Monkeys Mountains Rats and shit

I once again woke up to the sound of the alarm, however this time the mechanical nag was signaling that it was time to wake up and surf. So at 6’oclock Travis and I loped the 12 minutes to the beach. When I say that I went surfing it is not as you might imagine and I am not interested in leading you astray. You probably have visions of me crouched low on a sleek board, weaving in an out of a beautiful wave. I truly would like to leave you with that image. However the truth is far less glorious. It looks more like this. A wave comes….I paddle like a mad man trying to figure out if I am in the right position so as to catch said wave and not get smashed. Then after the amazement sets in that I have sequestered enough inertia from said wave to move forward I “pop up” to stand on the board. I have yet to master “popping up” in such a fashion as to position myself in line with what physics dictates is needed to remain standing on top of an 8ft long piece of fiber glass that is moving quickly in the direction of shore at such a speed as the gravity of the moons pull dictates. However rides of 4 to 5 seconds have been known to happen before I lose balance and make an exaggerated jump off in an attempt to reclaim some dignity that I look like one uncoordinated gringo.

Despite my logistical issues with physics, sitting on a board in the ocean in the early morning with a close friend staring at the glassy ocean in front of us and an expansive palm tree lined jungle behind us is an experience that is truly amazing. Following our walk back and some skypige (Internet chatting) with the wife I set out with Travis’ next door neighbor to his farm that was southeast of Bahia. One car ride and two bus rides later we (Ronald and I) found ourselves at a bus stop in a town with two stores. An important side note here is the fact that Ronald’s English is a tad bit better then my Spanish, which is to say….not all that good. However between us we usually can communicate fairly well.

It was at this moment that Ronald informed me his farm was up on that mountain. Yes the one separated by the second largest river in Costa Rica. How do you cross the second largest river in Costa Rica? Well by hired boatman you silly bitch. That guy there….yeah….he sits on the other side of the river and waits to take people across the river for around 70 cents. So the answer to your life long question; do boatmen exist in real life other then in Greek fables is, yes. After crossing the river we began walking up the mountain. I wasn’t really sure what the full scope of that truly meant until he identified the speck on the mountain above the purples flowered trees which was his house.

Not that I could see the speck…but it was the general speckish area to which I was referring. An hour and a half later, a good three liters of sweat, the spotting of several monkeys, toucan’s butterflies and various trees of the jungle we arrived to the house in which Ronald was raised.

At the peak of it’s glory, and before the death of Ronald’s father, the house was a beautiful tribute to self reliance and tropical construction. However it has been many years since Ronald’s father’s death and so it has fallen into a state of disrepair. After the father’s death the 6 brothers who spent all their life on a completely self sustaining farm in the jungle in Costa Rica dispersed to live their lives in different locations. It is only within the last year that they have started getting involved in the land management again.

As I entered into the house I met two of his brothers, one of their wives and a father in law. The father in law was engaged in the cleaning of a delicacy here in Costa Rica which whose name I forgot along with 73 other Spanish words I learned that day, but which strongly resembled a huge cousin of a rat. Here's the picture. You make the call. However it was actually pretty good.

However before dinner the brothers took me around to show me all the various crops on their farm. It was truly amazing. As young boys they had planted a veritable food forest made up of, guava, mango, papaya, avocado, cacao (chocolate), and the most delicious lemons and limes I have ever had. In addition the brothers planted beans this season for themselves as well as for them to sell. It was truly a garden of Eden. I was amazed and excited and they were just as excited to show it all to me making every effort to communicate every tree and plant and history despite our language barrier. However matters of the heart are much easier to communicate without words and for all of this there, this was a matter of the heart.


Following dinner I took a shower. The shower consisted of a plastic pipe that carried water from the spring above the house. The shower was constructed of tin and the door was prevented from swinging open with a piece of rope. The light, a candle in the corner bouncing shadows of the tin landscape. As I was washing I heard what to my ears was an electric guitar. An electric guitar in a wood house up in the jungle, which technically was possible as they did have power, because of an arrangement with the national utility which allowed power lines across their farm and provided them with free power in the process. As I dried off and walked out of the shower the father in law was playing the electric guitar. You can check the video here.

The next day I woke up at 4Am to the smooth sounds of mariachi music blasting from the kitchen. The day had begun. We ate some breakfast and headed out to the upland fields that held the recently planted bean crop. We pulled huge bushels of beans by hand at 5:45 in the morning for about an hour and 45 minutes when Ronald asked me if I wanted to go on a hike around the perimeter of the farm. We headed out for what turned out to be a 2 hour trek through the jungle and up to the very top of the mountain. Once again we saw a huge variety of wildlife and plants. I offered up a good 7 liters of sweat to the gods while Ronald seemed to give up only a few ounces.

Upon returning we had lunch and gathered ourselves for a trek back down the mountain. His two brothers were waiting outside with their small horse and a very homemade looking saddle on it. They asked me if I would ride it down. Now here is the thing, culturally it would be offensive for me to say no. However I felt strange riding while we all walked down the mountain, not to mention the fact that we were going down a mountain....a steep mountain, and riding a horse I didn't know. However they all assured me she was muy tranquila....so I hopped upon that pony and rode her down the hill. I didn't carry that gun the whole way, but I felt it was necessary for the picture. (The guys carry rifles everywhere in case they see dinner)

So we get to the bottom of the mountain. I asked them to ride a while too so as to not feel to much like a privileged gringo, and I get another surprise. The boatman wasn't working so we were going to take a gondola across the river. You can check this video out to see what i am talking about. 40 feet above the river and I'm thinking no regular inspection. Ronald tells me he takes his entire family over in this regularly and trusts it. So I hop in and we go. Only to get to the other side just in time to run up the side of another huge tree covered hill to the road to catch a bus back home. Twenty ant bites later I was back home at Travis' and with one of the more unique adventures and set of stories in my life behind me.

The beach is calling me now and I hope to write again soon. It's hard to covey all the content and experience, but I'm trying the best my attention span will let me. Miss you all.

Cheers