Pura Vida

As you can imagine, the weeklong vacation in Costa Rica was nothing short of perfect. I will be selling it, and the trip experience, very short if I tried to capture it all here, but do want to express the trip in at least one post.


The country is fantastically beautiful, with every turn revealing a vista that takes your breath away. The "green" season provided us with a backdrop of lush vegetation and vibrant jungles that I'd only experienced in the movies or stock photos. The blue of the water changed hues each day, with the hour, and the sky did much the same. The rainy season equalled late afternoon/early evening thunderstorms, with rich rolling clouds and brilliant lightning displays as the sky grew darker and more intriguing. The people were charming, handsome and friendly. The language was a convenient blend of Spanish and English, with the locals making every attempt to use our language, rather than the opposite, which is almost embarrassing. The colones are one of the more interesting currencies I've seen, with colorful graphics featuring local flora, fauna and wildlife.


All in all, it was pura vida.


The unofficial motto for Costa Rica, pura vida literally translates to pure life. Figuratively, it translates to so much more. Pura vida, to the Ticos, means a way of thinking, a mindset that transcends money, possessions, stresses and the daily grind. To them, it is a way of life—to live well, enjoying each moment to the fullest, to be kind to those around you, and to learn from the lessons of each day.

I think we could all afford a little more pura vida in our lives.

To fulfill the promise of a highlight reel, I've broken it down into each day, and will elaborate where necessary (or possible), keeping in mind that on a good vacation, your mind becomes slippery and the memories get soft around the edges, with the bright spots gleaming and the details fading away.

Saturday: Travel Day
Brett and I were traveling from Chicago, so we were separate from the eleven friends who were coming in from Atlanta, and were therefore a few hours behind them. The them that stopped on the way from San Jose to the house to spot crocodiles 15 feet in length!!


The highlights of this day include: working my magic with the American agent to secure us 6-footers the bulk head/exit row for both legs of the trip; having a beer on the second flight to toast our impending arrival in Central America; spotting a girl puking AT the gate and thus being asked not to board the plane; watching an airplane mechanic board our plane, head to the back, and depart, holding nothing but duct tape (that stuff can fix anything!); and arriving at the house.



Oh, the house. Casa de Suenos, translated to mean House of Dreams, did not disappoint. And, neither did my girls. Racing to meet us at the curb, we were embraced immediately and Brett was already part of the gang. Handshakes, hugs, smiles and laughter were the general theme of this night, followed by a fantastic meal prepared by our personal chefs Denise and Rob. Side note: when meeting Denise, I spoke Spanish to her right away. Then I was told she is from Connecticut. Oops. This evening, like all others, was capped off by molten chocolate cakes and hot tub and pool time beneath the jungle trees in our own backyard. Not bad at all.


Sunday: Sneaky Tiki Day
Sunday was spent unwinding. We enjoyed the crystal blue waters of our pool, and the warmth of the sun on our Chicago shoulders. I should point out that within MINUTES of arriving, Brett already looked savagely tan. It's just not fair.


Anyway, we enjoyed riding the golf carts around the Marriott resort where our house was located, and ate some of the freshest sushi ever for lunch, topped off by MANY cocktails called Sneaky Tikis at the hotel open air bar, facing the Pacific Ocean and the pool/landscape. It was spectacular, and the drinks lived up to their names, sneaking up on us all.


The night was capped by time at the casino, where we commandeered a roulette table and were the liveliest bunch this pretty sorry looking casino had ever seen. It was clean and nice and all, but compared to Vegas, this was a hotel ballroom with a few green felt tables. That didn't stop us from losing lots of money. A huge storm had rolled in, so the sleeping was good after a rainy late night in the pool.

Monday: "Cherish" the Day
While four of the guys played the beautiful golf course on which our house was nestled, the remaining nine once again luxuriated in the pool. Some girls headed to the Marriott's big pool and even found themselves in a water aerobics class. I think they're practicing for when we all live in the old-folks-home together. A few of us joined them later, to discover that the hotel was playing Madonna's Greatest Hits on repeat. It was like being stuck in 1988 for hours on end. With a soundtrack.




Retreating three by three back to the house, we prepared for our massages at the pool. Yes, they came to us. Aaaah. The boys were treated to heavy butt massages, but the attention stopped there, thank goodness. Dinner was at the Los Suenos marina's casual spot, The Hook Up. Sunburns glistened, and the beer chilled us as we dined on fresh fish and other local yums.


Tuesday: Tsunami Day '08
Not wanting to miss out on experiencing the nearby surf town, we chartered a shuttle to take us into Jaco for the day. We shopped, buying pottery, paintings, t-shirts, figurines and other collectibles. And, then we rested for an Imperial or two. Because shopping is hard work! The town is dusty, small and poor, and apparently is lined with "ladies of the night" and other opportunistic street mongrels at night, but during the day, it was pleasant and offered us a taste of the other side of life in Central America (because something tells us most people don't live in 8,000 square foot homes with a pool and a chef). One of the spots was a perfect happy hour locale, and it didn't pass our notice that it was for sale for just $85,000. We concocted plans to buy it together, move to the area and run it on the cheap. Pura vida!


While we dined and shopped, the other half of the crew split time on the beach between surf lessons and relaxing in beach chairs on the grey volcanic sand. The mighty Pacific ruled the day, tiring out our surfers (who all managed to get up on the boards and hang ten!), and drenching our relaxers with a rogue wave that came WAY above high tide line and drenched them with salty, sticky, sandy wetness from the neck down. EVERYTHING was wet and yucky, and it was a test of the spirit of our vacationers to witness the clean-up. I was impressed by the pura vida spirit. Luckily, no cameras were ruined as that may have changed the outcome. For the rest of the trip, Tuesday was Tsunami Day.


That night, we decked out in our finest and shuttled up a mountain to a glorious Greek-inspired charming restaurant called Villa Caletas at the top, hanging over a cliff with a view of the Pacific and the rainforest below. The views were better than the food, but we once again were treated to kind servers, delicious cocktails and vistas that looked like Olan Mills portrait sweeps.



Wednesday: Tarzan Day
Waking to a nervous stomach, Brett and I both prepared for our day's challenge: the Vista los Suenos canopy zipline tour. The fear of heights and fast movement thing was really getting him, and my nerves crested upon the completion of the safety lesson 2.5 miles atop a mountain, on a platform cabled to a tree. Literally, we were in the treetops, and there was only one way down. It was a fantastic experience, and each of us grew more and more comfortable (hanging upside down, even!) as we traversed the 14 cables, including one that spanned 2,400 feet at 60 miles per hour. Woohoo! A shout out to Brett for conquering his fears!




Dinner at the house featured fresh tuna steaks and chicken on the grill, alongside more vegetables and fresh fruits than I usually eat in a month. I would be neglect if I didn't mention our favorite food item of the week: the queso crema. Yes, cream cheese. It was something special, I tell you. The chef joked that it wouldn't pass the FDA regulations (no idea why not) but it was so damn good we considered smuggling it back to the U.S. by the case. The Ticos serve it on EVERYTHING. Pancakes with cream cheese? French toast with cream cheese? Bread with cream cheese? Baked potato with cream cheese? Si, senor.


Thursday: Monkeying Around Day
The last full day of our trip, we wanted to milk it. Nine of the 13 of us shuttled with our lovely Tico guide, Oscar, as we headed to Manuel Antonio National Park. About an hour and a half south of us, we ventured through coastal towns, farming areas (shrimp, teak, palm oil, rice, coffee), sad towns (Parrita, flooded a week before), rickety bridges where the traffic had to go one-way and pray out loud, and expressways with a glorious view of the Santos Mountains in the distance. Costa Rican music was the way of the day, and Oscar treated the shotgun passenger with news, tidbits and factoids about the area and his life. His English was excellent and he had lots to share.

Arriving in Quepos, a small hillside surfing/hostel town just outside the national park, we stretched our legs at a restaurant/bar made from a bomber plane, treated ourselves to a beachside snack of chicken kabobs from a barrel grill in the sand, and bought pottery from a local artisan. Heading towards the entrance of the park, we stepped like Frogger over rocks along the beach, and marveled at the vistas on every side. Sarongs blowing in the wind provided an excellent backdrop to the pineapple being cut and served in the flatbed of a truck, while dogs frolicked at our feet.


The park was beyond words, but I'll try. You climb over rocks, under trees and through the woods to the entrance, which is nothing like Disney World. A run-down shack with a green roof and the Costa Rican flag. For $10 you can explore the jungle via a dirt path that snaked past birds, lizards, chickens, and MONKEYS! The white-faced capuchin monkeys were the star of the show, and even put on a, Ahem, porn movie live action shot for us. Get a room!


Anyway, the path opened up to the most beautiful cove of a beach possible, with the palms draping over the smooth sand. Swimming in the Pacific (for the first time!) was as great as it sounds. The time there wasn't long enough, but I'm sure a lifetime wouldn't suffice, either.



After the park, we once again feasted on grilled chicken, tomatoes, rice/beans, avocados and grilled plantains. With a beer and a bottled water for about $8. Fabulous.



We boarded Oscar's shuttle for a trip to the mangroves, along the Damas River. We'd hoped to (and had been sold on) seeing more monkeys, and interacting with them in the boat. The monkeys had other ideas, however, and didn't respond to Rafa, the father of the monkeys, and his gutteral call to them. We did spot a rainbow boa, and termites nests, herons and crabs, along with Tim Burton's version of a tree-filled forest along a murky muddy river, but that was it.


We still enjoyed our peaceful time with Rafa. And, I didn't pass out when viewing the snake photo (and knowing he was 10 feet from me). Shout out to ME for conquering my fears. Sortof.


The ride home featured more of the amazing scenic views, including my favorite, the palm oil plantations where the trees were planted in even rows for as far as the eye could see. It was like the Costa Rican version of a Christmas tree lot in Wisconsin. Fantastic. At the house, we shared our stories, drank more beer, and had our Last Supper at the marina bar and lost our final hand roulette.


Begrudgingly, we packed our bags and set the alarm for our early departure on Friday.

Friday: Longest Travel Day Ever
Friday is pretty easy to sum up. We were tired. And sweaty. And delayed. And cramped into non-bulkhead seats. And sad to go home. And confused by Miami's customs where you touch your bags again in between flights (couldn't that be dangerous?). And amazed by how rude Americans are. And tired. And delayed. And hungry. And sweaty.

Brett and I waited over an hour for our bags at O'Hare, and over an hour (after midnight) for a cab. I finally put tush to couch at 2 am and it wasn't soon enough. With 20 hours of travel under my belt, it was time to go to sleep, only to dream about the lands we'd left behind.

In Conclusion
The pura vida feeling hasn't totally gone away yet, and either has my tan. My passport has more stamps, and my Kodak photo gallery is full. I was thrilled with how the week turned out, and this was largely in part due to the fantastic friendships I have, and the wonderful men they have married. A special thanks to Mandi & John for planning the trip and inviting us all, playing the gracious friends as usual; to Jenny & Brice for soaking up the hot tub with us on a regular basis and showing us how pool Olympics are done; to Elizabeth & Walton for gambling beside us, bringing us occasional good luck and constant laughs; to Lauren & John for sharing our fears (on the zipline, LT), laughter, and for capturing the best of us on film; to Heather for being an eternally pleasant travel partner and conversationalist; to Wendy & Jason for being the greatest addition to the Posse trip we could have hoped for; and to Brett for being you.

Since I know you're wondering, as I'd built up the whole "introduce him to the friends thing" before we left, Brett was a champ and the Posse gave him flying colors and passing grades. I would have to agree—this is one guy that I am content, pleased and proud to travel with anywhere he'd like to go.

I'd go back tomorrow if any of you asked me to. Let's go and buy the bar in Jaco, okay? The fruit down there makes me do crazy and fun things.


One more time, all together now, PURA VIDA!