Monteverde and San Luis (Costa Rica)

The Monteverde cloud forest is one of Costa Rica's most popular tourist destinations, and our digs were distinctly off the beaten path. The University of Georgia has a campus-turned-ecolodge outside the village of nearby San Luis. Populated with mostly study abroad students and professors teaching special summer sessions, visitors can also pay to stay, space permitting. Our visit began with a brief orientation with one of the resident naturalists asking about our interests and outlining a personalized schedule for us. We started off on one of the night hikes in the area, where our guide catered to my interest in creepy crawlies and shined her flashlight into the den of a particularly burly tarantula. Lest we missed out on any specimens, they also were kind enough to arrange a viewing of their insect collections back in the lab. Our natural history day hike in the transitional forest was also very informative, and we lost track of time discussing biodiversity, conservation, and agriculture with our guide. The campus also maintains an on-site farm focused on sustainability and providing a substantial proportion of the food for the 3 square meals included daily in the lodge stay. We tried our hands at milking the campus cows, a first for Rich, despite growing up on dairy farms. It's a lot harder than it looks... especially aiming into the bucket.

Off campus, we did make it into the official Monteverde Reserve, but after our one-on-one time with UGA guides, the tour was a bit of a letdown. Most visitors are rabid to spot the iconic quetzal bird ("Beautiful plummage!"). After a couple of 15 minute stops spent peering forlornly into the misty canopies, our reserve guide clearly felt the whole trip was a wash and high-tailed us back in the dismal rain to the entrance. 

A far superior experience was ziplining. Costa Rica was one of the places that popularized it, and even if it is a tourist trap, we do have a weakness for adrenaline sports. There were 15 proper cables: fast enough to need to brake hard at the end, without much of a delay between rides, and the longest was a whopping 1 kilometer ride! The best part was the giddy drop-off (maybe 50 feet?) as a human pendulum in the Tarzan Swing. Stopping was a bit tricky as two of the guides had to either grab for your feet (I nearly lost a shoe) or quickly loop a giant rubber band around your midsection to catch you like some Wile E. Coyote move.

The last Monteverde mention must be a shout out to the cheese factory. We didn't end up taking the tour, but we finally understood the fuss about the best milkshakes ever. They make the ice cream on-site with local flavors like cas (a type of guava), soursop, and some fantastic combination involving sweetened condensed milk and fig... AND they use whole cow's milk (i.e. with floating cream) for these concoctions. Mmm, mmm, good!

Las Brisas? and Monteverde (Costa Rica)

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.

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.

Alajuela and La Fortuna (Costa Rica)

We have been so occupied getting our *permanent* move on (more on that later) that we haven't had a chance to do much else... until now. Our next destination is a popular one among Americans - Costa Rica. We thought we'd go see what all the fuss is about.

The airport for the capital San Jose is actually in nearby Alajuela. Arriving in the evening, we heeded the horror stories about driving at night in the country and bunked down for the night. Even picking up the rental - a 4WD called Jimny, like the cricket - was a bit of an adventure. As my experience with a stick shift has been limited to tractors with, say, a maximum speed of 15 mph, Rich was going to be our primary driver. The gears are the same as in left-side-driving British cars, but the relative orientation to the driver makes it a tricky switch (e.g. pulling towards you for first gear rather than pushing away in the UK). Also, addresses in Costa Rica are of an idiosynchratic nature, with most roads not having a name and based on local spots that may, or may not, exist any more. For example, one place is listed as at "600 meters from the old school." Luckily, the rental car agency actually drove us by the hostel, pointing out the relevant landmarks- Delta gas station, hospital, etc. - to make sure we'd find our way back.

Bright and early we hit the road towards La Fortuna. The 3 hour drive into the mountains is pretty and lush now in the rainy season. "Sodas," or cheap eateries, beckoned to us along many turns, all boasting the best "mirador" (= scenic viewpoint), and roadside stalls hawked pyramids of spiny rambutans and fresh mangoes.

La Fortuna is the gateway to Mount Arenal. We did a bit of hiking around the observatory lodge, but cloud cover hid the top of the volcano most days. We paid the hefty entrance fee to see the La Fortuna waterfall, a striking 75 meters (about 250 ft) in height. The plummeting waters created a surprisingly strong and choppy current, easily wearing swimmers out from any romanticized notions drawn from The Blue Lagoon.

While the Arenal volcano may not be active any more, the natural hot springs are still a big draw. We took advantage of a low season 2-for-1 deal at a swanky resort to check out how the other half  (or 1%?) lives. Eighteen pools of varying temperatures were laid out in secluded nooks of tropical plants and with little cascades offering gentle massages. The day pass meant us plebes could also sneak in a game of billiards and check out the onsite wildlife rescue center. Living there are toucans, monkeys, sloths (called "perezoso" by Costa Ricans, which translates to lazy!), and a variety of predator cats confiscated from illegal owners.        

Paris (France)

Since Rich was going to be working outside of Paris for some time, I decided to tag along so I could actually see my husband and some more of the city. This was my third trip to the City of Light, and let me say straight out (and hope not to earn your eternal ire): Sorry, folks, I'm still not quite feelin' it. Maybe it is because there are so many expectations from films and literature and pop culture, it would be impossible to live up to. The architecture is impressive but not really my style. People rave about strolling along the bridges on the Seine, but my attempts to capture this romantic interlude have been more gray Paris than gay Paris. And while I am sure that dining in the hallowed halls is everything I would dream it could be, for most meals, it seemed to my mind (and budget) that you had to pay dearly for it... But maybe also, Barcelona has spoiled me - give me Catalan modernisme, eternally sunny beaches, and affordable gastronomy by chefs named Jordi!

That is not to say that I found nothing of interest in Paris. Indeed, we were so dazzled by one place that we went twice. E. Dehillerin is a dark, unassuming spot in the 1st arrondissement (as neighborhoods in Paris are called). Inside, what looks like a dusty hardware store is, upon closer inspection, a veritable treasure trove. For a chef, it would be easy to believe this place has everything your heart desires. The ceiling-high warren of shelving holds every conceivable size and shape of pans (bundt pans the size of a half dollar!) and utensils for which you could only hazard a guess at their purpose. Should your preference run to copper, cast iron, or stainless steel, E. Dehillerin is like a fine armory from which to choose your gleaming weapons. The styles and options are myriad, but for the uniquely French cook, there were such specialized items as soft-bristled croissant brushes (they look like something you should groom a horse with) and escargot dishes (not unlike those dented platters for devilled eggs). To add to the temptation, none of the wares are marked with prices. Each shelf or container has a coded number that you look up in one of the three binders in the store, and one of the aproned old men will wrap up your selections in brown butcher paper. We managed to tear ourselves away with a particularly fine chef's knife, fierce-looking shears, and a French rolling pin.

The other reason for visiting Paris, for me, is the art. I had been to the Louvre (overwhelming) and the Musée d'Orsay (wonderful) previously, but this time, I wanted to try to make it to some of the other 204 (!) art museums in the city. The Musée d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris and the Petit Palais had some nice, free permanent collections of modern and fine art, respectively. The Musée de l'Orangerie is small but superb for contemplating Monet's series in water lilies. Again, I have to admit the artistic high point reveals my slight Catalan bias. The Centre Georges Pompidou had a phenomenal Salvador Dalí exhibit occupying almost the entire expanse of the sixth floor. We were a little concerned that having waited for 1.5 hours in line and having been to his museum in Figueres, we'd be disappointed. How wrong we were! With some ridiculous number like 400 of his works on display, there was plenty to amaze, astonish, and just plain be weirded out by. Although I may not always understand it, I am always fascinated... and as a much bigger fan, Rich, who gave up the chance to sleep before his next shift, thought it was totally worth it!

Granada (Spain)

One of the places in Spain I have always wanted to see is the Alhambra... and I am not alone. Over two million people per year come to Granada to visit the massive palace and fortress complex. The Muslim kings who ruled much of Spain - and, indeed, most of the Iberian peninsula - for over 700 years originally built it for defense. You can still visit the remnants of the early citadel, known as the Alcazaba, and appreciate the restful luxury that the Generalife and its extensive formal gardens could provide royalty as a summer palace.

Most of the postcards of the Alhambra focus on the Palacio Nazaríes, built by the Nasrid emirs in the 14th century. Getting in is a little tricky, as there are signs everywhere reminding that entry is strictly controlled by a limited number of tickets with set 30 minute entry slots. Rich and I were a little concerned that our past visits to similar sites in Turkey and Morocco would dim our opinion of the Palacio Nazaríes, and we are quite happy to report that it did not. Always enchanted by colorful mosaic work and intricately carved stucco, the architecture and decor we saw were of particularly fine quality, and probably more importantly, in far better state of upkeep and preservation. Restoration work on the iconic marble Fountain of the Lions was only just finished this past December.

Back down in the city, we decided to pamper ourselves like sultans. A hammam is a traditional Arabic bath, and even though we'd had some experience with these elsewhere in Europe and Morocco, this place really pulled out all the stops! Located in a 13th Century building, the owners of this hammam really tried to recreate ancient baths with more intimate rooms, gorgeous mosaic work, and superb temperature controls. The circuit consists of a warm room with the pool set at a cozy 36 C (or 97 F);  a blissfully hot room at 40 C (or 104 F); and a cold room, whose 18 C (or 64 F) plunge pool makes your whole body feel like it's having a heart attack. In between, you can take breaks in the steam sauna or at one of the tables with piping hot pots of traditional mint tea. Rest, and repeat!

I also tried out the traditional hammam treatment. They lay you on a table and pour buckets of warm water over you. There is a light, tickling sensation as you get covered with a thick blanket of bubbles. Then, using a rough glove (or kessa), they scrub you down like you haven't been scrubbed since your mom caught you making mudpies. After the rinse, your exfoliated skin feels fantastic, and you adjourn back to the pool rooms.

Any description of Granada itself would be lacking without a shout-out to its overwhelming ghosts of the past - Ferdinand II and Isabella I. Known simply as Los Reyes Católicos (the Catholic Monarchs), this power couple were the ones who created the unified Spain. Not content with simply ousting the Muslims from the peninsula, they also ushered in the Inquisition. They were also the ones who sent Christopher Columbus off in 1492. You can visit their sarcophagi in the ornate Capilla Real and view the actual coffins through a window set a few steps underground. Creepy!