In the 1950s, pacifist Quakers left Alabama in protest against the American draft during the Korean War. They chose to move to a country with no standing army: Costa Rica. They settled in what is now Monteverde, got busy dairy farming, and oh yeah, set aside land for conservation which National Geographic has called, "the jewel in the crown of cloud forest reserves."
This was our destination. Getting there was an adventure. Everyone warns you about the roads in Costa Rica. "Four-wheel drive," insisted our most bad-ass friend who leaps man-high dirt jumps with his mountain bike in a single bound. The guidebooks have a section on what to do when - not if - you have to ford a river. We came in the rainy season expecting deep ruts and sinking mire. Instead we got bone-rattling, teeth-chattering, hard-packed dirt roads embedded with sharp stones. Akin to riding a rickety wooden roller coaster... for 4 hours!
Sure, it was raining. The scenic drive around Lake Arenal was somewhat marred by the highway getting completely washed out. The resultant detour passed scowling neighbors and seemed to climb everlastingly up the mountainside. "Go, Jimny, go, you can do it!" we shouted encouragingly over the din to our beleaguered 4WD. Mostly though, the rainwater did less to soften the impact and instead just exposed more pointy surfaces and render existent potholes to mysterious and dangerous depths. After one such encounter, Rich had to lay down on the side of the road to investigate a disturbing scraping sound. Thankfully, only the plastic bumper needed to be shoved back into place.
Sure, it was raining. The scenic drive around Lake Arenal was somewhat marred by the highway getting completely washed out. The resultant detour passed scowling neighbors and seemed to climb everlastingly up the mountainside. "Go, Jimny, go, you can do it!" we shouted encouragingly over the din to our beleaguered 4WD. Mostly though, the rainwater did less to soften the impact and instead just exposed more pointy surfaces and render existent potholes to mysterious and dangerous depths. After one such encounter, Rich had to lay down on the side of the road to investigate a disturbing scraping sound. Thankfully, only the plastic bumper needed to be shoved back into place.
The second time we weren't so lucky. Coasting downhill, we hit an unusually straight stretch whose potholes made it look like a giant Whac-a-Mole game. Jimny's engine stalled, and he didn't start again. Most of the tiny village (of Las Brisas?) seemed to turn out to inquire and offer opinions once we propped up the hood. Our Spanish was a little rusty (why would we have needed to learn "sparkplugs" when we didn't have a car back then?), but we managed the basics. An old man offered to telephone the mechanic for us, the local store owner let us use their facilities, and a delivery van driver insisted we call the rental company. They said they'd send a car out immediately... from Alajuela, 5 hours away. At that, an American-Costa Rican family, back home in the village for a vacation, fair demanded we wait at their place.
Beth and her in-laws truly laid out the welcome mat for us. They invited us to share their "humble" (their words) lunch: rice, potatoes, cheese, and some giant variety of chayote squash in a black bean-based broth. The cheese was homemade, as the family still milks 30 head a day as part of the dairy business. Hearing I work in agriculture, Beth got her father-in-law to give us a tour of their farm. He showed us the small greenhouse he was starting, the massive vegetable garden in the back, and the worm composting operation. Rich felt right at home in the sweet smell of cowpies, and sucking on the sticks of sugarcane the farmer cut with his mean-looking machete brought back my own memories. The rest of our wait passed by pleasantly in rocking chairs on the front porch chatting and eating the best arroz con leche (rice pudding) I've ever had in my life. Full fat dairy style!
We bid them adeiu and met up with the rental guy who brought us Jimny 2 with the intention of getting Jimny 1 back up and running to take him back to Alajuela. Only later did we discover Jimny 1 never rose again, and the poor sot had to call a tow truck in the end to get him home. We, on the other hand, made it to Monteverde without further incident.
Beth and her in-laws truly laid out the welcome mat for us. They invited us to share their "humble" (their words) lunch: rice, potatoes, cheese, and some giant variety of chayote squash in a black bean-based broth. The cheese was homemade, as the family still milks 30 head a day as part of the dairy business. Hearing I work in agriculture, Beth got her father-in-law to give us a tour of their farm. He showed us the small greenhouse he was starting, the massive vegetable garden in the back, and the worm composting operation. Rich felt right at home in the sweet smell of cowpies, and sucking on the sticks of sugarcane the farmer cut with his mean-looking machete brought back my own memories. The rest of our wait passed by pleasantly in rocking chairs on the front porch chatting and eating the best arroz con leche (rice pudding) I've ever had in my life. Full fat dairy style!
We bid them adeiu and met up with the rental guy who brought us Jimny 2 with the intention of getting Jimny 1 back up and running to take him back to Alajuela. Only later did we discover Jimny 1 never rose again, and the poor sot had to call a tow truck in the end to get him home. We, on the other hand, made it to Monteverde without further incident.
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