Gummibunny

This would be our final time driving to the beach, and in a nod to the very difficult journey we had our first night in Costa Rica, we decided on a different approach. We decided to take the little shortcut road, the one with the river and the cow. The one we’d avoided that first night. We were feeling experienced and perhaps a bit arrogant.

“Wheeeee!!” squealed Camille from the backseat, a big change from the last time we were on this road, when she was exhausted and terrified because we were lost. The river looked deep, and as we plunged in we found that it was deep. Water sloshed over the hood but Lee kept his foot on the pedal and soon we were on the other side. Oh man was I glad we hadn’t attempted that as our first river crossing, at night no less.

Pulling up to the house, we were excited to show my parents the view, and to have them meet our friend the beach. She had begun to feel so familiar, as though we had a claim to her, and her to us.

And thus began our final days in Costa Rica. We took my parents to a couple of area beaches. We went to Marvin’s house again to buy some fish. We revisited the Black Sheep Pub in the mountains of Nosara, where a family of howler monkeys played in the trees adjacent to the Beer Garden. We even got a good glimpse of a mama and baby. I could’ve watched them for hours.

But mostly we hung out at our beach, Playa Azul. Camille discovered a fun spot where a river washed into the sea. The river had carved a path in the sand and left behind a sand wall perfect for jumping. Granddaddy discovered a planed log on the beach and slid it into the river, providing a most excellent raft.

Lee and I spent hours hunting for sea glass. There was something so relaxing about it, so cathartic. I found that I could completely clear my mind and just wander, eyes fixed to the ground, lulled by the sound of the surf, and rewarded periodically by the discovery of bright treasures.

Camille spent hours taunting the waves, first yelling into the salt air, “IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT?”

Then the sea would respond with an enormous crescendo that would send her fleeing.

My dad was the first one brave enough to scramble high up onto the sharp rocks for a bird’s eye view of the crashing waves. It wasn’t easy to get up there, and I was always a little afraid that a rogue wave would wash us out to sea, but the vista was beautiful. The powerful waves would curl and form tunnels, and we would watch birds soar over the crests looking for fish.

We were treated to some more incredible sunsets, and spent most evenings in rocking chairs by the pool watching the sun turn into an orange fireball and disappear. Darkness followed quickly, a great backdrop for stars and fireflies.

We took my folks to the Tiki Hut restaurant in Marbella, where I decided that every restaurant needs hammocks. 

Marbella means “beautiful sea,” and I couldn’t have picked a better name.

Our final day at the beach, I tried not to be sad. I tried to enjoy the view and not dwell on the closing chapter, but it was difficult. There was a part of me that was ready to be home, to sleep in my bed, to drive on easy roads and shop at Publix.

But everything we had experienced – all the things we had seen, people we’d met, adventures we’d had, all the ways we learned and struggled and succeeded, all the time we’d had together as a family – I didn’t want it to end. I told myself that I’d give up Publix. I’d drive on treacherous roads. Sometimes, I could imagine this being my home. My life.

But the problem was that we were living a fantasy. Even if I did live in Costa Rica, I’d have to work. I’d have a schedule, Camille would have school, and we’d have responsibilities. Lee and I joked that we needed to figure out a way to find good-paying jobs as sea glass hunters. But those don’t exist. And I know I would desperately miss my friends and family – they make a place “home,” and I’m not sure I could ever feel at home without them.

My comfort was two-fold. I was comforted by all the fantastic memories, all the pictures, even this blog – I knew they would help mentally transport me back here when I needed it. We changed on this trip, I could feel it. We learned to scale back, to slow down, to let go, and I didn’t want to lose those adaptations. Keeping the memories fresh, I hoped, would help us hang on to them.

And I was comforted by the knowledge that we did this once, and God willing, we may do it again someday. Maybe not soon, but maybe one day. I felt like a stronger person, having stepped outside my comfort zone and thrived. And we felt like a stronger family too. And no plane ride home could take that away from me.

Pura Vida, my friend. Until next time.

This is mostly a good thing, although the entrance to the highway is a confusing mess of roads with no lane markers, and I usually try to follow the other cars to find my way. There are no other cars, so maybe I went the wrong way and tried to get on the highway via the off-ramp. Maybe I had to go in reverse up that off-ramp and turn around after the lone truck honked at me. 

Maybe. I’ll never tell. 

And then I’m pulling up to the arrival gates and there they are, my parents, exhausted but excited to begin their adventure with us.

We fall into our beds and I sleep until 5:30 when I am awakened, not just by the rising sun, but by a stomach bug.

This is not how I wanted to welcome my parents on their first day in Costa Rica, curled in the fetal position in bed. But we don’t get to choose these things, do we? 

The day is a blur. We check out of our hotel in San Jose and make the trek into the mountains toward Monteverde. I have so been looking forward to this excursion, and am terribly disappointed to feel so miserable. The car winds up the curvy mountain roads and gorgeous, emerald vistas greet us around every corner.

I take quick peeks before closing my eyes again, hanging on to the flight sickness bag I swiped from our Delta flight 3 weeks earlier, when I had imagined just this sort of possibility.

Our destination is the UGA Costa Rica campus. As alumni and Georgia enthusiasts, we were looking forward to a little slice of Athens in the wilds of Costa Rica. We check in, and I go to bed.

Thankfully, the next day I’m feeling a little better. Still woozy, but well enough to take a good look around the place.

It is gorgeous. Our cabina is small (and all 5 of us are bunking together) and the whole thing reminds me of summer camp, but not in a bad way. There are rocking chairs and a hammock on the porch, and the cool mountain breezes are refreshing.

The foliage is verdant and green and everything in this cloud forest seems super-sized – the trees, the broadness of the leaves, the flowers, the butterflies, the guinea pigs. 

Oh wait, that was no guinea pig – it was an agouti running across our path. How fun!

After a communal breakfast in the dining hall (even running into a group of high schoolers from Savannah, of all things), we take a natural history hike with one of the volunteers. This is what I had imagined – young, enthusiastic naturalists from the states who are just as excited about this exotic land as we are, giving us a grand tour.

Kate, our guide, is a font of knowledge about the plants and animals, and Camille is a sponge. We learn all about leaf-cutter ants. We witness the strange adaptations plants have made in their quest for sunlight under the thick canopy of trees. We watch a whole family of coatis make their way down a tree. We stare up into the strange hollow center of a strangler fig.

After lunch, we’re ready for more exploration, and hike along a nearby trail that includes a set of several suspension bridges. These bridges give you a canopy-level view of the cloud forest, and the view is fantastic.

After dinner we have one more hike planned – this time it’s a night hike with another volunteer naturalist. It is exhilarating and terrifying to walk through the jungle at night. We turn off our flashlights and are plunged into total darkness, ears picking up all the night sounds around us. Flashlights back on, we spot two enormous tarantulas along with several other less venomous night-time creatures.

In the morning, we’re up with the chickens. The UGA campus is also a working farm, and there are cows to be milked.

Camille, who has been playing “pioneer” since her arrival, was delighted to try her hand at a real pioneer-type chore.

She works at her task with surprising determination and enthusiasm, and does a darn good job milking that cow. I try it too, but she’s a better milker than me. She’d make an excellent pioneer.

Then we’re off to breakfast where we have a newfound appreciation for the fresh milk in our coffee, and then we’re on the road again. It’s time for my mom and dad to meet the coast.

My parents won’t arrive until after midnight, so we have a full day to pass in the capital city. But we didn’t come here to hang out in the cities, so we point the car toward the outskirts of town and are soon climbing the mountains to Poas Volcano.

Poas is another of Costa Rica’s active volcanoes. The great thing about Poas is that you can drive nearly to the very top of the volcano, and with just a short walk and some luck, you can be peering down into her sulfurous, bubbling crater in a few minutes.

I say luck, because it all depends on the weather. Up on these mountains, clouds and rain can move in at any time, completely obscuring your view.

We pull up to the entrance to the Poas Volcano National Park, and the employee has unfortunate news. “The crater is covered in a cloud now. Do you still want to go in?”

“Is there a chance the clouds will move away?” I ask.

She shrugs in a very unpromising way. We pay our $24 anyway and take the gamble.

After a brief but enjoyable perusal of the volcano museum, we make our way toward the crater. I’m optimistic because, although it had been raining earlier, the sun is shining. 

But as we make our final approach, all I can see ahead of me is thick whiteness. It’s as if a giant marshmallow has settled directly into the crater, effectively blocking our view. I’m surprised at the density of it. Although I can see the plants just on the other side of the protective railing, I can’t make out even the faintest shapes or colors just a few feet farther ahead.

The smell of sulfur washes over us, and I find myself coughing. The volcano is there, even if I can’t see her.

Camille is not impressed.

But we have an entire afternoon to fill and we’ve paid our money, so I decide we’ll wait a while. And wait a bit more. We can hear thunder off in the distance and know rain is likely on the way, and we’re just about to leave when I wonder if my eyes are playing tricks on me. Can I see movement in the clouds? Where there was just a wall of white, can I now see shapes?

And then I begin to see the edges of the crater. And then I begin to see the turquoise pool of water in the center.

Camille sees it too, “DAD! YOU CAN SEE IT!” she screams to Lee, who has stepped away. Everyone around us quiets and rushes to the railing. As the cloud slips away, the cameras come out.

For just a few minutes, you can clearly see the crater, the lake, the sulfuric steam rushing from the edges. You can see the hardened lava flows from previous eruptions. She is beautiful. 

Then she is gone. Covered up in a thick white blanket.

We hang out long enough to see her one more time before the lightening comes frighteningly close and we dash for the car. Halfway down the mountain, we stop at a roadside restaurant to eat and can barely hear each other over the sound of the deluge. But we are dry and safe and, for the millionth time since we arrived, feeling incredibly lucky.

It’s Sunday, and we’ve booked a boat tour with Mike. 

Mike does fishing tours and scuba tours, but we’ve asked for his turtle tour, and he’s guaranteed us that we can see some of those Olive Ridley turtles in the water near their arribada site at Ostional.

We arrive in San Juanillo, and I realize that getting on a boat here isn’t quite like the Boat Club marina at home. First, we hop into a small boat that has been pulled onto the shore. Then we’re shoved off the beach to make the quick trip to Mike’s larger boat, which is anchored in deeper water. 

It’s no simple task to get on the larger boat with big waves rocking and swaying the vessels, but we manage. I tell myself the waves will be calmer when we’ve pulled away from shore. 

I am wrong.

Unlike the rivers and protected inlets in which we typically boat, we are soon out to sea and the swells are huge. Camille, Lee and I take a spot at the front of the boat where there is a strong breeze that helps settle my stomach, and at least I can spot the waves coming which helps my equilibrium. 

Soon, we find a pod of spotted dolphins hunting nearby. The captain approaches, and several dolphins swim at our bow, jumping out of the water periodically and giving us quite a show.

As we near Ostional, the turtles appear. From a distance, they look like brownish-green rocks floating at the water’s surface. Many of the turtles are in pairs; Mike tactfully says they’re “dancing.”

Camille laughs each time she sees them. “Look! They’re riding piggy back!”

When Mike spots a lone turtle, he jumps in and swims to her. This is not Mike’s first rodeo, and he has perfected his “turtle talk.” He knows how to make just the right sounds to settle the female turtle and keep her still. He invites us into the water. 

I worry about the big waves, but once we are in the water they really aren’t that apparent. Camille swims right up to the turtle, which Mike has named Gertrude, and holds onto her shell. The turtle is buoyant enough to keep them both afloat, and Camille speaks softly to her and strokes her flippers. When the turtle occasionally begins to slap at the water, Mike talks to the turtle some more and she immediately settles.

We take turns holding onto Gertrude, who is a very patient and tolerant girl.

When it is time to say good-bye to her, Mike invites me to hang on to her shell and go for a dive. He says I should grab on toward the back, and that when he lets go she will dive and I can go along with her as far as I want. I borrow his goggles and ready my hands.

He lets go. Sure enough, Gertrude takes a breath and dives. Her back is slick and too soon I’ve lost my grip and she swims away. I stay under water as long as I can, watching her dive deeper until I can’t see her anymore.

Back on the boat, we see more turtles and a venomous sea snake (eek!), and we get to admire the beach around our house from the sea. I love the way the aqua waves crash onto the rocks, sending sea spray high into the air. I love the green, jungle trees that come right to the water’s edge. I love the mountains in the background. I love it all.

Soon we are back in San Juanillo, back on the little boat, and then back on shore (is it just me, or is this beach rocking?). After lunch at the beach house, we head out for one of our new favorite activities – searching for sea glass on the sand. We are rewarded for our efforts with several new green, blue and clear bits of glass, and Camille has a blast getting muddy in the tidal river. 

Then, it’s time to do laundry and begin to pack. Tomorrow, it’s back to San Jose to say good-bye to Boo and Ann and hello to my parents, a fresh set of visitors with whom to share this wonderful place.

After two weeks on our own, it was awfully nice to see some familiar, friendly faces. Boo and Ann arrived late on Tuesday, so we spent a night in San Jose before heading back toward the beach. As we cruised along the highways, we filled them in on our adventures, pointing out landmarks, reading various Spanish road signs, explaining that a roadside “soda” is not a convenience store like we first thought, but a great local place where you can get a typical Costa Rican casado for lunch. Every town, even a tiny town, has at least one or two open-air sodas with small tables, stools and a bar. 

We told them about our only experience at a soda thus far; we had stopped at one on our trip to Limon. There were no drive-thru or fast food restaurants, and finally hunger overpowered our fear of the unknown, so we pulled into a local soda in some small town. 

After parking, we saw the name and we laughed: Soda Pity. 

The meal began awkwardly. Unlike in a touristy restaurant, I knew I’d need my Spanish. We sat down and the waitress approached. She looked at us. We looked at her.

No one said anything.

We could see no menu, and clearly we were just supposed to know what we wanted. Finally, Lee broke the silence with a simple, “Menu?”

She shook her head no, and then gave us our choices. “Beef, chicken, pork, fish.”

“Chicken. Two please,” we said.

And in a short while, our food appeared. The casado was a mixed plate of rice, beans, slaw, two different kinds of potato hash, and a fried piece of meat. It was actually quite delicious. We ate well and left the soda feeling satisfied that we’d successfully navigated another new experience.

As we told all of this to Boo and Ann, I realized that we’d learned a great deal in 2 weeks. It was a pleasure to introduce someone else to the country and not feel so clueless and fumbling.

We spent our first three days with Boo and Ann enjoying the beaches. We explored tidal pools and walked the shore, collecting an enormous supply of shells for making necklaces. We swam in the pool. We played in the waves. We marveled at the sunsets.

We took them to Tree Tops beach at San Juanillo where Camille and I discovered a perfect tidal pool for snorkeling. Little striped fish and blue fish and perfectly camouflaged sand-colored fish darted in and around the coral. Talking over our snorkels, we excitedly pointed and yelled, “Ish! Ish!” each time we spotted a fish.

Mike, one of our property managers, had mentioned that you can buy fish directly from the fisherman in San Juanillo, and we were in the mood for fish. In a stroke of luck (this whole trip so far has been one stroke of luck after another), Mike was on the beach that day so we asked him. He handed his cell phone to a local who called another local, and soon we were  given directions to the home of a guy named Marvin.

We found Marvin’s house and yelled, “Hola!” through his open front door. A woman, cooking lunch in the kitchen at the back of the house yelled for us to come on through. We walked through her small but clean and breezy home to a back patio area where the men were all lounging. Someone opened a deep freezer chest full of fish and lobster, and we picked out a filet of corvina. Money changed hands, I was again very grateful for all my Spanish classes, and we left feeling quite proud of ourselves.

The fish was for dinner, but lunch was the priority for our growling bellies. Mike had also given us directions to a restaurant in nearby Marbella. The Tiki Hut is right on the beach, and we enjoyed good food with a view that’s hard to beat. 

Saturday, we took Boo and Ann to Nosara for a tour of the Nosara Biological Reserve. Down, down, down a steep flight of stairs we went from the top of a mountain into the jungle below. We provided an unintentional buffet for the mosquitos as we walked the muddy path toward a river.

The river crossing was an interesting hop along the tops of tree stumps, sandwiched between the craziest jungle gym of mangrove tree roots I’ve ever seen. Boo and Ann consulted their trail guides at every turn, identifying trees and plants and learning about their uses.

I was looking for snakes.

We saw no snakes, but did spot a monkey, some lizards and some butterflies. We were almost off the trail when Lee spotted a coati raiding a compost pile. Camille was thrilled to see the coati, and wanted to take him home.

Exhausted from the climb back up those stairs, we were thankful for the air-conditioned car and bounced our way into Playa Guiones in search of the “Saturday Market.” We found the market, and Boo and Ann did what grandparents do best – buy one of everything for the grandkids. We ate at Marlin Bill’s again, and we got well-deserved ice cream at the local heladeria. And then we slept. Really well.

We had what we thought was a 4-hour trip ahead of us. We were leaving the Sloth Sanctuary just south of Limon and driving into San Jose for a very important task. Boo and her friend Ann were joining us for a week, and were due into the airport that evening. We left in plenty of time. 

Or so we thought.

I was behind the wheel as we made our way into Limon, approaching one of the main intersections through town. Something wasn’t right. As we got closer I realized the street was full of people. Some held signs, and someone was speaking into a megaphone. Our path was blocked by the crowd, as well as piles of branches and rocks.

What to do? Our GPS did not account for this. The little bit of Limon that we saw looked sad and tired and worn and I wasn’t eager to go turning down side streets to find another way. And looking around, I didn’t see any side streets anyway.

Finally a man, perhaps seeing the panic on my face, motioned for me to go off-road and circumvent the crowd, which I did. 

Back on the road, we breathed a sigh of relief and wondered what on earth THAT had been about.

Our relief was short-lived. We had seen smoke up ahead, but didn’t think much of it until the traffic stopped in front of us. My first thought was that there was a traffic accident or building fire blocking our way. Lee got out to see what was happening, and returned to the car with wide eyes.

“The road is on fire,” he said. 

The semi trucks that had stopped in front of us weren’t budging, but several cars were passing us and going on ahead, although we couldn’t see far enough to determine how (or if) they were getting through. We sat there for a while assessing the situation, then finally decided to follow the Ticos and creep forward in the other lane.

As we got closer, we could see the source of the fire was a line of flaming tires across the road. WHAT WAS GOING ON?

Camille was watching a movie on the iPad in the backseat, oblivious. As I gathered my nerve to drive off-road around the fire like the other Ticos, I told her to pause her movie. 

“Camille, something interesting is happening up here, and I think you’ll want to watch.”

As we drove on the right shoulder I could feel the heat from the fire radiating to my left. “No one throw anything flammable on the fire right now,” was the mantra I kept repeating in my head.

And thankfully, no one did. We were soon heading forward again, but without that same feeling of relief. What else might lie ahead? 

A few miles farther and the traffic stopped again. We were passed by ambulances and police cars and I wondered if THIS time, maybe it really was a traffic accident. People were getting out of their cars and trucks and walking around, and I finally rolled down my window to ask one of them, “Is there an accident?”

He looked at me funny and shook his head no. Like I should’ve known better.

Finally, unable to resist, Lee activated the cellular data on his phone so he could check the news. Turns out, this was a national day of protests in Costa Rica. Pretty much every group with a gripe had planned some sort of disruptive protest in order to “cripple the country.”

Great. On the day we needed to drive halfway across the country to San Jose. On the day Boo would be expecting to see our smiling faces as she got off that plane. Why today? 

We called Boo’s cell phone and were able to get her just as she was boarding her first flight in Savannah. We tried not to worry her, but came up with a plan B in case we couldn’t get to the airport in time.

And then we hung up the phone and sat there. And sat there. And sat there. This time, a crowd was blocking a bridge up ahead, and there was no driving around the bridge. Entrepreneurs came by selling drinks, snacks and portable cell phone chargers. 

Our saving grace finally came in the form of a nasty downpour, which sent people scrambling for their cars. More than an hour after we stopped, we were finally rolling forward again, but at a turtle’s pace for many miles.

It was the last disruption we’d experience that day, thankfully, but it turned our 4-hour trip into a 7-hour one. It will not go down as my favorite Costa Rican experience.

Unpleasant though it was, the day of protests made for some interesting conversations with Camille. She asked so many questions – why would people behave this way? We talked about some of the protester’s concerns, like low wages and governmental corruption and environmental issues. Each of our answers brought a new deluge of questions. 

A girl who likes to follow the rules, I think she couldn’t wrap her head around such flagrant obstruction. Especially when the reasons we were giving sounded reasonable. “So Mama,” she asked, “are protests a good thing or a bad thing?”

As much as the protests had put a major kink in our day, I answered truthfully. “It depends,” I said. “It’s important for people to be heard, and if you’re not hurting anyone, then maybe protests are a good thing.”

But of course, it’s so much more complicated than that. The protests of the Civil Rights Movement? Incredibly important. The protests of the Westboro Baptist Church people, who spew hate and intolerance? So incredibly negative. But still, I respect a person’s right to a peaceful protest – something that is crucial to a democracy.

Who knew that drive to San Jose would turn into fodder for such a weighty discussion? But thankfully, we made it into town weary but on time. And when Alva and Ann cleared customs and stepped out into the Costa Rican evening, we were there and ready with eager arms.

I can’t recall how we discovered the Too Cute Sloth series of Animal Planet videos last year, but once we saw them, Camille was smitten. We watched them over and over, marveling at how adorable and silly and playful and cute the sloths were. She watched one video in particular so often that she memorized the voiceover and would say it along with the narrator. We got her a stuffed sloth toy and she sleeps with it nearly every night. Camille has a book about these sloths, and knows many of them by name and can spout off an impressive array of sloth facts to anyone willing to listen.

The video series was shot at The Sloth Sanctuary here in Costa Rica. The sanctuary was started by a woman named Judy, an Alaskan native who relocated here with her husband to run a riverboat tour business. Some neighbor children brought her an orphaned sloth some 20 years ago, a little baby that she named Buttercup. She inquired at the zoo, she asked the locals – no one knew where it could be taken for safety and care. No one knew much of anything about sloths.

So Miss Judy kept Buttercup. And a year later, someone found another injured sloth and brought it to Miss Judy. And then another. And now her sanctuary has more than 100 sloths on property. They rehabilitate and release the ones that can survive, but many have injuries too severe, or lack the critical knowledge they would have received from their mothers about what is safe to eat in the wild.

Unfortunately for us, The Sloth Sanctuary is on the opposite coast, which meant bisecting the country in order to see these creatures. But it was simply mandatory. So Monday, we left the volcano and headed toward the beach, but this time to the Caribbean coast. 

The Sanctuary is also a small bed and breakfast, and we’d booked one of the rooms. Most of the sloths are kept in areas away from public view unless you’re on a tour, and our tour was scheduled for the next morning. But we decided to walk around and explore the common areas anyway.

And at the top of a flight of stairs to the dining area, we saw her. Queen Buttercup, atop her wicker throne. Snoozing in her slothful way. The sloth who started it all.

We were ecstatic. We jumped up and down and whispered excitedly to each other, trying not to disturb her but being so utterly thrilled. Queen Buttercup lifted her head and eyed us for a while, curious about these whispering, jumping creatures in front of her. It was like seeing Taylor Swift – we were that excited. No, it was better than seeing Taylor Swift. It was QUEEN BUTTERCUP. The sloth we’d loved and admired from afar, in front of us at last. I wanted to hug her and take her to our room for a sloth slumber party, but instead settled for a thousand photographs.

Tuesday morning, our breakfast was served with a decorative hibiscus on the edge of our plates. Hibiscus are actually a favorite food of the sloths – something Camille learned from her sloth book. Camille, feeling especially slothy, ate her hibiscus. And mine. And Lee’s. “They taste like nothing!” she said.

Our tour began with a riverboat ride through the jungle. Our canoe passed quietly through the water, and as we floated under a fallen tree, I was startled to see a bat fly over my head. Underneath the tree, cuddled together in a hollow space, were three bats, less than 12 inches from my face. Good thing we all like bats.

We saw birds, and we stopped for a while underneath banana tree as a howler monkey ate his breakfast. It was a nice ride, but we were eager for the main attraction.

Finally, our tour guide took us into one of the buildings where they house some adult sloths. And there was Millie, a precious light-haired sloth, snoozing in her own wicker chair. 

Our guide, Jeff (who is also Miss Judy’s grandson), gently woke Mille up and pulled her arms to his shoulders. She clung to him like a tree.

Would we get to touch her? I wanted to so badly!

And yes, Jeff invited us to come closer and feel her silky hair. Millie swiveled her head all around, sweetly watching us as we petted her and cooed over her.

Next, Jeff introduced us to Toyota. The poor guy was badly burned on an electrical wire and lost his left arm. He can’t go back into the wild, but he does just fine at Miss Judy’s. We were invited into his enclosure to say hello.

As Camille stroked his hair, Toyota almost seemed to be reaching for her, much to her delight. I haven’t had a chance to edit the video yet, but here is a single clip of Camille and Toyota getting acquainted.

We also met Johnny Depp, who was finishing up his breakfast.

Next, we got a tour of the sloth nursery, where some of the healthier babies are kept. Most of them had pulled towels over their heads during the night and weren’t keen to come out. Sloths are late sleepers of course. But we did get a few sweet glimpses of the babies before our tour ended.

But we couldn’t leave without at least inquiring about Miss Judy herself. Was she here? Would she be willing to meet Camille and sign her book? 

And a few moments later, Miss Judy appeared, with kind words and warm greetings for my girl. 

After spending a few minutes with Miss Judy, it was time to go. As we pulled away from the sanctuary, headed back across the country, I thought what a magical morning it had been.

But things were about to get strange.

Camille is a volcano aficionado, so we knew a volcano visit had to be on our agenda. Arenal is one of Costa Rica’s many active volcanoes; until recently, you could see near-constant lava flows down her sides. The lava stopped flowing suddenly a couple of years ago, but she still vents steam and ash. And we still wanted to see her. 

She had a major eruption in the late 60’s, destroying two of the three towns around her flanks and killing more than 80 people. The third town, the one that was untouched, was renamed La Fortuna. The Fortunate.

She’s had several smaller eruptions since then, and I was nervously excited to be close to the beastly mountain. We booked a room at the Arenal Observatory Lodge, which is the closest hotel to the volcano. The lodge is so close, it was originally built to house scientists who were studying Arenal. We stayed in the Smithsonian section of rooms.

The lodge is on an amazing piece of property. The grounds immediately surrounding the lodge were well manicured and swarming with butterflies and hummingbirds. The various lodging areas were spread some distance apart, with pathways and suspension bridges connecting them to the restaurant and lobby. Seven miles of trails extended out in all directions into the rainforest.

The observation deck is directly in front of the volcano, but when we pulled up, we could only see the bottom two-thirds of the mountain. The top third was covered in a thick layer of fast-moving clouds.

We decided to explore the “Old Lava Trail,” which leads toward the foot of the mountain to where lava has hardened into rock. We’d gotten about halfway there on the slippery, muddy trail and had stopped to spy on some monkeys cavorting in the trees, when the skies opened up and it began to pour. We headed back toward the lodge, having left our rain gear in the car. Naturally. 

We grabbed some large branches with broad palms that had fallen on the path and used them as umbrellas (this pic was before the downpour).

They worked pretty well, but dripped mud and dirt all over our heads and necks. As soon as we exited the trail, the rain stopped, although clouds still covered the volcano. It was time for a rinse and a swim in the pool.

At first we were the only ones swimming, but soon another family came to the pool. They had a daughter about Camille’s age, and watching them felt like watching some nature documentary on the social habits of animals. They swam around each other, stealing glances, both obviously wanting to play but not wanting to be the first to make contact. Then suddenly, they were talking. Then they were thrashing about and making up games and pretending to be dolphins. Where only a minute before they’d been ignoring each other, now they were best friends. Before the night ended, Camille and Lucy had exchanged addresses and promised to keep in touch.

All evening and all the next morning I kept an eye on the volcano, hoping the clouds would part. As we were in our room, getting ready for breakfast, I walked out onto our balcony again for another look. 

And there is was. The top of the volcano. Clouds still swirled around her, but you could see the very top, with a thin wisp of steam rising into the air. We took a thousand pictures.

We enjoyed breakfast watching the volcano. We went on a hike to a waterfall and could see the volcano. The waterfall thundered down an opening in the dense rainforest landscape, sending a refreshing spray of water over us.

We took some more pictures of the volcano.

Just as we approached the reception area to check out of our hotel, a large cloud slid in front of the volcano, and the view was gone. And I counted us very lucky to have seen her.

When we went to Tamarindo for groceries, we stopped to eat lunch at Witch’s Rock Surf Camp. There on the table was an advertisement for their sister property, the Volcano Brewing Company Microbrewery and Hotel. It immediately caught Lee’s attention. 

The craft beer scene is still in its infancy here, with most of the beer in the country being produced by one large brewery. Some research, including a long chat with Joe of the Black Sheep Pub, revealed that Volcano Brewing Company was one of only two craft breweries in the whole country. The brewery is located in the mountains around Lake Arenal, an area we’d already planned to visit one night.

Lee got in touch with the brewery, and yes the owner was there, and yes he’d be happy to give Lee an interview and a tour for Lee’s Brew Drink Run website. So we booked a room and added another night in Arenal to our itinerary.

After 11 days of being at the beach house, I was excited to load up the car and venture out to see some different parts of the country. The drive to the mountains took about three and a half hours – it’s hard to know how long it’ll take you to get anywhere, because it all depends on how many slow trucks and cars you get behind on the two-lane highways. And whether or not you’re gutsy enough to pass them.

As we neared the lake we noticed all the palm tree fronds were bent in one direction by the constant wind. Before the hotel was a microbrewery, it was a wind surfing resort, and it was easy to see why that sport would be popular here. The mountains were green, green, green and lush, with the lake filling in the valley – simply beautiful.

The microbrewery hotel also has a restaurant and therefore is an all-inclusive, offering unlimited food and beverage to overnight guests. We’d been eating small, simple meals at the beach house, and being so far from the grocery store we’d run out of some staples. I was really looking forward to the all-you-can-eat scenario, and having someone else worry about food supply.

The hotel is on the top of a mountain, and the restaurant has ample windows to take full advantage of the vista to the lake below. We ordered lots of food, beer for us, and a smoothie for Camille. And we ate and ate and ate.

We were lucky enough to be there on a brew day, so Lee got to talk with the owner and the head brewer. He was in his element.

Meanwhile, Camille tried out the hotel pool and learned to play foosball, darts and billiards (her version is more like putt-putt, where you just try to whack the balls directly into the pockets – forget using the cue ball).

After the heat of the beach, the cool breezes were a nice change. I slept well despite the wind whipping ferociously outside our room all night, and we woke to the sound of some very close howler monkeys. It sounded like they were hanging out on our front porch, but by the time we opened the door they were gone. Who needs an alarm clock around here when there are howler monkeys? We stuffed ourselves at breakfast, and then prepared to hit the road again. 

A volcano was waiting for us.

Thursday, the doorbell on our rental house rang. It was Leah, one of the property managers, with some news – news that made me dance around the living room. “The arribada will begin tonight.”

She knew we’d been waiting on word form the locals about the monthly phenomenon at nearby Playa Ostional known as the “arribada.” Literally translated as “the arrival,” it’s one of the few places in the world where turtles come on the beach en masse to lay their eggs. In the winter months, as many as 500,000 turtles will lay their eggs at Ostional during a 5-day span. This beach is home to an arribada of Olive Ridley turtles, and I’d been hoping we’d be able to witness this. 

The turtles prefer to come ashore in the dark of night, so we rambled down the rural road to Ostional and arrived at the beach just before sunset. But alas, our timing was off. They also apparently enjoy coming in at high tide, which wasn’t happening for several hours. Even worse, a wicked lightening storm was moving onshore and our guide advised us to bail.

“But come back in the morning,” he said, “just at sunrise. Then you may still see some turtles, and you can take pictures too, because there will be light.”

So back home we went, disappointed but undefeated, setting our alarm clock for 4:15 a.m.

The car was quiet as we sleepily navigated the lonesome, precarious stretch of road in the pre-dawn hours. We pulled up to the beach just as the sunlight began to appear, and I hoped desperately that we would see turtles.

Mother nature cooperated. As we walked past the rockiest part of the shore (which is not ideal for incoming turtles), we could see up ahead a line of turtles coming and going in the sand. This time of day, most were on their way back to sea, having completed their inland duty.

Turtle tracks marked nearly every inch of beach, and volunteers told us that around midnight, the shore had been completely covered in turtles. But even now, there were about 3 dozen turtles on the shore in various stages of their work. Some were making their way onto the sand, others were digging, some were laying, covering, and still others were making the slow trek back into the waves. 

It was simply amazing.

We ran from turtle to turtle, squatting right next to these big, beautiful creatures who ignored us as they went about their critical tasks. Camille wanted very badly to touch them all, but I told her she couldn’t disturb them as they worked. Instead, she tried to do her part by shooing away the vultures who crowded the beach. So many turtles come to lay at the same time that they often inadvertently uncover each other’s nests, tossing another turtle’s eggs back up onto the sand as a tasty snack.

Finally, as the turtles were making their way back into the water I told her it was ok to touch them gently and quickly. She did, and then would walk beside each of them, offering words of encouragement as they labored along, clearly struggling to walk with flippers much better suited for swimming.

I looked across the beach, at all the turtles, at the magic of it all, at my girl in the middle of it, and felt a lump rising in my throat. I willed it to go away, not wanting to be the silly girl crying about the turtles. But what an amazing thing to witness, and what an amazing adventure to share with my family. It was a sight I will never forget.