Whitewater rafting in Voss (Norway)

Our foray into the Norwegian wilderness continued in Voss, about an hour on the train northeast of Bergen. Known as the adventure capital of Norway, Voss sits on the shore of the lake Lundarvatnet.

We were booked for a day of whitewater rafting... or canyoning, depending on the water levels. All of that rain we'd been experiencing meant for some truly awesome-power-of-nature-type rushing water. The guide told us the spectacular Tvindefossen (literally "two waterfalls") was the largest he'd seen it in several years. Ergo, we were going rafting.

We stuffed ourselves into thick wetsuits, jackets, and booties, which still didn't quite prepare us for the brisk 8C (~46 F) temperatures. Avoiding the wet was not up for debate, as this tour operator (Voss Active) insisted on a practice run and a swim test for good measure. We had to wade in, assume the legs up position (so your limbs don't get stuck under rocks), deliberately float into a swirling rapids, flip over, and swim across the current to the bank. Easy, right? Well, the cold was still a shock, and maybe I panicked a little with the strength of the current, swallowing more water than necessary, but I made it. Rich, on the other hand, was having so much fun in the rapids that he forgot the swimming part, ending up much further downstream.

The rafts were six or seven people each plus the guide. The Strandaelva river was flowing swiftly with Class 4-4.5 rapids. For the connoisseurs, it was the kind of rafting where there was a real possibility of flipping. We watched as one of our flotilla followed us over a big rapid, and the guide exclaimed, "Whoa, that was really close! If someone would've sneezed, they would've gone under... Probably means we shouldn't have done what we just did." In short, it was awesome!!

One poor sod was blue-tinged and shivering with cold in the van back to base. Luckily, there were hot showers awaiting, a wood fire going, and a hearty lunch of baked Norwegian salmon and potatoes ready for us. Nothing like cold and adrenaline followed by a hot meal to remind you life is good.

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Triglav National Park and the Julian Alps (Slovenia)

Triglav Mountain, the highest mountain in Slovenia at 2864 m (9396 ft), is so emblematic that it features on the national flag. The park that bears its name is difficult to see via public transport so we joined an organized trip. Another reason not to drive yourself is that the road into the Julian Alps climbs steeply and winds through 50 switchbacks. Our first stop was a short but steep hike up a mountain still covered in snow... in our sandals. Near the top, we could see for miles: in one direction lies Austria, and in the other, Italy. The shifting fronts of World War I could still be seen in abandoned concrete bunkers and empty lookouts posted along the ridge. Part of our drive was through the Vršič Pass on the Russian Road, so called because of the many Russian prisoners of war who built it. A chapel commemorates those who died doing so.

Much of our route followed the Soča River. We hiked to the source, climbing boulders, and in some cases, clinging to cables anchored in the sheer rock walls. The water gushed out of the rock, flowing over a giant snowball, probably several meters in diameter, the last remnant of the winter snow melt. More cables and narrower rock bridges also brought us to a lovely waterfall cascading into a secluded cavern. There are many opportunities along the Soča for postcard pictures of alpine forests and dramatic limestone landscapes.

For a more active river experience, whitewater rafting was an excellent way to get the juices flowing again, especially after a long time in a minibus. The water of the Soča is a surreal turquoise hue and an invigorating 7 °C, making us glad for the thick neoprene wetsuits we were wearing. While the class III rapids weren't the most extreme we've done, there were sections that required some hard paddling and all hands taking cover in the center of the boat. No one fell out, although when the opportunity to voluntarily jump off a big rock into the whirling waters presented itself, I misjudged it, of course. Rich was a little nervous watching me swim hard against the current to make it back to the extraction point!

Quepos, Rio Savegre, and Manuel Antonio (Costa Rica)

We jumped into Jimny 2 and headed out of the mountains. The views were really quite beautiful with rolling green landscapes dotted with the occasional livestock, reminiscent of the South Downs in England or parts of the North Island in New Zealand. Our journey continued down the Pan-American Highway along the Pacific Coast, where plenty of parking attendants beckoned hungry truckers with their come-hither motions to roadside restaurants.

Quepos may be on the doorstep to one of the more popular stops on the Gringo Trail, but other than a street of souvenir shops, the town retains a strong local vibe. We hunted down a real ferretería (a catch-all store with hardware and other odds and ends) to pick up our own souvenir: a good machete! A quick survey of Costa Rican farmers would indicate the handy tool/weapon to be as essential an accoutrement as the ubiquitous rubber boots. The specimen we found was of a hefty steel for 4000 colónes (~ 8 USD), far superior to the sad excuse we got from our local Lowe's that got a chip in the edge at first use.

Avoiding the afternoon downpour, we had one of the best meals at a hole in the wall in Quepos. Their version of tacos were crunchy rolls filled with slow-cooked, shredded pork hidden under a heaping helping of cabbage slaw. With one of the fresh fruit juices, they made for a delicious meal and probably our only reasonably priced one in the country.

Whitewater rafting on the Rio Savegre was not quite as extreme as they had sold it to us. However, our guide was much more knowledgeable about the flora and fauna than the one in Monteverde, even elaborating on the booming palm oil industry in the region as we passed plantations and processing facilities. Our transport to the river was a yellow school bus, delighting Rich who had never ridden in one. The trip included plenty of opportunities to stop and swim under waterfalls - helmets strongly advised! The last set of rapids were so gentle that we all floated down sans raft... although keeping your head above water is still a bit of a challenge.

Manuel Antonio National Park was the reason why we and everyone else were there. From Quepos, drivers must navigate the gauntlet of unofficial parking with touts insisting their lot really is the last one before the entrance. It was very quiet when we arrived, but the rains seemed to have driven away much of the famed wildlife of the park. Our early arrival did mean we got first pick on the gorgeous mangrove-lined Manuel Antonio beach. This also made for prime viewing of the only wildlife we did see: a couple of sneaky raccoons making off with a beach bag... and the hilarious attempts of the owners to pursue the thieves!

Whitewater rafting and canyoning in Sort (Spain)

Having sold our beloved car in the States, any time we get into one now seems like a special occasion. We headed further into Catalunya, driving northwest for 3 hours into the Pyrenees. The landscape was beautiful: golden with ripening fields of wheat, zigzagging in shallowly terraced strips, the occasional green vineyard, and dotted with monasteries and ruins. When we ordered a lavish array of tapas in the village of Tremp, the bill including drinks came to only 5 euros per person! It really hit home we weren't in Barcelona any more.

The tiny village of Sort, or "Luck" in Catalan, is famous for the lottery. The lottery, particularly the Christmas drawing, is hugely popular in Spain. In December, lines wrap around the block in the preceding weeks, and everybody plays, usually with colleagues from work (kind of like how nearly everyone in the States fills out a bracket or belongs to an office pool for March Madness). In a somewhat self-fulfilling prophecy, a store where the winning lottery ticket was purchased advertises the hell out of the boon and immediately increases future sales (and of course, the probability of more future wins). With a name like "Luck," many visitors to the mountain village purchase 2 souvenirs: a lottery ticket from the shop La Bruixa d'Or ("The Gold Witch") and a lucky witch doll. Rumor has it that the owners have capitalized so well on the mystique that the shop is only open in the 3 months before Christmas and spend the rest of the time jet-setting in their private yacht.

La Bruixa d'Or was closed so we opted for another kind of gamble - extreme sports! Marking another item off the bucket list, we went rafting on whitewaters of the Rio Noguera Pallaresa. During the beginning practice section on the river, what Rich describes as a "completely expected collision with a rock" sent me overboard into the literally breath-taking chilly waters. After floating downstream aways, I eventually got hauled in again. The dip made me very reluctant to revisit the experience, even during a practice drill for capsizing. Later, a couple of others in our crew also went for unintended swims, but everybody survived. Even when the raft caught some air a few times. The 3 hour trip navigating the Class III+ rapids was definitely invigorating! If only it didn't take us all about 6 hours to warm up again.  

This wasn't such a problem the next day. Clad in only an unflattering getup of helmets, swimsuits, and neoprene socks with sandals, we got plenty warm enough by hiking to the Sant Pere de las Malesas canyon. The first challenge of the day was just getting into our 5 mm wetsuits. A shoehorn wouldn't have gone amiss. We donned diaper-style harnesses, and away we went! Tramping through small pools and sliding down rocks, the physical challenge and fear didn't threaten to overwhelm me as it did when we tried canyoning in Turkey. Maybe this is because I conducted myself honorably in the two rappeling (= abseiling) sections this time. Actually I quite enjoyed the free jump from the waterfall and the "scoot down chicken-winged" section of a funnel. Rich, of course, wished it had been a little more extreme, but he was very grateful we didn't have to hike back in soaked wetsuits.