this terrain, most keep horses or cows or both.

The cattle hang out in enormous pastures all day, bobbing their heads and chewing. They are often not of a single variety, but a mix of different breeds of dairy cattle and cattle for slaughter. Sometimes property owners hire their neighbors cattle to chew down the overgrowth in a vacant lot.

Horses generally have to work a bit harder. Most are called upon for a strenuous horseback ride through Monteverde, a protected zone at the top of the mountain. Horse poop is an obstacle for drivers and hikers all along the road.

More desirably, lucky horseshoes fall on the path as well. After stumbling on a few rusty half-shoes, I found a whole one in perfect shape the other day. It belonged to a ranch whose brand is Delta, which I considered a good omen (I write Delta Magnet Blog.)

The other homes along the Circa are live/work style cottage businesses. The nearest on to Abercam is a hammock shop where hundreds of brightly colored, hand woven hammocks cover every square inch of a porch and a modest showroom.

A wood carver, immigrated to Costa Rica from the US, has a small studio on the switchback beneath. He’s carved two male torsos out of rosewood for the Abercam bar.

The advertisement seems to be working. One of the last guests at the resort trekked down the road to commission a lean, muscular 24” torso for his coffee table at home. The price? A super cheap $152!

Another curiousity, a palm wood shack selling coconut water almost never has customers. According to Geraldo, who is pals with the owner, they used to have a brisk business selling beer, but then his freind “changed his mind” about selling alcohol.

There are plenty of campgrounds and “cabinas” for about $30 a night. There is also a few lovely sprawling lodges which are favored by European visitors. At least one has an open air restaurant that serves Typicos, “typical food,” which generally means Empenadas, fried plantains, and Casado or “married” lunch where rice and beans are combined with meat and a salad.

The Ticos are generally a friendly bunch and will exchange “Hola” or “Buenas,” with you. “Buenas” covers all times of day (“dias,” “tardes,” and “noches”) to a stranger. One response to “Buenas” is “Hoy!” or “today,” which men on horseback often give me.

Almost to a one, the Ticos own dogs. While I’ve seen at least one hound, though most of the dogs are lap sized mutts, variations on beagles, chihuahuas, and Australian shepards.

Though I introduce myself to dogs that follow me walking, I don’t typically pet them or feed them, and most wag their tails enthusiastically to “bueno perro” and a little running around.

Another curiousity, most locals who walk here are women and they travel in pairs.

The Circa ends at the bottom of the hill at a north/south road stretching between San Ramon and La Fortuna.

Local Bus Adventure - San Jose to La Fortuna

As I'd arrived near midnight in San Jose, the airline paid for a hotel room. It was only a shuttle ride away from the terminal. The time was midnight by my wristwatch.

I contented myself for an hour with showering up, translating Costa Rican television using Google, and eating Tico snacks from the vending machine.

I checked my email and discovered, in spite of my protests, I would be charged a 100 percent "no show" fee from Interbus. As one could not purchase a one way ticket with their service, I cancelled my return trip.

I could hardly believe I was charged $40 for a service I never recieved, due to problems beyond my control, without the option of rebooking.

If I was going to go to the trouble of using my poor Spanish to navigate through the local bus system, the "learning the way there" service Interbus could have provided me would not be worth my loyalty.

Their email response indicated my return trip refund would take, "up to two weeks for processing." Anyone who runs returns can tell you, a return takes only two minutes to process. How much time did they need? They'd already had $80 of my money for over a month.

When I woke up the next day, I was already too late for the Grey Line bus that stopped in front of the hotel.

My supposedly hardcore guidebook listed the bus terminals in San Jose as "dangerous." The front desk worker told me, "I live in San Jose and I won't go down there." The concierge also advised against it.

I went downtown anyway.

The eight square blocks on Calle 10 and Calle 12 between Parque Merced and the San Carlos bus terminal presented a less aspirational image than either the guidebook or the hotel employees. They were hardly treacherous, however.

There were some corregated tin buildings and chipped paint jobs. There was some rust and ground in dirt. The stores were small and crowded, but open and doing business.

Everyone was dressed well if not up-to-date. The Sodas were lit with ambient light and workers packed them during the lunch break. There was perhaps even less litter than there would be in any other city. I asked for directions twice and got good assistance.

Parts of industrial Oakland have felt far more menacing to me for their lack of purpose.

In fact, I felt more like a target at the airport and in the hotel than in San Jose downtown.

When I reached the sales window and told the bus driver I wanted a ticket to Fortuna, he told me the last direct bus for the day had already left. I pressed for another route and was directed to the San Carlos bus. I could catch a bus to Fortuna there.

These "busses" are in fact what U.S. citizens would call "coaches". The seats are high and well cushioned with storage compartments above and below.

I wasn't the only gringo on the bus. I did misplace my ticket, however, so when the driver came to take it, I stuck out. With a backpack and an overnight bag, I was not packed as lightly as the other passengers, either.

Just beyond San Jose and Alajuela, the urban valley escalated into young, undulating mountains. The roads twisted like switchbacks up and down hills. All the drivers navigated these at speeds approaching 60 km/hr.

We passed family sized coffee and banana plantations. No plot was larger than 10 acres. Signs offering regional tours were everywhere. The only livestock I saw was cattle. They were perched on the sides of steep hills, grazing unsupervised.

Though they did not have bathrooms, the coaches had front and back doors. Vendors occasionally boarded the busses at the front and sold snacks to passengers quickly, exiting at the back.

At our first small town, Naranjo, a retirement age man dispensed chips, peanuts, and agua frescas in sealed plastic bags. He complimented all the women who purchased from him. Three girls, who the vendor refered to as, "The Latinas," ordered the carrot flavor, chewed off a tip of the bag, and sucked up liquid through the tear.

We passed through Zarcero. On a long plaza, elevated from the road, bottom-heavy topiary archways opened to a small Catholic church. There were lots of signs announcing organic produce and an organic food delivery service located just north of the town center. Apparently, Zarcero is the center of the nations organic agriculture movement.

The first movie theater I saw (showing "G.I. Joe") was in Ciudad Quesada, popularly known as San Carlos, where the bus disembarked. I immediately got in line to board the La Fortuna local which left 15 minutes later.

I handed the driver a 5000 note, equivalent to $10, and he had difficulty making change. "Fortuna," he said, pleadingly, as though I'd done something extravagant.

The fare was 150 Colones or about $.25.

I sat down with my overnight bag in my lap as did the gringo sitting beside me.

On this bus, the locals boarded last prefering to stand. Quite a few rode without paying. One woman at the back of the bus made a cross sign her chest as the bus transmission choked into ignition. She had on a wooden rosary and a horseshoe shaped gold and diamond watch.

I'd begun to notice there were a lot more watches in Costa Rica than in the US. Also, everyone had a good cell phone. No one wore hats or sunglasses. In fact, it's illegal to wear a hat and sunglasses in public buildings and banks here - it's considered a disguise.

Like an ordinary city bus, the driver stopped this bus whenever a passenger pulled one of the cords over the windows. Not frequently, but at odd places, someone hopped off. We once stopped at a pasture and another time at a private school. The driver seemed to know who was going where.

One stop consisted of an two apartments atop two orange plate glass window stores, like one would expect to find in San Francisco. The easternmost shop was a small gym with a half-dozen machines and free weights. The westernmost shop was newly painted and for lease. This structure was bordered on either end by papaya plantations.

Approaching La Fortuna, I noticed a change in humidity. Dense clouds hung over constantly errupting Arenal.

The air wasn't particularly sulphurous, perhaps owing to the precipitaion and all the greenery.

But for the palms, the broad variety of trees was totally unknown to me. I was about the enter the rainforest.