I do not consider myself super adventurous. However, I refuse to think of myself as in any way old, incapable or closed-minded. So when my husband approached me with his idea for an anniversary trip—an adventure tour in Costa Rica—I was all for it. The major selling point of course being that we would stay in an enchanting eco-lodge treehouse “As seen on the Travel Channel!” Sign me up.
Of course I had my reservations. Staying in the rain forest conjurs up many visions: blood-guzzling mosquitoes, man-eating snakes, oppressive heat, crazed, serial-killing cannibalistic jungle natives and, of course, rain. But the pictures of the treehouse were reeeally cute…so off we went.
In this case, getting there really was part of the fun. First we were driven into the mountains by two guys we didn’t know. As any normal, rational person would think, I was certain they were going to drive us into an alley, strangle us with our sunglasses safety-straps, and leave our bodies to decompose while they made off with 200 American dollars, our new LED flashlight and a pocket camera. But actually they didn’t. Instead they took us rafting through some of the most beautiful and pristine country I’ve ever seen. The river had nice, easy, class 2 rapids and the guide did most of the work while we soaked in the scenery.
We reached the lodge a couple hours later and it was more magnificent than the photos. All the cabins and main lodge were designed to compliment the forest and had a true, simple beauty. The main lodge where we would eat our meals overlooked the rushing river. Our room, the Honeymoon Suite, was about a 10-12 minute hike straight up the mountain. When we got to the stone enclave with double wooden doors leading to our room I noticed the trail continued up and disappeared into the jungle. Knowing that there were no higher cabins, I asked our guide what that trail led to. “It goes to the indian village about an hour away,” was the reply. “The indians will cross through here to get to the river and back.”
Huh. The indians pass right by my treehouse on their way to get water…and heads to shrink and chubby Americans to boil up for soup. “What’s to keep people out of my room?” I demanded. The guide looked confused. You can’t exactly lock up an open-air treehouse. “Well, you can close these wooden doors,” he answered. Ahhhhh, how silly of me. Close the doors, of course! That way if someone wants to get in and grab you, they’d have to go to all the effort of OPENING THE DOORS. I felt so much safer.
Once inside however, it was immediately apparent that if you’re going to die, you’d want it to be in this room. I can’t imagine anything deep in the jungle being more luxurious. We ran from room to room taking it all in. Most notable was the private pool-- In a treehouse. Amazing feat of engineering. Also a private bridge, about 100 feet long that connected to a huge tree, so you could walk out for a birds-eye view of the rain forest and river. Plus a solar-heated outdoor shower, big enough to host all the indians I figured would be stopping by. A waterfall ran from up in the mountains to our cabin, through an opening in the shower, into a stone trough that passed through our sitting room then under the deck (covered by glass flooring) and into the pool. Which overflowed and allowed the water to continue on its journey back down to the river far below. The sound of that trickling water, plus the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept on, lead to wonderfully peaceful night sleeps. They don’t sell sound machines with rainforest noises for nothing. Even more drowsy was the incredible sound of rain hitting the hut roof every afternoon. Erich and I agreed that this was the only vacation we’ve ever been on when the rainy times were as enjoyable as the sunny. We would snuggle up with a good book and the pitter patter on the grass roof was like a drug. Zzzzzzzz….
When we managed to pry ourselves from the room, we did a lot of hiking. The rainforest was filled with pleasant surprises. For one thing, you would be hiking and then come upon a little waterfall and cove, just perfect for swimming. I was also amazed that the bugs, like the indians and serial-killers, kept completely to themselves. I came to Costa Rica armed with industrial-strength deep woods Off, but never used it once. Apparently there are a lot of bats in the rain forest that eat up the mosquitoes. We didn’t get a single bug bite the entire trip. Even the inch-long mega ants that are apparently quite painful if provoked went about their business and avoided us altogether.
Erich was fascinated with the tiny rainforest frogs. At one point he picked one up and was cuddling it. “Look how cute he is!” Erich proudly showed our guide.
“Yes. They are quite beautiful,” our guide agreed. “And now that you have gotten the oil from your hands on him, he will be outcast from his community and die.”
Huh. Sort of spoiled the moment. Erich tried to wipe the little guy off with his tshirt and placed him back in the bushes for his last few days on earth. He seemed really sorry about it at first, but for the rest of the trip if a frog jumped in our path Erich would threaten to touch him with an outstretched index finger while yelling, “I’m the Grim Reaper!!”
A favorite part of the trip was zip-lining over the tree canopy. They buckle you into a ha
rness and you travel through a series of cables connected through the trees. It was a spectacular sensation, flying through the forest hundreds of feet above the ground. I never wanted it to end.
I’d had a fantasy that there would be friendly little howler monkeys all over the place, wearing tiny bow-ties and bringing me trays of mango. But although I could hear the monkeys, they never came close enough to serve me fruit. Which was my only disappointment of the trip. At one point I commented to Erich at how I’d wished we would see more wildlife. It was right then that we found the snake in our room.
Now my husband is an over-exclaimer. He’ll scream “OH MY GOD!!!!” at home and I’ll come running in a panic only to find he’s located that last puzzle piece we were missing. So when he calmly said, “Hey. You gotta see this…” I was not prepared for the giant reptile slinking across the railing in my sitting room. I must say, I’ve seen snakes probably up to 15 feet in person. But without that khaki-shirted person holding them, they seem MUCH bigger. I’d like to pretend I acted really calm and cool, but in truth I was embarrassingly hysterical. After shrieking and hopping around and all that, I had Erich call down to the lodge to send up a khaki shirt to rescue us. They really didn’t seem at all surprised to hear Voldemort’s deadly sidekick was coming to kill us. “What color is it?” They asked.
“Brown and black,” Erich answered.
“Oh, it’s not poinsonous,” they responded.
“Well, it’s really big, though. About 6 feet.” Erich explained. They sighed and said someone would be up to remove it. They probably get calls from hysterical Americans about six inch garden snakes all the time.
When the guy came up he was holding a little twig. We pointed him to the snake. He turned the corner and did a comical double-take. “WHOA! That’s a big boa constrictor!” he yelled. No shit, Sherlock! Don’t you see my heart flopping around over there on the deck? He told us he would need a bigger stick. After 20 minutes of wrangling, Erich and khaki managed to get our visitor under control and haul him down the mountain. Our guide told us there was a snake reserve a few miles away where they would take her and care for her. I felt good about the experience. Then of course at dinner, the waiter was gushing about our beautiful find, telling us how much he loves snakes. “Where did they take it again?” I asked.
“Oh, we just took her back up and let her go in the jungle. It’s where she belongs,” he stated matter of factly.
“WHAT? I thought she went to a snake reserve!”
The blank look on his face told me he had no knowledge of such a place. I had obviously been given the ole “We’re taking your snake to a farm where he can run and you’ll feel safe” story. When in reality they probably just put her back on her giant nest of baby snakes to plot their revenge on humans. Seeing as the cabins have no electricity, it was a daunting task searching for vengeful reptiles in every pitch black corner with candlelight. But I certainly did it.
The next morning it was time to raft out. The guide told us that it would not be easy like coming in, that we would really have to work together this time. It felt like he was looking right at me. Now, I’ve been whitewater rafting in Austria and Colorado. But nobody would ever consider me a strong link on the rafting team chain. I’m usually the one pretending to paddle with one hand while winding my water camera with the other. But this time was class three and four rapids. Which meant they were much harder and needed more navigating. We had a safety kayaker riding alongside in case anyone flew out of the raft and was hurled against one of the sharp rocks. I prayed that in no way would it be me they had to fish out of the froth. For awhile we were doing well, I thought, winding our way expertly through the waves and rock. But then the guide explained that we would be heading for a giant hole. If we could steer all the way left we would make it fine, but if we went straight there was a large hole that we would dip into and most likely throw everyone out. He emphasized we would need more effort from the right side of the boat. I probably don’t need to tell you who was sitting on the right side. So off we went, paddling furiously, aiming for the left with all our might…and…we didn’t make it. “Everyone hold on!” the guide yelled. As promised, the boat dove nose first into a hole and bouyed out, covered by a giant wave. I willed myself to hang on as the guy in front of me was swept out. I did it! I stayed on! Eureka. It was a great feeling of accomplishment.
The end of the river marked the end of our adventure. We were incredibly sad to be leaving. At home, our room seems too quiet and it’s harder to sleep. So I’m getting one of those rainforest sounds machines. And even considering a new pet snake.
Of course I had my reservations. Staying in the rain forest conjurs up many visions: blood-guzzling mosquitoes, man-eating snakes, oppressive heat, crazed, serial-killing cannibalistic jungle natives and, of course, rain. But the pictures of the treehouse were reeeally cute…so off we went.In this case, getting there really was part of the fun. First we were driven into the mountains by two guys we didn’t know. As any normal, rational person would think, I was certain they were going to drive us into an alley, strangle us with our sunglasses safety-straps, and leave our bodies to decompose while they made off with 200 American dollars, our new LED flashlight and a pocket camera. But actually they didn’t. Instead they took us rafting through some of the most beautiful and pristine country I’ve ever seen. The river had nice, easy, class 2 rapids and the guide did most of the work while we soaked in the scenery.
We reached the lodge a couple hours later and it was more magnificent than the photos. All the cabins and main lodge were designed to compliment the forest and had a true, simple beauty. The main lodge where we would eat our meals overlooked the rushing river. Our room, the Honeymoon Suite, was about a 10-12 minute hike straight up the mountain. When we got to the stone enclave with double wooden doors leading to our room I noticed the trail continued up and disappeared into the jungle. Knowing that there were no higher cabins, I asked our guide what that trail led to. “It goes to the indian village about an hour away,” was the reply. “The indians will cross through here to get to the river and back.”
Huh. The indians pass right by my treehouse on their way to get water…and heads to shrink and chubby Americans to boil up for soup. “What’s to keep people out of my room?” I demanded. The guide looked confused. You can’t exactly lock up an open-air treehouse. “Well, you can close these wooden doors,” he answered. Ahhhhh, how silly of me. Close the doors, of course! That way if someone wants to get in and grab you, they’d have to go to all the effort of OPENING THE DOORS. I felt so much safer.
Once inside however, it was immediately apparent that if you’re going to die, you’d want it to be in this room. I can’t imagine anything deep in the jungle being more luxurious. We ran from room to room taking it all in. Most notable was the private pool-- In a treehouse. Amazing feat of engineering. Also a private bridge, about 100 feet long that connected to a huge tree, so you could walk out for a birds-eye view of the rain forest and river. Plus a solar-heated outdoor shower, big enough to host all the indians I figured would be stopping by. A waterfall ran from up in the mountains to our cabin, through an opening in the shower, into a stone trough that passed through our sitting room then under the deck (covered by glass flooring) and into the pool. Which overflowed and allowed the water to continue on its journey back down to the river far below. The sound of that trickling water, plus the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept on, lead to wonderfully peaceful night sleeps. They don’t sell sound machines with rainforest noises for nothing. Even more drowsy was the incredible sound of rain hitting the hut roof every afternoon. Erich and I agreed that this was the only vacation we’ve ever been on when the rainy times were as enjoyable as the sunny. We would snuggle up with a good book and the pitter patter on the grass roof was like a drug. Zzzzzzzz….
When we managed to pry ourselves from the room, we did a lot of hiking. The rainforest was filled with pleasant surprises. For one thing, you would be hiking and then come upon a little waterfall and cove, just perfect for swimming. I was also amazed that the bugs, like the indians and serial-killers, kept completely to themselves. I came to Costa Rica armed with industrial-strength deep woods Off, but never used it once. Apparently there are a lot of bats in the rain forest that eat up the mosquitoes. We didn’t get a single bug bite the entire trip. Even the inch-long mega ants that are apparently quite painful if provoked went about their business and avoided us altogether.
Erich was fascinated with the tiny rainforest frogs. At one point he picked one up and was cuddling it. “Look how cute he is!” Erich proudly showed our guide.
“Yes. They are quite beautiful,” our guide agreed. “And now that you have gotten the oil from your hands on him, he will be outcast from his community and die.”
Huh. Sort of spoiled the moment. Erich tried to wipe the little guy off with his tshirt and placed him back in the bushes for his last few days on earth. He seemed really sorry about it at first, but for the rest of the trip if a frog jumped in our path Erich would threaten to touch him with an outstretched index finger while yelling, “I’m the Grim Reaper!!”
A favorite part of the trip was zip-lining over the tree canopy. They buckle you into a ha
rness and you travel through a series of cables connected through the trees. It was a spectacular sensation, flying through the forest hundreds of feet above the ground. I never wanted it to end.I’d had a fantasy that there would be friendly little howler monkeys all over the place, wearing tiny bow-ties and bringing me trays of mango. But although I could hear the monkeys, they never came close enough to serve me fruit. Which was my only disappointment of the trip. At one point I commented to Erich at how I’d wished we would see more wildlife. It was right then that we found the snake in our room.
Now my husband is an over-exclaimer. He’ll scream “OH MY GOD!!!!” at home and I’ll come running in a panic only to find he’s located that last puzzle piece we were missing. So when he calmly said, “Hey. You gotta see this…” I was not prepared for the giant reptile slinking across the railing in my sitting room. I must say, I’ve seen snakes probably up to 15 feet in person. But without that khaki-shirted person holding them, they seem MUCH bigger. I’d like to pretend I acted really calm and cool, but in truth I was embarrassingly hysterical. After shrieking and hopping around and all that, I had Erich call down to the lodge to send up a khaki shirt to rescue us. They really didn’t seem at all surprised to hear Voldemort’s deadly sidekick was coming to kill us. “What color is it?” They asked.
“Brown and black,” Erich answered.
“Oh, it’s not poinsonous,” they responded.
“Well, it’s really big, though. About 6 feet.” Erich explained. They sighed and said someone would be up to remove it. They probably get calls from hysterical Americans about six inch garden snakes all the time.
When the guy came up he was holding a little twig. We pointed him to the snake. He turned the corner and did a comical double-take. “WHOA! That’s a big boa constrictor!” he yelled. No shit, Sherlock! Don’t you see my heart flopping around over there on the deck? He told us he would need a bigger stick. After 20 minutes of wrangling, Erich and khaki managed to get our visitor under control and haul him down the mountain. Our guide told us there was a snake reserve a few miles away where they would take her and care for her. I felt good about the experience. Then of course at dinner, the waiter was gushing about our beautiful find, telling us how much he loves snakes. “Where did they take it again?” I asked.“Oh, we just took her back up and let her go in the jungle. It’s where she belongs,” he stated matter of factly.
“WHAT? I thought she went to a snake reserve!”
The blank look on his face told me he had no knowledge of such a place. I had obviously been given the ole “We’re taking your snake to a farm where he can run and you’ll feel safe” story. When in reality they probably just put her back on her giant nest of baby snakes to plot their revenge on humans. Seeing as the cabins have no electricity, it was a daunting task searching for vengeful reptiles in every pitch black corner with candlelight. But I certainly did it.
The next morning it was time to raft out. The guide told us that it would not be easy like coming in, that we would really have to work together this time. It felt like he was looking right at me. Now, I’ve been whitewater rafting in Austria and Colorado. But nobody would ever consider me a strong link on the rafting team chain. I’m usually the one pretending to paddle with one hand while winding my water camera with the other. But this time was class three and four rapids. Which meant they were much harder and needed more navigating. We had a safety kayaker riding alongside in case anyone flew out of the raft and was hurled against one of the sharp rocks. I prayed that in no way would it be me they had to fish out of the froth. For awhile we were doing well, I thought, winding our way expertly through the waves and rock. But then the guide explained that we would be heading for a giant hole. If we could steer all the way left we would make it fine, but if we went straight there was a large hole that we would dip into and most likely throw everyone out. He emphasized we would need more effort from the right side of the boat. I probably don’t need to tell you who was sitting on the right side. So off we went, paddling furiously, aiming for the left with all our might…and…we didn’t make it. “Everyone hold on!” the guide yelled. As promised, the boat dove nose first into a hole and bouyed out, covered by a giant wave. I willed myself to hang on as the guy in front of me was swept out. I did it! I stayed on! Eureka. It was a great feeling of accomplishment.
The end of the river marked the end of our adventure. We were incredibly sad to be leaving. At home, our room seems too quiet and it’s harder to sleep. So I’m getting one of those rainforest sounds machines. And even considering a new pet snake.
AMAZING!!!!!!~ LOVED THE STORY AND THE VIDEO ROCKED
ReplyDeleteAs a wise philosopher once said, "HOLY CRAP!" :o)
ReplyDelete