I start my morning early. Little details like this makes me pretty proud of myself, because there’s usually a 2 a.m. bedtime for me. I’m a natural night owl and used to reporting on the Night Team. But it feels so good getting up early, watching the fresh, bright light hit the windows. It’s when Costa Rica comes alive.
The family at the hostel makes breakfast for me. Continental breakfast is included in my stay, and I take advantage of keeping myself full before I travel. It’s a good strategy because along dirt roads, I’m never sure how long I’ll drive until I pass a restaurant or cafe.
With most travelers hitting the road early (and perhaps wanting to try out other restaurants), it’s only me in the kitchen.
An older gentleman asks me what he can make for me this morning. It’s a combination of great plantains (my favorite) and good toast and pancakes. It isn’t the most fabulous meal ever, but the amount of care and love in the plate makes it a memorable one.
I’m grateful for the family running this hostel who’s making me feel right out home. Everyone in Costa Rica has been incredibly welcoming. I’m not sure if it’s because there’s awe with a solo female traveler, but I suspect it’s also a part of the culture.
I head over to the Hanging Bridges in Monteverde.
The “Sky Walk” suspension bridges are a beautiful, easy walk through the rainforest. These bridges go across canyons, and you’ll see from the photos, I’m face to face with the upper level of the rainforest canopy. Quite a different experience.
There are six bridges with the longest about 980 feet. The trails go for a little more than a mile and a half, but really I am so taken by the surroundings, it doesn’t really feel like a hike. The ground is mostly flat, so it’s a doable sky walk for anyone in moderate shape.
Depending on how fast you’re walking, it could take about 2 hours. I think I pay about $30, and it’s well worth it to walk through some clouds.
I’m trying to catch a glimpse of one of the rare birds in Costa Rica — the Resplendent Quetzal.
Costa Ricans are proud to be home to the resplendent quetzal; the bird is known to be one of the most beautiful in Costa Rica and colorful too.
A couple in front of me walking across the bridge stops and they swear they see the bird passing us.
I’m not quite sure, but the adventures at the volcano and seeing a toucan in real life already is special to me. Maybe the bird was around watching high in the trees; I’m not really sure.
There’s something incredibly peaceful walking along the tops of trees and looking over Costa Rica. It’s quiet, and meditative. I’m deep in my thoughts and looking for bits of beauty to photograph. It’s almost like floating in the warm Costa Rica waters in the earlier part of my trip. I’m suspended in a way, weightless.
It feels like my body is stirring a bit; it feels like I’m buzzing, coming alive, being a spectator and visitor of nature.
It rains, making the photos I take feel more intimate somehow.
I get back into my car, and head towards a San Jose hostel, ahead of my flight back to Rhode Island tomorrow.
Along the way, it seems like another family-owned restaurant, and I pull over. My heart could burst this moment.
There’s a stray dog who follows me.
I’ve mentioned other stray dogs before, but this one feels special. I’m not sure why, exactly. A part of me thinks it’s because there was a quiet understanding between us. The dog follows me a bit, and yet again, there’s something warm about having that quiet company along my walk as I check out a few shops along the road.
It’s lunch time, and of course, this dog is sitting by my feet, beneath the table.
The restaurant servers aren’t too happy with stray dogs here. They feel if restaurant goers keep feeding the dogs food, they’ll keep crossing the streets to get to the restaurant, and they could eventually be hit by a car.
But there’s something about this precious dog that just feels scrappy to me; it’s a true survivor. Really if stray dogs can’t survive foraging food off the street the first week, they’re not going to make it. So maybe this guy had a plan all along that I’d be a sucker to sneak him food; or maybe he just felt a connection immediately. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter.
I debate for the entire lunch if I want to take him to the animal shelter, get him vaccinated, and bring him home.
I don’t know how great it would be to take a dog out of the Costa Rica climate and bring it to the harsh New England winters, but I come up with an entire hypothetical plan. Maybe I’d hide food around the house, so the scrappy dog can still feel like its foraging. Maybe I could take it to areas where it wouldn’t need a leash, and it’d still feel at home.
It’s this hour-long dilemma that still bothers me now. I don’t know if I should have just done it. But wavering back and forth, I decide if I ever came back to the country and saw another stray dog, maybe I’d adopt it for real next time.
It’s hard walking away because the dog follows me to my car. And I don’t know what to do. We have a stare-off, and it leaves. I kept telling myself if it insisted on staying next to my car, then I’d just do it. But I don’t.
There are still days where I wonder if the dog is doing okay and finding food. I wasn’t a huge dog person before I went to Costa Rica. Always liked dogs, but not like this. There’s something that seems to melt my heart, just having a bit of time with a pal who kept me company, if only for a small stretch of my travels.
I drive further along the dirt road. There’s only one path back to San Jose, and just my luck, there’s a construction road block.
I can’t speak Spanish, but there’s a little girl that approaches my car trying to sell some soda along the road. I try to ask her what’s going on, mostly through gestures. She keeps telling me “five” and I think she means five minutes before the road blocks are lifted.
So I start journaling. But a half hour passes and the line of cars behind me grows longer and longer.
I get out of my parked car and talk to the travelers behind me.
They translate.
The roads won’t be open again until 5 p.m. I look at my watch. It’s 3 p.m.
It’s a one-way road, so I can’t turn back around and decide to save that pup. I’m stuck here, with my own thoughts.
The next two hours is spent journaling, reading, mapping out the last bit of this trip. I’m actually not too bothered by it, though I was initially annoyed. I decide this is a small gift of time, an opportunity to stop and look at the view, and be with my own thoughts again. It feels good to stop moving, if only for a few hours.
I make it to the San Jose hostel. It’s a little loud tonight with a lot of people traveling through, so that’s not ideal. And in true form, the shower is cold. I’m not a fan.
Most of the shops and restaurants in Costa Rica close pretty early. I’m in a quieter part of town, but I’m getting hangry and this isn’t looking good.
I must have gone on a walk for a mile when I find a nice spot that’s about to close, but it’s selling some tacos. They decide to keep the kitchen open a touch longer to make me some food that I take back to the hostel. I’m so hungry and so grateful.
Since I’m leaving the next morning, I decide to download e-mail, Facebook, and Twitter again, just to see what I’m missing. There’s not much on e-mail, but on Facebook, I see a few messages from kind co-workers making sure I arrived okay.
Major whoops on my part for not responding for a week, because a coworker later told me he actually saw some people tweaking out over my lack of response, which made me think about my coworkers a touch differently. Not that I didn’t know they cared. Maybe I just didn’t know this much.
That’s a peculiar thought to me.
I wonder how many other times I’ve missed insight into how many cursory people actually deeply cared. And I resolve to notice it more, and show how much I care back in return. It’s random, and touching.
Some texts start coming in from other friends, and I let them know I’ll be flying back in the morning.
I pull the last angel cards for the trip. Tonight, it’s “touch” and “vitality.”
No idea what that could mean, but I’m sure I’ll find out tomorrow.
The adventure continues,
