Alright, gang. I'm not happy with the state of affairs around here. Nothing but anime as far as the eye can see. What happened to this place? I used to post about all kinds of stuff unrelated to Japanese culture! My hobbies, observations about the world, my childhood - life! I'm putting my foot down. The yen stops here.
That's not to say anime reviews are going to stop or that they're going to stop being the focus of this blog - these will continue unhindered. But as I have promised to make more posts dedicated solely to my art (which I've failed to follow through with so far) I'm going to not only promise to make more posts concerning other happenings in my life, I'm going to make good on that promise immediately with one right now in a new blog segment: Pachi's Paraphernalia, wherein I talk about anything else that's not centered around Japanese animation or otherwise. We're going to start it up by covering my experiences on a trip I took last month to beautiful Costa Rica.
Does this mean I will be posting additional write-ups such as these more often? Heck no, I'm as lazy and unresponsive as ever!
Click one of the links below to go read about a specific portion of the trip, or just follow the jump at the bottom to start from the beginning. There's also a link to my photobucket page containing more pictures. Hope you enjoy!
Day 0
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
More Images
Day 0 - The Mystery
I often think life's out to get me, but there's a stroke of luck in one aspect of mine that I wasn't exploiting 'til now. Every year, the company I work for holds an annual mystery trip. Where to? That's the mystery! It could be stateside or to a tropical getaway. Past venues they've visited include New York, Key West, and Aruba. I say "they" because I previously declined to go on these trips, as they are not mandatory. You might reasonably think me a loon for passing up the chance to go on an all-inclusive (mostly) paid vacation, but I had my reasons. Whenever I'm traveling and it's up to me to figure out what to do, I like to plan as much of my trip as I can. Being unable to plan as well due to not knowing where I'd be going until the day of made me uneasy. And the idea that I might not like wherever the hell we were heading. There's a bit of a gamble in that! But a silly one that shouldn't be considered for the thrill of the unknown and an adventure, which is what I told myself as I bit the bullet and decided to tag along for this year's venture.
To give us a fighting chance, a representative in the company is designated as clue giver to provide hints in the months leading to the trip. Allegedly, last year's clues ending up being too simple and the destination was guessed correctly very quickly. So this year our clue giver doubled down and made each clue as arbitrary and vague as possible, just to get our ire up. Through some disjointed reasoning we got it in our heads we were headed to Bermuda, and as soon as we found a potential hook we pulled harder. Eventually we got a new clue: a chart of shapes where the only basic shape missing was the [Bermuda] triangle. In other words, "it's not Bermuda, get off it". Ha!
But finally the day of departure came, and we opened the seal of our delivered envelopes to reveal:
Costa Rica! Central American sun and fun! And boy were we stoked! Awaiting our flight out of NC, we perused travel & tour documents to wet our appetite at what awaited us. Rainforest tours! Volcano viewings! Hot springs! Zip lining! (none of which anyone ended up doing - I will explain later)
This trip held other exciting prospects in that our company is split into two regions: one is in North Carolina, and everyone else is in Michigan. This would be my first time meeting the majority of those attending from the Michigan office - making new friends is always fun!
This trip held other exciting prospects in that our company is split into two regions: one is in North Carolina, and everyone else is in Michigan. This would be my first time meeting the majority of those attending from the Michigan office - making new friends is always fun!
Day 1 - Damn It's Hot
That was the first thing I noticed when we exited the plane at the Liberia airport: it was really hot, in the 90s (it was in the 90s every day). The sun loomed over the terminal like a sickness. Exiting the plane felt like stepping into a sauna. Outside were vast dry plains, the kind you'd expect to see tumbleweeds. The airport was bustling and crowded, but stepping a few feet away and one could forget the atmosphere - beyond was a whole lot of calm and empty.
The company had made reservations at the Westin Playa Conchal (Conchal Beach) resort, which was almost an hour's bus ride away from the airport. Westin staff were on the bus to greet us and in admirable English presented an introductory guide to the hows and whats of their country. Emphasized as the most important language to affect during our stay was the local phrase 'pura vida'. Not having a direct English translation, it's simply an all-inclusive, polite expletive saying you are well and having a good time. I didn't catch much else on that bus ride as I was exhausted from the plane time; the shock of the sudden heat + a headache + jet lag made for absolute misery. I wouldn't really take this in until later, but the countryside was quite sparse and malnourished. Towns are relatively tiny and some seemed to go no father than a single street; single family shacks, miles from civilization, littered the edge of the main road, our paltry road that barely passed for an in-state highway. Costa Rica only has two seasons: rainy and dry. We were quite plainly visiting in the thick of the dry season. Until we got to the resort, it was nothing but dense, brown fields and dusty, dilapidated structures which felt so insignificant from my elevated bus seat. It's easy to forget that many tropical getaways reside within underdeveloped nations.
The Westin resort was a lush paradise holed away on the other side of many dusty, hilly passes. Downwards from the front lobby lay a sprawling path to the separated bungalows and other hotel amenities. A 24-hour tram service could get you to anywhere in the resort with relative expediency. My immediate impressions were not of wonder but of relief, as I would finally strip myself of the clothing and belongings that had clung to me through several airports and many hours.
No vacation is complete until I make a tourist's mistake; I got my quota filled early this time. The company plan before dinner was to meet at the residents' pool and refresh our minds and bodies. While changing with my roommate, I noticed a second pool only a minute's walk from our bungalow. I announced I would go there for the neighboring convenience, and headed out. It was an exquisite poolside. Lounging chairs and towels were delicately laid out for guests. A decorative cobblestone bridge ascended the length of the water, under which you could swim to escape from the sun. In the far corner, I spotted a bar: a pool bar! The idea had never even crossed my mind. For the first time that day, I felt I was living a briefly indulgent life. Confidently I swam to the bar, prepared to consume alcohol. In the meantime I wondered why no-one else from the company had arrived, but I was scarcely concerned with such matters! First, to drink to good health!
As I ordered a drink and happily awaited my treat, another bartender approached me in concern. He asked if I had already ordered. Confirming this, he then calmly pointed to my wrist - which I had not mentioned until now. Upon arrival, the hotel staff gifted us wristbands that would act as our currency on the resort - it was a sign to the staff what our all-inclusive trip included. Naturally, it did not include everything, as I was about to discover. "You cannot be here, sir," the man quietly continued. I understood immediately without need for clarification. Glancing around, I realized every guest in the pool wore glistening gold armbands, a sharp contrast from mine of the plain, green variety. This was an exclusive pool for a higher priority of guest of which our company was not considered. Feeling shameful, I cancelled my order and silently slunk away from the pool; my chagrin was great as I spotted the giant "Members Only" sign I had neglected to notice on my first passing. Fitting the pieces together I lonesomely made my way to the other pool; sure enough, everyone from the company was there. They had all selected the correct, public pool while I erred due to mistaken convenience. On the plus side, I had an amusing story to tell, and this pool also had a bar. Thank god for that.
After a rousing time swimming, drinking fruity concoctions, and taking group photos, I wandered around the resort for awhile before dinner. Though more tropical than the en route landscape, it was still apparent how dried up everything was. The various ponds were a dull brown as if they hadn't been washed clear for weeks. Critters were hiding in shady spots in attempt to beat the heat - they were feeling it just as bad.
We ate dinner (and most meals at the resort, for that matter) at an international buffet called Mitra. Even though it was the most easily accessible dining spot on the resort (many on-site restaurants required reservations) they still employed a table waiting staff, even for breakfast service. It was a tedious formality as you had to wait to be seated even when there was next to no-one inside, to the point I always gave the excuse, "I see my friends inside, I'll just go sit with them, thank you," and half the time I'd be right. On the bus ride earlier, the guide told us Costa Rican diet consisted of plentiful helpings of rice and beans, yet I ate very little rice and no beans the entire trip. The international buffet was true to its name and featured many familiar dishes, all sporting a distinct local flavor. There was still culture shock to be found in this place, but not from the food. Rather, the resident avian population. Noisy black birds known as Grackles made their home in the rafters above the seating area, swooping below to collect scraps wherever they could and showing no fear of humans. Their piercing shrieks I often mistook for crying children.
After dinner, several of us made a trek to the front lobby where an equal parts sad and relieving discovery was made. A hot topic during the day was the aforementioned island activities/tours and who was interested in what. Two events had been pre-planned by the company for Saturday, but our Friday was totally free, so everyone was discussing what they wanted to do. I was one of many interested in the rainforest tours. The caveat to these extra events was that unlike the planned events on Saturday, bonus excursions required you to pay out of pocket, and they weren't exactly cheap. In any case, we were hopeful to learn more, only to discover that the staff responsible for organizing hotel-sponsored tours had already left for the evening. The rainforest tour was a full day event, you see, and as such required advanced preparation. We had missed that window, but we weren't exactly upset. After the suffering bus ride to the resort, the idea of leaving it became a despised thought. And besides, there were plenty of activities taking place on the resort, all of which were free. So it was pretty much a unanimous decision right then and there that everyone's Friday would be spent in the comfy confines of the Westin.
The Westin resort was a lush paradise holed away on the other side of many dusty, hilly passes. Downwards from the front lobby lay a sprawling path to the separated bungalows and other hotel amenities. A 24-hour tram service could get you to anywhere in the resort with relative expediency. My immediate impressions were not of wonder but of relief, as I would finally strip myself of the clothing and belongings that had clung to me through several airports and many hours.
No vacation is complete until I make a tourist's mistake; I got my quota filled early this time. The company plan before dinner was to meet at the residents' pool and refresh our minds and bodies. While changing with my roommate, I noticed a second pool only a minute's walk from our bungalow. I announced I would go there for the neighboring convenience, and headed out. It was an exquisite poolside. Lounging chairs and towels were delicately laid out for guests. A decorative cobblestone bridge ascended the length of the water, under which you could swim to escape from the sun. In the far corner, I spotted a bar: a pool bar! The idea had never even crossed my mind. For the first time that day, I felt I was living a briefly indulgent life. Confidently I swam to the bar, prepared to consume alcohol. In the meantime I wondered why no-one else from the company had arrived, but I was scarcely concerned with such matters! First, to drink to good health!
As I ordered a drink and happily awaited my treat, another bartender approached me in concern. He asked if I had already ordered. Confirming this, he then calmly pointed to my wrist - which I had not mentioned until now. Upon arrival, the hotel staff gifted us wristbands that would act as our currency on the resort - it was a sign to the staff what our all-inclusive trip included. Naturally, it did not include everything, as I was about to discover. "You cannot be here, sir," the man quietly continued. I understood immediately without need for clarification. Glancing around, I realized every guest in the pool wore glistening gold armbands, a sharp contrast from mine of the plain, green variety. This was an exclusive pool for a higher priority of guest of which our company was not considered. Feeling shameful, I cancelled my order and silently slunk away from the pool; my chagrin was great as I spotted the giant "Members Only" sign I had neglected to notice on my first passing. Fitting the pieces together I lonesomely made my way to the other pool; sure enough, everyone from the company was there. They had all selected the correct, public pool while I erred due to mistaken convenience. On the plus side, I had an amusing story to tell, and this pool also had a bar. Thank god for that.
After a rousing time swimming, drinking fruity concoctions, and taking group photos, I wandered around the resort for awhile before dinner. Though more tropical than the en route landscape, it was still apparent how dried up everything was. The various ponds were a dull brown as if they hadn't been washed clear for weeks. Critters were hiding in shady spots in attempt to beat the heat - they were feeling it just as bad.
We ate dinner (and most meals at the resort, for that matter) at an international buffet called Mitra. Even though it was the most easily accessible dining spot on the resort (many on-site restaurants required reservations) they still employed a table waiting staff, even for breakfast service. It was a tedious formality as you had to wait to be seated even when there was next to no-one inside, to the point I always gave the excuse, "I see my friends inside, I'll just go sit with them, thank you," and half the time I'd be right. On the bus ride earlier, the guide told us Costa Rican diet consisted of plentiful helpings of rice and beans, yet I ate very little rice and no beans the entire trip. The international buffet was true to its name and featured many familiar dishes, all sporting a distinct local flavor. There was still culture shock to be found in this place, but not from the food. Rather, the resident avian population. Noisy black birds known as Grackles made their home in the rafters above the seating area, swooping below to collect scraps wherever they could and showing no fear of humans. Their piercing shrieks I often mistook for crying children.
After dinner, several of us made a trek to the front lobby where an equal parts sad and relieving discovery was made. A hot topic during the day was the aforementioned island activities/tours and who was interested in what. Two events had been pre-planned by the company for Saturday, but our Friday was totally free, so everyone was discussing what they wanted to do. I was one of many interested in the rainforest tours. The caveat to these extra events was that unlike the planned events on Saturday, bonus excursions required you to pay out of pocket, and they weren't exactly cheap. In any case, we were hopeful to learn more, only to discover that the staff responsible for organizing hotel-sponsored tours had already left for the evening. The rainforest tour was a full day event, you see, and as such required advanced preparation. We had missed that window, but we weren't exactly upset. After the suffering bus ride to the resort, the idea of leaving it became a despised thought. And besides, there were plenty of activities taking place on the resort, all of which were free. So it was pretty much a unanimous decision right then and there that everyone's Friday would be spent in the comfy confines of the Westin.
Day 2 - External Sins on the Flesh
When you're close to the equator, mornings are a different beast. All three nights spent in our shelved bungalow I didn't so much sleep soundly so much as awaken every 2 hours only to nod off before I could contemplate the current time - yet come morning I never felt haggered by lack of rest. Perhaps I unknowingly absorbed the sun's rays in the early hours; the sun being very eager to get to work. 6 AM in Costa Rica is more like a North American noon: bright and blistering as if the day had been working long without your participation.
You'll read this on at least a dozen different TripAdvisor reviews, but if you're going to a tropical locale, especially closer to the equator, for the love of god, bring sunscreen. And don't just dabble a little on the bridge of your nose. Wear it. Make a coat of the stuff. You will be eaten alive if you're ill-prepared. The bottle says to reapply every 2 hours, and I know no-one reads that part, but for once, DO WHAT IT TELLS YOU. Underestimating the sun is no fun. Yeah, if you haven't caught my drift yet, this was the day of the trip I got sunburned.
I'm not exactly sure when it happened. It probably wasn't when I did early morning beach yoga. This was when I was ambling about after breakfast inquiring my comrades' plans to then deftly insert myself into one. So hey, yoga on the beach! You can do that! You took yoga once! When you studied abroad in Japan you took a class on the spirituality of yoga to fulfill an English-course credit and because it sounded like it required the least amount of mental effort. Surprisingly, I was more than right. The professor of that class was one of those new wave, contemporary instructors you normally only see caricatured in stoner comedies. There were no assignments, no homework, not even a final exam. He was an unassuming, off-kilter man who embodied an aura that I will charitably call 'quirk zen'. His country of origin was a mystery - as a joke he refused to tell us even if we guessed right. Shrouded in mystery and instantly easy to get along with, he is the man I desired all teachers to aspire to. My unreasonable expectations were never realized. I'm not 100% sure he even existed to begin with. The dilapidated building on campus he taught in was commonly empty; past the front entrance a cavernous hallway of unused classrooms. Perhaps the ghost of a foreign man was teaching us the ways of the yogi from the haunted old campus, cursed to never rest until he could successfully imprint his unconventional methods onto the next generation.
So you didn't actually DO yoga in that class, but because of it you took a class of actual yoga back at college! Half the reason you did so was to meet girls and that went nowhere, but hey, you did the moves. You did the planks and the downward dogs and the warriors, and you passed! That was years ago, but how hard could yoga at a vacation resort be? This is a tourist hot spot, it's gonna be Baby's First Yoga for the curious. It'll be a breeze.
Once again, if you haven't caught my drift, it was not a breeze. This was a for serious yogis session going through all the moves one would do in a refresher course. I made a fool of my unprepared self, childishly muttering obscenities every time the instructor chided us on with an "easy, right?" after each pose. It was the kind of mechanical, yet passionate commentary that comes from doing something you love in an instructional format over and over and over and over again. I would have had more patience for the course had our location been more befitting the activity. The beaches immediately outside the Westin were very small, with only a short few yards between the resort grounds and the water. So you couldn't technically do yoga on the beach because you would be splashed with the tide no matter where we settled. Of all places, the guide picked a partial dune facing the beach where the sand was uneven. The primary battle of doing yoga in this set-up was trying to keep your towel level which was next to impossible. It wasn't ideal.
No, I think it must have been after the yoga when I got sunburned. I went to the pool with some others and didn't reapply very much on my upper half upon disrobing. A game of pool volleyball started up, and though I joined in later, I elected to sit just outside of the water and act as point guard for awhile, during which I was completely exposed for the sun to have its way with me. It wasn't until I returned to my room later and smacked my skin against the cool bed that my brain finally registered the burning sensation. Embarrassed by my failure to defeat the sun, I vowed not to be made a fool of again and doubled down on sunscreen appliance for the remainder of the trip. I used so much that I wondered if it would have adverse effects to my complexion.
Before the day was done, I was determined to do one thing: get a shot of a Costa Rican sunset. I had heard from several others how beautiful it had been the previous day and so set onto the beach at the back of the resort to see for myself. I've only included a few shots in my uploads, but I must've taken almost 100 pictures of just that setting sun, trying to make sure I got a good one. The majesty of that sphere illuminating off the water soaked sand like gold was a sight to behold. I'm not a big fan of beaches, but for once there was nowhere else I wanted to be more.
That Friday evening was high class dinner night. In the original packing list, one item read 'comfortable but formal polo shirt and long pants (for dinner)' with similar instructions for the gals. I packed these items, over-packing as I always do as you never know when you'll need an extra piece of clothing while out adventuring, but I didn't take the call for formal dinner-wear very seriously when the hour came. It was hot as balls out here, were people really caring about looks? Just dress in what's comfortable. See, I know fashion like I know the theories of quantum mechanics, which is to say not at all. So 'comfortable' and 'attractive' are usually mutually exclusive in my wardrobe. Apparently this is not a challenge for everyone else in my company as they all appeared that evening in lovely casual dresses and dress shirts - I being the only guy in a t-shirt and jeans. No-one thought less of me for it (at least not outloud) but I couldn't help but feel like a smudge of dirt inside an otherwise immaculately clean ballroom. We ate at an Italian restaurant located suspiciously at the opposite end of the resort from where all the other dining spots were, adjacent to the private pool I wandered into by mistake the day prior. My lasagna was fine, but lacking in uniqueness. The desert menu was notably the exact same stuff you could get at the international buffet any day. The spread was not worthy of the level of class inherent in the restaurant's atmosphere.
The rest of that night was somewhat of a blur as I went into full post-grad-embracing-brief-escapism-from-adult-life party mode. My peers continually brought up rumor of a "disco" happening on the premises, then we had shots, then everyone was wandering around dancing for an hour, and then this so-called "disco" finally opened. It was in a tiny square building about 4 x 4 meters adorned with a covered pool table and lounge chairs. There was no disco ball. However there was a bar, and that's all you need to have a good time. By that time I had drunk myself out of commission, only sticking around for 4 songs before stepping out on the tail end of Uptown Funk, stumbling to my abode in the darkness as the aforementioned's downtrodden dragon might have done in his retirement.
Day 3 - Adrenaline Fever
The reality of what I was about to do didn't penetrate my skull until the helmet was on my head and I was straddling the gas-guzzling beast. When we first received our itinerary, I glanced over Saturday's 'ATV Tour' item and thought, in my unparalleled wisdom, "Huh, so we're gonna be riding jeeps or something? Neat. I'll have a nice backseat to some dune hopping." An ATV, my dear self, is the nominative single-seater all-terrain vehicle. Here I was, a terrified rural boy masquerading as a rugged mountain man, seated on a four-wheeler. What was I doing here? The vehicles, our guides explained, were mostly stick-shift although a select few were semi-/full-automatic. By sheer luck one of them pointed out a full-automatic right next to me and I scrambled atop it. If I can help it, I will never own a stick-shift car 'til the day I die - no way in hell was I about to drive a stick motorbike.
A traditional me would've turned tail and retreated to stable grounds at this development. Look at yourself. You're an overweight slouch who shies away from any activity featuring wheels that isn't everyday driving. You don't belong on an ATV. I would've, but I couldn't. Most of the people you work for were all around me, most of whom I had met for the first time only two days ago. I didn't want to leave the impression that I didn't know how to have fun in their heads. Or worse, actively avoided fun in an attempt to stay 'safe'. I didn't want to be the guy who sat in his hotel room all vacation because he was afraid he'd twist his angle upon stepping outside. "Ah, that stick in the mud." My desire to not be that guy was stronger than my desire to escape. Plus, I was already seated and geared up as these thoughts sped through my mind. Too late to back down.
Our designated course was set over many types of terrain: paved road, dirt, rocks, and dunes. Oh god, we're not taking these on the main road, are we? We would be. The path will be appropriately marked, I hope. It wasn't. We were at the mercy of our guides, who had their own rides dispersed throughout the line to lead us in 3-4 groups. I just hope I don't make a mistake the first time I get going. I did. Despite having been shown how to operate my mechanical bronco, I attempted to accelerate without releasing the emergency brake and nearly swiveled into a ditch. An on-foot guide helped me correct my blunder and on the second attempt I sped ahead after those who had already taken off.
I've never ridden a motorcycle. It's been over a decade since I last owned a bicycle. Driving an ATV off-road is one of the most terrifying and exhilarating experiences of my life. Its acceleration was slick and reliable. My hair stood on end every time I was tasked to turn. Turning required a balance between firmness and extent of motion. Push too weakly and you would only jitter in place. Push too far and you'd swerve all over the road. Fear overtook me entirely the first half of the journey. Every leg was littered with dips and rises and sand-submerged stones which interrupted my balance terribly. I was certain on multiple occasions I was mere centimeters from toppling myself and my ride off the dusty trail. Even in my full-automatic, I was terrified to go over 20 mph, as I had nervously explained to the person behind me in line before we began. And yet I constantly found them attempting to pass me, jolting me to speed ahead, redirecting all my ire into maintaining control of the contraption I was convinced would be the cause of my death (as I later discovered, they were not trying to pass me, but merely having trouble selecting the correct gear; however others WERE passing elsewhere in the line, which I thought was crazy and dangerous given how narrow the path was most of the time).
It took some time for me to graduate toward acceptance of this hell ride in the mountains. In time the path flattened out and we flew from groves of trees into sun-bleached, sandy dunes where for the first time we weren't limited to single-file traffic. The emotions of the company seemed to come alive at this widening vista. Order dispersed as people drove circles in the sand around one another. Then after a brief stop to settle, congregate, and savor the moment, we hopped back on track. Trepidation still gripped most of my being, but my fright had dimmed somewhat as I reflected on how far I'd traveled, and made it through unscathed, to reach these beautiful beaches.
I'd underestimated exactly how long we'd be out on this excursion. The path led us directly through the beaches adjacent to the resort, past a spot where just the day before I had seen a line of parked ATVs. I put two and two together and convinced myself this marked the end of our road - as often is the case, I was wrong. We sped right past the resort junction and went even farther into the woods beyond the beaches. I had no sense of direction and no idea when the end would come. Eventually we reached another beach who-knows-where, and made a sharp U-turn and gradual park. Half an hour was allotted for everyone to relax and take a dip in the ocean, then we would start the process of going back the way we came. This was only the halfway point.
"I'm done. I'm so done," I whined as I pulled my gear off so quickly I tore my face mask (they had extras on hand). The only knowledge keeping me from walking back to the resort was how grueling a trek that would be exposed to the elements on foot. I didn't swim because I had forgotten to bring my swimsuit and didn't want to get the only pair with me at the moment wet, so I spent the half hour considering what I had just done and what I had left to do. The inevitability of the return drive down a path I'd just conquered no more than an hour ago.
And then, I don't know, something just clicked inside of me. Perhaps I reached a stage of fear where my base rationality left me and all that remained was raw emotion. Maybe my nerves accepted the dangers of the road without alerting my brain. Could I have briefly gone insane? Regardless, on that ride back, my worries left me completely. I embraced the ride and I felt life grab me by the throat and I loved every single second of it. Whereas earlier I took solace every time an unforeseen setback halted the company, now it incurred my wrath. I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to go slow, I wanted to rev the engine! I dipped and dived around curves, barely slowing myself down to compensate for the uneven path. I cried out at the top of my lungs, singing songs that invigorated my spirit. Behind my face mask and under the deafening roar of 30+ engines, I don't know if anyone heard me. I didn't care if they did. I felt, in those moments, more alive than I'd ever felt in my entire 28 years of life, and all I had to do was embrace it. It was shockingly easy and fleeting to abandon fear and cast myself into the flow - the conditions must have been just right, in those moments, to unlock my limiters and set me free.
In my newly found freedom, I became less aware of the state of my own self and more noticing of my surroundings. What became a secondary worry was the proximity of those behind and ahead of me. Everyone had adjusted to their rides and found a pace that suited them, so by now the space between vehicles grew longer. It was absolutely necessary to ensure you could see the person in front of you. Several times we made turns off and onto paths that weren't obviously marked; the last thing we wanted was for someone to make a wrong turn and get themselves and everyone behind them lost. Frequently I would turn to glance at the ATV behind me to make sure they were never too far behind. At one stop the far-most group seemed to have vanished (due to one vehicle wiping out, as we discovered later; the person in question is fine) and for a time I feared the worst until they finally emerged after 10 minutes to join the pack. The worst of it was on the final leg, where we had to detour through one of the small towns near the resort and onto the main road to reach our starting location from several hours earlier. The main road was even more terrifying than the rocky mountain paths, as we could go twice, even three times as fast there. The person ahead of me soon became a speck at the edge of my vision, and the person behind me was having trouble keeping in the right gear and lagging back - it was almost as if I riding completely solo. I was forced to play a fast, delicate game of speed as I attempted to keep both riders in view 'til we finally reached the for-real-this-time end of our road. It's been several weeks since then and I'm still not entirely sure if I really rode an ATV around the countryside of Costa Rica and actually conquered my fear of it. It seems like a dream now.
After a long sojourn from activity the rest of that humid Saturday afternoon, and some yummy pizza for lunch, it was time for our final scheduled event that evening. Once again we piled on buses (much nicer than those we rode in on), and were shipped in-land to what was advertised as a kind of ranch: the Black Stallion Cafe & Surf Saloon. It was tucked away off the main road in thick woodlands; it was a bit of an atmospheric shock as for most of the trip we'd been near the ocean but out here was crawling with bugs (I got bitten up bad). Within the gates was a tightly enclosed 'themed' outdoor bar and grille. You could reasonably call it inspired by the Australian outback. Every mood lit nook and cranny was adorned with surf n' turf and tribal knick-knacks clearly not-from-around-here. The owner of the establishment was a kindly South African gent who, sure enough, had lived all over including Australia for a time. He was a gangling fellow with leathery, sun-worn skin characteristic of a man who had been molded by the outdoors; sweet and as humble as could be.
The only thing sweeter than his personality was the food he served us. We got an assortment buffet of grille staples: tenderloin, chicken, potatoes, stuffed peppers, steamed veggies, the works. Definitely the best meal of the entire trip, probably one of the best in my entire life. ABSOLUTELY the most perfectly cooked steak I've ever tasted. There's not much else to say about it, it was simply an exceptional meal. After dinner a little show was held behind the kitchen where they had a small stage set-up. A local troupe performed a mime-juggling show, which was fun. It was a duo; the girl was as charming as can be and the guy put up a sheepish ladies' man act that our audience ate up. He did that trick where you make a large silver ball contour to the surface of your moving hand perfectly. I know a guy from high school who can do that, only the Costa Rican guy could do it with up to 4 balls. I still don't know exactly how it works. In any case, it was fun and relaxing, a far better show than the juggling act I'd seen briefly Friday night near the resort buffet. That was designed to be an intense "look how awesome we are" show, with nothing but flaming batons, black bondage gear and loud, obnoxious club music pounding out the soundtrack. I was happier to end this day on a quiet note.
After a long sojourn from activity the rest of that humid Saturday afternoon, and some yummy pizza for lunch, it was time for our final scheduled event that evening. Once again we piled on buses (much nicer than those we rode in on), and were shipped in-land to what was advertised as a kind of ranch: the Black Stallion Cafe & Surf Saloon. It was tucked away off the main road in thick woodlands; it was a bit of an atmospheric shock as for most of the trip we'd been near the ocean but out here was crawling with bugs (I got bitten up bad). Within the gates was a tightly enclosed 'themed' outdoor bar and grille. You could reasonably call it inspired by the Australian outback. Every mood lit nook and cranny was adorned with surf n' turf and tribal knick-knacks clearly not-from-around-here. The owner of the establishment was a kindly South African gent who, sure enough, had lived all over including Australia for a time. He was a gangling fellow with leathery, sun-worn skin characteristic of a man who had been molded by the outdoors; sweet and as humble as could be.
The only thing sweeter than his personality was the food he served us. We got an assortment buffet of grille staples: tenderloin, chicken, potatoes, stuffed peppers, steamed veggies, the works. Definitely the best meal of the entire trip, probably one of the best in my entire life. ABSOLUTELY the most perfectly cooked steak I've ever tasted. There's not much else to say about it, it was simply an exceptional meal. After dinner a little show was held behind the kitchen where they had a small stage set-up. A local troupe performed a mime-juggling show, which was fun. It was a duo; the girl was as charming as can be and the guy put up a sheepish ladies' man act that our audience ate up. He did that trick where you make a large silver ball contour to the surface of your moving hand perfectly. I know a guy from high school who can do that, only the Costa Rican guy could do it with up to 4 balls. I still don't know exactly how it works. In any case, it was fun and relaxing, a far better show than the juggling act I'd seen briefly Friday night near the resort buffet. That was designed to be an intense "look how awesome we are" show, with nothing but flaming batons, black bondage gear and loud, obnoxious club music pounding out the soundtrack. I was happier to end this day on a quiet note.
Day 4 - No Actual Content Here
Technically there was a fourth day, but there's not much else to talk about. The only note worthy happening is when I made haste to the resort gift shop as soon as it opened to buy a pack of ground Costa Rican coffee - it had completely slipped my mind that entire trip and only came to me the night before. Thankfully I had time to do so before we were scheduled to meet at the front lobby to get our things packed and moving out. Still recovering from sunburn, legs gnawed to a stump by mosquito bites, I was ready for the long journey home.
Oh right, and on the return trip, by happenstance my ticket was upgraded to first class. I've never ridden first class before, what a pleasantry it was! I was the envy of the entire office shuffling back into coach, as I cheekily grinned them along to their stuffy seats. In my elite seat I watched Whiplash for the first time - it's a good movie! Also somewhat appropriate, as the expediency of this vacation felt a bit like a case of whiplash. Only four days ago I had discovered where I was going and now it was all over in the blink of an eye. Sadly, once we got to our connecting layover in Detroit, I only got to see off a few of the Michigan office before my office was forced to move along so we could get to our terminal in time. It was a joy to meet so many of them for the first time and I still miss them all, making me rather eager for next year's trip.
So that's all there is to tell! Costa Rica was truly a pura vida experience and....I doubt I'll ever go back, but I wouldn't be against it. The greatest joy was to visit a foreign country completely on vacation status. This was my second time outside of the States, but the first was for college credit. One day I'm determined to go back to Japan and completely enjoy my time there; not that I didn't before, but I want it to be a true vacation. Until that day, I think I'll be quite happy taking my company's annual mystery trip and then sharing our adventures with you! I was a fool to never take the plunge before; now I want to go for another lap.
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