Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 4, Part 2- Creepy Crawlers

My chocolate high wore off when our tour guide started talking about our over-night stay in Sarapiqui. Standing at the front of the bus with a microphone in his hand, he told us we were going to be sleeping in tents in the middle of the jungle-looking forest. There were no locks, so our personal belongings had to be left in the safes inside the bathrooms which we would have keys for. He recommended we ask for flashlights at the front desk and walk in pairs at all times.

I was scared. Jackie was scared. Especially after rumor had it that venomous snakes called Sarapiqui home. It was raining. We were tired. And we were hungry. But there was no point on worrying until we arrived. Because it was then that the real struggle began. Jackie and I had to balance our over-loaded suitcases and carry-ons up a narrow gravel walkway with turns and bends in the rain. Maintenance workers helped a few of the girls with their belongings but they never caught up or saw us in the darkness to give us a hand. After hiking up the luggage a very steep step onto the porch of our sleeping quarters, we were home. Our hearts raced as our wet clothes clung on to our shaky bodies. But we still took the time to stop and take it all in.

View of our tent through the screen.

Under the tap-tap-tap of the rain, we unzipped the entrance just enough to allow our bodies in. We were aware that our flashlights attracted mosquitoes and didn't want to risk allowing more through than those probably clinging to us already. I claimed the full-sized bed on the left by placing my bag on it while Jackie let her stuff drop to the floor in front of the one on the right. There was a tall fan in the corner and and camping lantern atop the nightstand between the beds. A hallway led to the bathroom where the inescapable bugs crawled and flew near and around the light fixture, toilet, and sink. We spotted the safe, placed our valuables inside, and locked the door to keep the bugs concentrated in that area of the tent. Neither one of us considered showering at the time. It was pointless to bathe when we'd be drenched in an hour's time again when we headed down for dinner. So we cleaned up a bit instead, soaking up the shine off our faces with oil blotter sheets, and sprayed the bejesus out of the bug spray onto our limbs. It was then that we were ready to relax, as much as anyone could in the middle of a black rainy forest. 

Jackie grabbed our cans of Rock Limon and suggested we kick back on the porch. But that only lasted a few minutes. We could not let loose while watching our backs. There were roaches on the plastic covering of our tent, giant spiders on the rail, and things buzzing in circles around the light on the ceiling. Continuously slapping creepy crawlers off our legs made us forget that sitting on the rustic chairs was supposed to be fun.

All pretend.

Didn't do a thing to help us relax! 

Laughing out of fear.

Another phony shot.

NOT phony.

The lit view down below.

We tried finishing our beers before heading to dinner but my nerdy self told Jackie to seize the light rain before the next downpour. So with our cans in tow, I led the way, fulfilling my role as the older sister, sweeping the flashlight left and right, scanning the vicinity for deadly snakes. When we arrived to the covered area, our group was already sitting. We found seats, left the flashlights as place holders on the table, and stood in the buffet line. The tour guide said we'd be having BBQ that night and I had pictured a relaxing summer evening in a green park with someone standing by a grill making kebabs. But the beef had already been cooked and rested nicely in a steel rectangular serving dish with a heating candle underneath. 

Jackie and I were about to settle into our chairs when we spotted a cat. Being cat ladies, we went nuts playing and petting him as we ate. It was suggested we didn't touch or feed him during our meal but our actions were innate. I don't think Jackie had even recalled owning a feline during the trip until coming across the orange tabby, thus reminding her of Tuxy. But that's as deep as her feelings went. Other than missing sharing a pillow with her furry friend or having Tuxy request food by caressing Jackie's cheek with her paw, the desire to be home stopped there. It was the same for me. You see, Jackie and I were born without the homesick gene. The obligation, rather than the desire, to visit my family was the main reason I went as often as I did. A variant of such angst, though, does emerge here and there when I'm stressed or over-worked and that's how I know I'm not completely heartless. 

Here Kitty, Kitty.

The evening came to a close in the lounge. Everyone shared the alcohol they bought earlier at the supermarket as we listened to 90's hits on the music television station. Our guide interrupted by relating a complaint from other visitors that we were too loud. So we turned down the TV but our laughter could not be contained. We hung out until around midnight and then we dispersed to our insect infested tents. I spotted a little green frog at the foot of a tree in front of our encampment and we went crazy taking pictures of the bravest amphibian on the property. Jackie hit the sack as soon as we stepped inside and I started a staring competition with a daddy long legs in the shower. Then I turned the bed down and doused it with bug spray, along with my body, before slipping into my arachnid sleeping bag. 

The calm before the storm.

There once was a green little frog, frog, frog...

Costa Rica Unplugged: Day 4, Part 1-- Sweet Jesus

My Costa Rican guide was tagged in a picture last week on Facebook. He was on a raft with another tour group. Nostalgia swept over me like it hadn't in weeks. I missed the greenery, the lack of responsibility, the outdoors, and the pre-planned activities. Here I am now, working Monday-Friday, driving on freeways under construction with dried vegetation all around. I even caught myself clicking on the "View Details" tab of a Living Social deal for an eight day trip to the Central American country over the weekend. That's how much I miss it. Even the rain. I know the novelty of it would wear off if I lived there so I have to satisfy my urge to be free again with the help of the memories I captured.

By the fourth day in Costa Rica, my troupe and I were professional explorers. We rode out of Tortuguero calling out animals so our water taxi could identify them for us. He surprised us, though, when he pulled over to show us something none of us would have ever spotted; it was a treat the locals saved for us tourists.

Bats! The taxi knew exactly where these creatures lived, under the beams of a patio belonging to another lodge. 

A colorful toucan wishing us farewell. 

Our original driver was waiting for us on land after the hour boat ride. After hauling the luggage back to the shuttle and paying the dollar to use the restroom again, we were on our way to Sarapiqui. Although only 35 miles away, it took all afternoon to arrive to our much anticipated fully-equipped tent in the middle of the forest. First, we retraced the unpaved road with the free Costa Rican massage. Then we stopped at a supermarket where Jackie and I discovered what might come close to my mother's beer-salt-and-lime combination in a can called Rock Limon. As soon as we got back, Jackie checked to see if we could find it locally but it cannot be shipped internationally. I also bought a tee shirt for four dollars because our guide recommended sleeves for our white water rafting trip the following day to prevent chafing.

A chocolate demonstration was last on the list of things to do before we arrived in Sarapiqui. The on-again pouring rain delayed the presentation a bit when we got there. We sought refuge in the reception area as the water dripped off our rain gear, soaked through our jeans, or ran down our legs. But the storm settled long enough for the chocolate guide to lead us to another covered area where we were going to get schooled.

I was familiar with the cacao plant thanks to one of Anthony Bourdain's television shows. But watching the process of a seed being converted into chocolate right before my eyes fascinated me. I felt like I was let into an ancient secret, a secret only to be discovered deep in a Costa Rican forest, a secret only a tiny percentage of people in the world would ever know. Except for the distracting mosquitoes, I was completely enthralled. There's a high possibility I might not have blinked during the entire demonstration.

Cacao tree.

The cacao fruit.

The seeds.

Seed up close. Guide told us to suck on the pulp. The taste of chocolate was very vague.

The entire process in a nutshell.

The fermentation process, from day 1 to day 7.

A roasted seed. You could taste the chocolate already.

The assistant grinding the roasted seeds.

The presenter grinding the seeds even further.

The final product. 

Now, a taste of a spoonful of sweetness!

The guide told us that hot chocolate was the king's drink and if the servants spilled any of it during this mixing process, they would be beheaded. 

It's not hot chocolate if there's no foam. 

My sample. 

Cheers!

These were the rules for tasting the melted chocolate: close your eyes, smell, taste.

The end.

The storm made it appear later than what it was. But I was too exhilarated to worry about more rain. I boarded the bus with an unequivocal satisfaction. Having been a part of the chocolate presentation made me feel like I had been baptized into the Costa Rican culture. I felt tied to their traditions now, like I belonged to them, and no one would ever take that away from me.