Make sure you've read the first instalment of my blog (Days 1-5) further below before reading this!
Day 6 - Thursday, September 4th, 2008 - Bocas Del Toro / Guabito / Sixaola / Puerto Viejo
There was a massive temptation to stick around the Bocas for a day or two more as it was such a cool place, but in the interest of getting to the target destination of Cancun on time without going through anywhere too quickly, it was time to move onto Costa Rica. I packed up, thanked Dennis for his hospitality and made the arduous 5 minute journey to the jetty, where a speedboat to the border was leaving in 30 minutes, at 11am. I bought my ticket for $7 (€5) and headed to a nearby caff to grab a spot of breakfast.
Heading back to the pier, a capacity cargo of 40 passengers piled into the speedboat, which was mercifully canopied as the sun was strong as ever. Before the off, the driver told a corpulent American girl to move to the other side of the boat in order to balance it, causing inward evil mirth amongst her fellow passengers and mortification for the Beast herself. The hour-long journey was most pleasant, as it went through a series of lagoons that ran parallel to the sea. In many places the water was entirely covered by plants, causing the engine to intermittently consider cutting out. The Beast feigned illness from practically the outset of the journey, and she was consoled by weary members of her travelling party, who seemed to have seen it all before.
Upon landing, we were all set upon by begging locals, so I quickly headed to a gaggle of mini-bus drivers who were waiting to drive us the 10 miles or so to the border for $5 each. The journey, on horrendously pot-holed roads/tracks, went through banana plantations on either side - and indeed, the area truly seemed to be a Banana Republic or, if you will, a kip. The kippishness augmented when we reached the border town of Guabito so I sprinted up steps to the bridge which had Costa Rica on its other side. Firstly, Panamaniacal Passport Control needed to be negotiated, although the queue was mercifully short.
The next step in the procedure was to walk over the 200-metre long rickety bridge which had clearly seen better days. Next up was Costa Rican Passport Control, which took a while as I needed to rummage in my rucksack for the aeroplane ticket home that they demanded to see. The heat was absolutely sweltering at this stage, so everything took that little bit longer.
Predictably, upon clearing passport control, there was a welcoming party of Costa Rican shysters upon hand ready to offer rip-off transport services. Their generous offer of a $90 taxi to Puerto Limon was gruffly rebuked, although I wasn't sure what the alternative was. I walked the 50 metres onward to the even-kippier border town of Sixaola and thought to myself, "I have to get out of here quickly!" This sentiment was strengthened as an old fat prostitute emerged from a dilapidated hostelry and began literally hissing at me as I consulted my Lonely Planet, desperate for an escape route. Luckily a couple of local youths pointed at what looked like a dead-end alley but was actually a street, leading to the bus station. The bus to Limon - a functional but filthy vehicle - was about to leave so I hopped aboard and paid the $5 fare.
Dennis had forewarned that Costa Rican busses stopped at every hole in the road, but it still didn't prepare me for the extent to which it did exactly that. Bus stops simply don't exist, allowing locals to emerge from their house, stick out their hand, and hop aboard at 50 metre intervals. This is truly a marvellous service if you're a local, but if you are travelling the 150 miles to Limon, it quickly turns into the journey from hell. To add to the fun, the entire bus entourage and its contents were ordered off the bus at a police checkpoint after about 20 miles, to have our passports/ID cards and luggage examined.
When the road deteriorated into a bumpy gravel path, I decided that enough was enough and got off the bus at the seaside town of Puerto Viejo, resolving to continue my arduous journey to TurtleVille (Tortuguero) tomorrow.
I walked the short distance to Hotel Pura Vida which was recommended in the Lonely Planet. There were no single rooms left but there was one double room left for $30 (only $5 more) so I instantly went for that. The Chilean co-owner seemed able to read the blog of my day thusfar from my face and gave me one of the most delicious glasses of iced-water of all time, bless 'im. While the place was nice, I had been spoiled by Casa Amarillo and it wasn't a patch on it, with no air-con, wi-fi, TV or fridge, a curious shower which had a cobble-stoned base (high novelty value but none too comfortable on the Shank's Mares) and a Greek-style toilet where one needed to dispense one's faeces-smeared bog-roll in a nearby bin, rather than the lavatory itself, for fear of blocking the pipes. The room was bright and spacious though, and the bed was big and comfortable, and that was all I needed.
I headed the short distance into town, and whilst briefly surfing the net (as the $4 per hour charge was rather saucy), I discovered that Costa Rica is one hour behind Panama rather than ahead, so it was 3.30pm instead of 5.30pm! I walked around the town but wasn't enamoured with it - it had a seedy feel to it and the nearby beach again couldn't match the pristine sands of Bocas del Toro, so I wouldn't be extending my stay here.
I dined in a colonial-style restaurant overlooking the sea and had really good tomato soup, a just about passable Creole leg of chicken with rice 'n beans (a Caribbean staple), washed down with water and a decent Imperial beer. Then it was back to the "hotel" and I do believe that I was sound asleep by 7pm - a personal world record, perhaps!
Day 7 - Friday, September 5th, 2008 - Puerto Viejo-Limon-Moin-Tortuguero
Wake-up time was 6.30am, as the kindly German co-owner had advised that I would need to be on the 7am bus to Limon in order to make the boat for Tortuguero. Having had 11 hours' sleep, I was fully steeled up if needed be for the most nightmarish day of travel, and when in that frame of mind, everything becomes more pleasant. Knowing in advance that the bus would stop every 50 metres but would get to Limon in 2 hours, all became groovy with the world again. The sun was shining, the roadside scenery was great, the people-watching had an endless cast (thanks to the 50 metre rule) and the iPod choons were great. One recent discovery that has been receiving much airplay is "Meet Glen Campbell" - an album of covers of contemporary choons such as Travis' "Sing", U2's "All I Want Is You" and Green Day's "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" by the legendary 72-year-old Country 'n Western crooner. Hugely recommended!
Arriving in Limon, gougers were once again on hand to meet the gringos with kindly offers of transport to Moin, from where the 5-hour boat-ride to Tortuguero departed. $7 (€5) for a 6 mile taxi ride was in all probabilty far too much, but my sunny disposition had curtailed my ability to negotiate in a cut-throat stylie. And splendidly, the driver was of West-Indian ancestry and had great English, which made a pleasant change from the almost-constant pidgin Spanish that I have needed to utter. He marvelled at my itinerary and remarked that it was funny that I came from 10,000 miles away and was visiting all these places, whereas he lived nearby to them all, and probably would never visit them in his lifetime!
Limon is a major port in Costa Rica, and on the drive to Moin, you could see all the giant bunches of bananas being lined up for mass-shipment. Upon arrival at the canal, the taxi-driver introduced me to the "captain" of the boat that would take me to Tortuguero. The initial fare of $50 was slashed to $30 (what the Lonely Planet said it should be) after a little bargaining. After half an hour or so, we were on our way. There were 10 passengers in all, so there was plenty of room as the capacity was for about 20.
Within minutes we were in deep jungle, gliding smoothly up the canal at a leisurely pace. The captain stopped at virtually any sign of wildlife, so we got to see iguanas, caymans, sleeping bats, crocodiles, giant herons and pink flamingo-like birds. The journey was sensational - time had clearly forgotten this place, with no human habitation in sight for miles upon end. The boat generated a cooling breeze, and there was good shade from the blazing sun, so conditions were as comfortable as possible.
So after 4 hours, with a brief stop halfway-through, we reached Tortuguero - a beachside resort unreachable by road (because there were none), famous for being the site of the most important turtle-nesting beaches in the world. Upon landing, I walked the 400 metres or so to the recommended Miss Junies but upon inspection of the shabby $35 room that was available, decided to try my luck elsewhere. A wandering tour guide helped me find Miss Miriam's where a basic but clean room, offering views of the beach and sea, cost a reasonable $20. In gratitude, and to get rid of the pest, I booked a $15 turtle tour with his "travel firm" for that evening.
After settling in, I wandered down to the Buddha Bar for a very tasty pizza, a beer and some wireless surfing, at which stage the heavens opened to produce a thunder and lightning downpour spectacular. During a slight break in the proceedings, I dashed back to my Miss Miriam room. The weather deteriorated even further, so when the pestulent guide came a-calling, I told him that I would be deferring my tour patronage until the following night. There was nothing to do but relax and sleep, which I did with much gusto.
Day 8 - Saturday, September 6th, 2008 - Tortuguero
Having gone to sleep about 9pm, I was up with the lark at about 8am and was pleased to see that blue skies and sunshine were the new order of the day. I breakfasted in a local cafeteria called a "soda", and the omelette rice and beans were very good indeed. The soda had about 6 other customers - all locals, and all tucking into the local brew with early-morning relish.
A lazy enough day was then spent. Mr. Pestilence naturally appeared, and I confirmed that I would indeed be going to the 8pm turtle-tour. I decided that once the turtle-tour was over, there was not much else to do here, so I booked a flight online from the local airport (airstrip) to the Costa Rican capital San Jose for the following morning, for $70. Luckily enough, I checked the e-mail confirmation that I received aftr the booking, which revealed that Tortuguero airport was closed for repairs, and that the flight would be leaving from Barra De Colorado (40km up-river) instead! I headed down to the pierside and negotiated with a boat taxi-man that he would pick me up at 5.20am the following morning for the 90 minute trip to the airport.
Mr. Pestilence (who I met on the way, naturally) said that the trip would cost $200, so when a price of $50 was offered by the boatman, I snapped his hand off, as the alternative would be to miss the flight, head back down to Moin on a 5-hour boat ride and take a 10 hour bus ride to San Jose. Delighted with the outcome, I headed to the beach for an afternoon promenade and was soon startled by tiny turtles (less than the size of my hand) passing by my feet, heading from their nest at the back of the beach, into the sea, where they would embark on about 40 years of swimming. It was an amazing piece of luck - all-in-all there were about 70 turtles, and me and the 6 others present acted as security guards, guiding their path into the sea, as about 80% of them normally get eaten by vultures or hawks on their way in.
Soon it was time to head to the turtle-tour, and despite clear meet-up instructions, Mr. Pestilence insisted on collecting me from Miss Miriam's to walk the 70 metres to the meet-up point with Alex the tour guide and my 9 fellow tour group members. The tour began with a half-mile walk to the turtle sanctuary HQ. Along a 3-mile stretch, volunteers were scouring the beach with infra-red torches (turtles are distracted by ordinary torchlight) to see if any turtles were coming ashore. During the walk there, I casually told Alex that I had seen baby turtles on the beach a couple of hours earlier. During his excellent explanatory turtle-talk when we reached the sanctuary, he let the rest of the group know about my experience. After the talk ended, and whilst we waited for news of turtle sightings, I was approached in turn by each of the group's mini-contingents - 1 Dutch, 1 German and 1 Spanish - and was cross-examined throughly. Where had I seen them? At what time? How many were there? Thinly veiled beneath plastic smiles was absolute fury that they, who had all scoured the beach thoroughly that day for such a sighting, had been unsuccessful, whilst I had stumbled across them without any pre-meditated idea that it might happen! I must confess to a wicked sense of amusement at that point.
Turtles are fascinating creatures - they hatch out in bunches of 100 or so, 80 get eaten on their crawl into the sea, and 19 more get eaten by sharks within a few hours of swimming. The lucky survivor swims around the Caribbean for 40 years and, if female, then goes looking for a mate for some quick no-strings-attached nookie. The female then uses the magnetic field to head back to the exact spot where she was born. She digs a hole at the back of the beach, cowers over it, and drops 150 ping-pong ball sized eggs into it before covering it all up and heading back into the sea. She will head back exhausted into the sea, and if not attacked and eaten by a jaguar, will come back again every couple of weeks, laying 20 less eggs every time until the process is complete. Then it's back for a few years of swimming before the nookie and gestation process begins again.
Tortuguero is vitally important because so many turtles breed there, largely safe from the threat of vultures, jaguars and poachers (who steal eggs for sale mainly to the Chinese market, who believe that they give great strength to the consumer).
So after a 30 minute wait, word came through on the walkie-talkie that a turtle had landed 3 kilometres north of where we were, so we all took a $5 taxi on the parallel canal behind the beach to reach the nesting area. When we got there, the turtle had dug its nest and was just beginning to deposit its eggs. Because it is in a trance at this stage and oblivious to anything around it, we were able to gather around it as it lays its eggs. It was an amazing experience - the turtle was about 4 feet long and was a giant of a creature, and there it was grunting and puffing in the midst of childbirth. We were there as it began to move its giant flippers and cover up the nest, packing it firmly with sand to aid the incubation process. (the hotter the sand, the more females that are hatched - interesting!) After 30 minutes, it trudged wearily into the sea and we watched the return from a short distance. Apparently, jaguars lurch in the jungle behind the beach, but know not to pounce when humans are around.
It was an incredible night's viewing. We made it back to the village at about 11pm and I headed back to Miss Miriam's for a few hours sleep before an early start tomorrow.
Day 9 - Sunday, September 7th, 2008 - Tortuguero - Barra De Colorado - San Jose - Granada
After some fitful sleep (which always happens when there's an early start involved), I was awoken at 5.10am by the alarm clock (my mobile phone, which has served no other purpose in the trip thusfar, as the crappy 3 network has no roaming agreements in Panama or Costa Rica). I headed down to the pierside to wait for the boat-taxi, due to pick me up at 5.20am. There were a few souls around, waiting to be collected for various jungle boat trips, and about a dozen wild dogs who were busy fighting each other.
Alarm escalated when 5.20am and 5.30am passed by without sight of the taxi-man, but along he came at 5.40am which apparently was the time he was due to come. (In his pidgin English, 5.20 had replaced twenty-to-six.) The boat trip was an amazing experience - just me and the boat man, gliding up through deserted river and canal-way, which stretched to 1 mile wide in places, and 20 metres wide in others. We happened across the odd boatful of locals, but largely the trip was made with no other human life in sight.
At 7am we arrived at Barra De Colorado "airport" which was just a strip of runway and nothing else. I got off the boat, walked 100 metres to the top of the airstrip and waited alongside 3 other passengers in the bright sunshine. Ten minutes later, a plane arrived and 20 corpulent Americans disembarked. They seemed to be here for a spot of deep-sea fishing - the locality consisted of 2 lodges which seemed to specialise in hunting and fishing trips. One of the three crew members got out and said "McEvoy?", and when I confirmed agreement, he took my rucksack (it's Trevor's actually - cheers Trev!) and invited me aboard - this was the most magnificent airport security check ever! Incredibly, only 1 of the 3 other people waiting along the runway was destined for this flight, so there were 3 crew members and 2 passengers!
The safety demonstration before take-off was equally magnificent - "Read the leaflet in front of you, fasten your seatbelt, this flight will take an hour," and off we went. Soon we were treated to superb views of the sea, rivers and jungle below. All too soon, the flight came to an end at San Jose's secondary airport, which wasn't too much more sophisticated than Barra De Colorado's. A shyster taximan was waiting to take me to the bus station to catch a bus to Granada in Nicaragua. He tried to charge me $22 for a $4 ride but my tolerance for shysterism had long since dissipated, so I gave him $5 and told him as I got out that he should be very ashamed of himself.
There was a chicken bus leaving for Managua (the capital of Nicaragua, an hour from Granada) in an hour, but a quicker, slightly more expensive ejecutivo (executive) bus that stopped at Granada was leaving in 3 hours, at 12 noon. Upon enquiry, it transpired that executive buses offered a meal, soft drinks and comfy seats, as well as being speedier, so I opted to continue pursuit of the executive lifestyle.
With time to kill, I braved a walk around the city, as the bus station was a shocking drab barn altogether. The city wasn't a whole lot better but I did manage to find the city centre shopping mall area, where I had a breakfast of some fresh pastries and orange juice, and then I found an internet cafe which offered cheap and cheerful surfing, at 500 colons (US0.90 €0.65) per hour.
Boarding had commenced by the time I got back to the station so I hopped aboard. The seats were indeed big, comfortable and reclinable. The bus had 3 TVs throughout the bus, allowing us to view quality movies such as Jumper (featuring Jamie Bell with a ridiculous Irish accent) and Inside Man (an enjoyable bank-heist romp which luckily I had seen before, as it was dubbed in Spanish). After a couple of hours we briefly stopped at a roadside cafe, allowing the bus hostess to pick up our lovingly-polystyrene-packaged dinners for serving to our seats. Dinner was a very tasty chicken stir fry with rice, and some mushy black beans which I skillfully avoided.
At the border crossing, the shysters were out in force, clutching giant wads of banknotes, ready for exchange at initially ludicrous rates. I only had about $60 worth of Colons to exchange and naturally the shyster that I selected attempted to offer me $25 worth of Nicaraguan cordobas. I let him know that I knew the exchange rate, and miraculously the offer was more than doubled - funny that. The bus hostess had gathered all of passports before the crossing, and now whisked them off to appropriate officials at both the Costa Rican and Nicaraguan passport control stations who gave them fast-track status, presumably in return for a couple of bankotes crossing their palms.
So, we were on our way again and were soon enjoying the sights of the Nicaraguan countryside. Our route hugged Lake Nicaragua - the largest lake in Central America - which houses the island of Ometepe which was formed by two volcanoes, resulting in very pleasant viewing indeed for several miles. It also became quickly apparent that the roadside serves as a major social meeting point for Nicaraguans, with groups gathered, literally at the edge of the road, chattering away.
We arrived in Granada at about 8pm and I grabbed a taxi to the place on the lakeside that I had booked - Hotel El Maltese, which is indeed owner by a Malteser (the nationality, not the chocolate). Refreshingly, all cab rides within Granada have a standard charge of 10 Cordobas (US$0.50, €0.35). I checked into my room - a modest affair with air-con, hot-and-cold shower, useless 1-channel TV but with free wi-fi, and a snip at $20 (€14) per night. I went for a walk along the lakeside and the locals were out in partying force, having car-picnics and packing out what seemed to be lakeside nightclubs. Public lighting was at a minimum so in the interest of safety I decided to retreat back to the hotel.
Day 6 - Thursday, September 4th, 2008 - Bocas Del Toro / Guabito / Sixaola / Puerto Viejo
There was a massive temptation to stick around the Bocas for a day or two more as it was such a cool place, but in the interest of getting to the target destination of Cancun on time without going through anywhere too quickly, it was time to move onto Costa Rica. I packed up, thanked Dennis for his hospitality and made the arduous 5 minute journey to the jetty, where a speedboat to the border was leaving in 30 minutes, at 11am. I bought my ticket for $7 (€5) and headed to a nearby caff to grab a spot of breakfast.
Heading back to the pier, a capacity cargo of 40 passengers piled into the speedboat, which was mercifully canopied as the sun was strong as ever. Before the off, the driver told a corpulent American girl to move to the other side of the boat in order to balance it, causing inward evil mirth amongst her fellow passengers and mortification for the Beast herself. The hour-long journey was most pleasant, as it went through a series of lagoons that ran parallel to the sea. In many places the water was entirely covered by plants, causing the engine to intermittently consider cutting out. The Beast feigned illness from practically the outset of the journey, and she was consoled by weary members of her travelling party, who seemed to have seen it all before.
Upon landing, we were all set upon by begging locals, so I quickly headed to a gaggle of mini-bus drivers who were waiting to drive us the 10 miles or so to the border for $5 each. The journey, on horrendously pot-holed roads/tracks, went through banana plantations on either side - and indeed, the area truly seemed to be a Banana Republic or, if you will, a kip. The kippishness augmented when we reached the border town of Guabito so I sprinted up steps to the bridge which had Costa Rica on its other side. Firstly, Panamaniacal Passport Control needed to be negotiated, although the queue was mercifully short.
The next step in the procedure was to walk over the 200-metre long rickety bridge which had clearly seen better days. Next up was Costa Rican Passport Control, which took a while as I needed to rummage in my rucksack for the aeroplane ticket home that they demanded to see. The heat was absolutely sweltering at this stage, so everything took that little bit longer.
Predictably, upon clearing passport control, there was a welcoming party of Costa Rican shysters upon hand ready to offer rip-off transport services. Their generous offer of a $90 taxi to Puerto Limon was gruffly rebuked, although I wasn't sure what the alternative was. I walked the 50 metres onward to the even-kippier border town of Sixaola and thought to myself, "I have to get out of here quickly!" This sentiment was strengthened as an old fat prostitute emerged from a dilapidated hostelry and began literally hissing at me as I consulted my Lonely Planet, desperate for an escape route. Luckily a couple of local youths pointed at what looked like a dead-end alley but was actually a street, leading to the bus station. The bus to Limon - a functional but filthy vehicle - was about to leave so I hopped aboard and paid the $5 fare.
Dennis had forewarned that Costa Rican busses stopped at every hole in the road, but it still didn't prepare me for the extent to which it did exactly that. Bus stops simply don't exist, allowing locals to emerge from their house, stick out their hand, and hop aboard at 50 metre intervals. This is truly a marvellous service if you're a local, but if you are travelling the 150 miles to Limon, it quickly turns into the journey from hell. To add to the fun, the entire bus entourage and its contents were ordered off the bus at a police checkpoint after about 20 miles, to have our passports/ID cards and luggage examined.
When the road deteriorated into a bumpy gravel path, I decided that enough was enough and got off the bus at the seaside town of Puerto Viejo, resolving to continue my arduous journey to TurtleVille (Tortuguero) tomorrow.
I walked the short distance to Hotel Pura Vida which was recommended in the Lonely Planet. There were no single rooms left but there was one double room left for $30 (only $5 more) so I instantly went for that. The Chilean co-owner seemed able to read the blog of my day thusfar from my face and gave me one of the most delicious glasses of iced-water of all time, bless 'im. While the place was nice, I had been spoiled by Casa Amarillo and it wasn't a patch on it, with no air-con, wi-fi, TV or fridge, a curious shower which had a cobble-stoned base (high novelty value but none too comfortable on the Shank's Mares) and a Greek-style toilet where one needed to dispense one's faeces-smeared bog-roll in a nearby bin, rather than the lavatory itself, for fear of blocking the pipes. The room was bright and spacious though, and the bed was big and comfortable, and that was all I needed.
I headed the short distance into town, and whilst briefly surfing the net (as the $4 per hour charge was rather saucy), I discovered that Costa Rica is one hour behind Panama rather than ahead, so it was 3.30pm instead of 5.30pm! I walked around the town but wasn't enamoured with it - it had a seedy feel to it and the nearby beach again couldn't match the pristine sands of Bocas del Toro, so I wouldn't be extending my stay here.
I dined in a colonial-style restaurant overlooking the sea and had really good tomato soup, a just about passable Creole leg of chicken with rice 'n beans (a Caribbean staple), washed down with water and a decent Imperial beer. Then it was back to the "hotel" and I do believe that I was sound asleep by 7pm - a personal world record, perhaps!
Day 7 - Friday, September 5th, 2008 - Puerto Viejo-Limon-Moin-Tortuguero
Wake-up time was 6.30am, as the kindly German co-owner had advised that I would need to be on the 7am bus to Limon in order to make the boat for Tortuguero. Having had 11 hours' sleep, I was fully steeled up if needed be for the most nightmarish day of travel, and when in that frame of mind, everything becomes more pleasant. Knowing in advance that the bus would stop every 50 metres but would get to Limon in 2 hours, all became groovy with the world again. The sun was shining, the roadside scenery was great, the people-watching had an endless cast (thanks to the 50 metre rule) and the iPod choons were great. One recent discovery that has been receiving much airplay is "Meet Glen Campbell" - an album of covers of contemporary choons such as Travis' "Sing", U2's "All I Want Is You" and Green Day's "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" by the legendary 72-year-old Country 'n Western crooner. Hugely recommended!
Arriving in Limon, gougers were once again on hand to meet the gringos with kindly offers of transport to Moin, from where the 5-hour boat-ride to Tortuguero departed. $7 (€5) for a 6 mile taxi ride was in all probabilty far too much, but my sunny disposition had curtailed my ability to negotiate in a cut-throat stylie. And splendidly, the driver was of West-Indian ancestry and had great English, which made a pleasant change from the almost-constant pidgin Spanish that I have needed to utter. He marvelled at my itinerary and remarked that it was funny that I came from 10,000 miles away and was visiting all these places, whereas he lived nearby to them all, and probably would never visit them in his lifetime!
Limon is a major port in Costa Rica, and on the drive to Moin, you could see all the giant bunches of bananas being lined up for mass-shipment. Upon arrival at the canal, the taxi-driver introduced me to the "captain" of the boat that would take me to Tortuguero. The initial fare of $50 was slashed to $30 (what the Lonely Planet said it should be) after a little bargaining. After half an hour or so, we were on our way. There were 10 passengers in all, so there was plenty of room as the capacity was for about 20.
Within minutes we were in deep jungle, gliding smoothly up the canal at a leisurely pace. The captain stopped at virtually any sign of wildlife, so we got to see iguanas, caymans, sleeping bats, crocodiles, giant herons and pink flamingo-like birds. The journey was sensational - time had clearly forgotten this place, with no human habitation in sight for miles upon end. The boat generated a cooling breeze, and there was good shade from the blazing sun, so conditions were as comfortable as possible.
So after 4 hours, with a brief stop halfway-through, we reached Tortuguero - a beachside resort unreachable by road (because there were none), famous for being the site of the most important turtle-nesting beaches in the world. Upon landing, I walked the 400 metres or so to the recommended Miss Junies but upon inspection of the shabby $35 room that was available, decided to try my luck elsewhere. A wandering tour guide helped me find Miss Miriam's where a basic but clean room, offering views of the beach and sea, cost a reasonable $20. In gratitude, and to get rid of the pest, I booked a $15 turtle tour with his "travel firm" for that evening.
After settling in, I wandered down to the Buddha Bar for a very tasty pizza, a beer and some wireless surfing, at which stage the heavens opened to produce a thunder and lightning downpour spectacular. During a slight break in the proceedings, I dashed back to my Miss Miriam room. The weather deteriorated even further, so when the pestulent guide came a-calling, I told him that I would be deferring my tour patronage until the following night. There was nothing to do but relax and sleep, which I did with much gusto.
Day 8 - Saturday, September 6th, 2008 - Tortuguero
Having gone to sleep about 9pm, I was up with the lark at about 8am and was pleased to see that blue skies and sunshine were the new order of the day. I breakfasted in a local cafeteria called a "soda", and the omelette rice and beans were very good indeed. The soda had about 6 other customers - all locals, and all tucking into the local brew with early-morning relish.
A lazy enough day was then spent. Mr. Pestilence naturally appeared, and I confirmed that I would indeed be going to the 8pm turtle-tour. I decided that once the turtle-tour was over, there was not much else to do here, so I booked a flight online from the local airport (airstrip) to the Costa Rican capital San Jose for the following morning, for $70. Luckily enough, I checked the e-mail confirmation that I received aftr the booking, which revealed that Tortuguero airport was closed for repairs, and that the flight would be leaving from Barra De Colorado (40km up-river) instead! I headed down to the pierside and negotiated with a boat taxi-man that he would pick me up at 5.20am the following morning for the 90 minute trip to the airport.
Mr. Pestilence (who I met on the way, naturally) said that the trip would cost $200, so when a price of $50 was offered by the boatman, I snapped his hand off, as the alternative would be to miss the flight, head back down to Moin on a 5-hour boat ride and take a 10 hour bus ride to San Jose. Delighted with the outcome, I headed to the beach for an afternoon promenade and was soon startled by tiny turtles (less than the size of my hand) passing by my feet, heading from their nest at the back of the beach, into the sea, where they would embark on about 40 years of swimming. It was an amazing piece of luck - all-in-all there were about 70 turtles, and me and the 6 others present acted as security guards, guiding their path into the sea, as about 80% of them normally get eaten by vultures or hawks on their way in.
Soon it was time to head to the turtle-tour, and despite clear meet-up instructions, Mr. Pestilence insisted on collecting me from Miss Miriam's to walk the 70 metres to the meet-up point with Alex the tour guide and my 9 fellow tour group members. The tour began with a half-mile walk to the turtle sanctuary HQ. Along a 3-mile stretch, volunteers were scouring the beach with infra-red torches (turtles are distracted by ordinary torchlight) to see if any turtles were coming ashore. During the walk there, I casually told Alex that I had seen baby turtles on the beach a couple of hours earlier. During his excellent explanatory turtle-talk when we reached the sanctuary, he let the rest of the group know about my experience. After the talk ended, and whilst we waited for news of turtle sightings, I was approached in turn by each of the group's mini-contingents - 1 Dutch, 1 German and 1 Spanish - and was cross-examined throughly. Where had I seen them? At what time? How many were there? Thinly veiled beneath plastic smiles was absolute fury that they, who had all scoured the beach thoroughly that day for such a sighting, had been unsuccessful, whilst I had stumbled across them without any pre-meditated idea that it might happen! I must confess to a wicked sense of amusement at that point.
Turtles are fascinating creatures - they hatch out in bunches of 100 or so, 80 get eaten on their crawl into the sea, and 19 more get eaten by sharks within a few hours of swimming. The lucky survivor swims around the Caribbean for 40 years and, if female, then goes looking for a mate for some quick no-strings-attached nookie. The female then uses the magnetic field to head back to the exact spot where she was born. She digs a hole at the back of the beach, cowers over it, and drops 150 ping-pong ball sized eggs into it before covering it all up and heading back into the sea. She will head back exhausted into the sea, and if not attacked and eaten by a jaguar, will come back again every couple of weeks, laying 20 less eggs every time until the process is complete. Then it's back for a few years of swimming before the nookie and gestation process begins again.
Tortuguero is vitally important because so many turtles breed there, largely safe from the threat of vultures, jaguars and poachers (who steal eggs for sale mainly to the Chinese market, who believe that they give great strength to the consumer).
So after a 30 minute wait, word came through on the walkie-talkie that a turtle had landed 3 kilometres north of where we were, so we all took a $5 taxi on the parallel canal behind the beach to reach the nesting area. When we got there, the turtle had dug its nest and was just beginning to deposit its eggs. Because it is in a trance at this stage and oblivious to anything around it, we were able to gather around it as it lays its eggs. It was an amazing experience - the turtle was about 4 feet long and was a giant of a creature, and there it was grunting and puffing in the midst of childbirth. We were there as it began to move its giant flippers and cover up the nest, packing it firmly with sand to aid the incubation process. (the hotter the sand, the more females that are hatched - interesting!) After 30 minutes, it trudged wearily into the sea and we watched the return from a short distance. Apparently, jaguars lurch in the jungle behind the beach, but know not to pounce when humans are around.
It was an incredible night's viewing. We made it back to the village at about 11pm and I headed back to Miss Miriam's for a few hours sleep before an early start tomorrow.
Day 9 - Sunday, September 7th, 2008 - Tortuguero - Barra De Colorado - San Jose - Granada
After some fitful sleep (which always happens when there's an early start involved), I was awoken at 5.10am by the alarm clock (my mobile phone, which has served no other purpose in the trip thusfar, as the crappy 3 network has no roaming agreements in Panama or Costa Rica). I headed down to the pierside to wait for the boat-taxi, due to pick me up at 5.20am. There were a few souls around, waiting to be collected for various jungle boat trips, and about a dozen wild dogs who were busy fighting each other.
Alarm escalated when 5.20am and 5.30am passed by without sight of the taxi-man, but along he came at 5.40am which apparently was the time he was due to come. (In his pidgin English, 5.20 had replaced twenty-to-six.) The boat trip was an amazing experience - just me and the boat man, gliding up through deserted river and canal-way, which stretched to 1 mile wide in places, and 20 metres wide in others. We happened across the odd boatful of locals, but largely the trip was made with no other human life in sight.
At 7am we arrived at Barra De Colorado "airport" which was just a strip of runway and nothing else. I got off the boat, walked 100 metres to the top of the airstrip and waited alongside 3 other passengers in the bright sunshine. Ten minutes later, a plane arrived and 20 corpulent Americans disembarked. They seemed to be here for a spot of deep-sea fishing - the locality consisted of 2 lodges which seemed to specialise in hunting and fishing trips. One of the three crew members got out and said "McEvoy?", and when I confirmed agreement, he took my rucksack (it's Trevor's actually - cheers Trev!) and invited me aboard - this was the most magnificent airport security check ever! Incredibly, only 1 of the 3 other people waiting along the runway was destined for this flight, so there were 3 crew members and 2 passengers!
The safety demonstration before take-off was equally magnificent - "Read the leaflet in front of you, fasten your seatbelt, this flight will take an hour," and off we went. Soon we were treated to superb views of the sea, rivers and jungle below. All too soon, the flight came to an end at San Jose's secondary airport, which wasn't too much more sophisticated than Barra De Colorado's. A shyster taximan was waiting to take me to the bus station to catch a bus to Granada in Nicaragua. He tried to charge me $22 for a $4 ride but my tolerance for shysterism had long since dissipated, so I gave him $5 and told him as I got out that he should be very ashamed of himself.
There was a chicken bus leaving for Managua (the capital of Nicaragua, an hour from Granada) in an hour, but a quicker, slightly more expensive ejecutivo (executive) bus that stopped at Granada was leaving in 3 hours, at 12 noon. Upon enquiry, it transpired that executive buses offered a meal, soft drinks and comfy seats, as well as being speedier, so I opted to continue pursuit of the executive lifestyle.
With time to kill, I braved a walk around the city, as the bus station was a shocking drab barn altogether. The city wasn't a whole lot better but I did manage to find the city centre shopping mall area, where I had a breakfast of some fresh pastries and orange juice, and then I found an internet cafe which offered cheap and cheerful surfing, at 500 colons (US0.90 €0.65) per hour.
Boarding had commenced by the time I got back to the station so I hopped aboard. The seats were indeed big, comfortable and reclinable. The bus had 3 TVs throughout the bus, allowing us to view quality movies such as Jumper (featuring Jamie Bell with a ridiculous Irish accent) and Inside Man (an enjoyable bank-heist romp which luckily I had seen before, as it was dubbed in Spanish). After a couple of hours we briefly stopped at a roadside cafe, allowing the bus hostess to pick up our lovingly-polystyrene-packaged dinners for serving to our seats. Dinner was a very tasty chicken stir fry with rice, and some mushy black beans which I skillfully avoided.
At the border crossing, the shysters were out in force, clutching giant wads of banknotes, ready for exchange at initially ludicrous rates. I only had about $60 worth of Colons to exchange and naturally the shyster that I selected attempted to offer me $25 worth of Nicaraguan cordobas. I let him know that I knew the exchange rate, and miraculously the offer was more than doubled - funny that. The bus hostess had gathered all of passports before the crossing, and now whisked them off to appropriate officials at both the Costa Rican and Nicaraguan passport control stations who gave them fast-track status, presumably in return for a couple of bankotes crossing their palms.
So, we were on our way again and were soon enjoying the sights of the Nicaraguan countryside. Our route hugged Lake Nicaragua - the largest lake in Central America - which houses the island of Ometepe which was formed by two volcanoes, resulting in very pleasant viewing indeed for several miles. It also became quickly apparent that the roadside serves as a major social meeting point for Nicaraguans, with groups gathered, literally at the edge of the road, chattering away.
We arrived in Granada at about 8pm and I grabbed a taxi to the place on the lakeside that I had booked - Hotel El Maltese, which is indeed owner by a Malteser (the nationality, not the chocolate). Refreshingly, all cab rides within Granada have a standard charge of 10 Cordobas (US$0.50, €0.35). I checked into my room - a modest affair with air-con, hot-and-cold shower, useless 1-channel TV but with free wi-fi, and a snip at $20 (€14) per night. I went for a walk along the lakeside and the locals were out in partying force, having car-picnics and packing out what seemed to be lakeside nightclubs. Public lighting was at a minimum so in the interest of safety I decided to retreat back to the hotel.
