May 3rd, Tara and I hightailed it from work to the airport, caught a red eye, and began our journey to Samara, Costa Rica, where Colette has been studying massage the past few months. We kicked the trip off watching the Warriors beat Dallas in the final game of the series, cheers-ing with our "kick the trip off" vodka and sodas. Apparently, the airport bar catch phrase is "Make it a double for two bucks more."
Tara's two bucks more, woot!
The Tico Lodge in Samara, Costa Rica.
Graffiti, Samara-style.
Street walking.
We walked to Buena Vista beach and had to wade a river. This was the smallest cross point we could find with the least amount of vegetation. Our concern? Freaking crocodiles, which are quite prominent in this area. And no, that fantastic roaring in the forest isn't a croc, it's a howler monkey, who, despite it's lung capacity, is a wee bitty thing. 
Sunset on the way to Monteverde. Staggering.
cat and flowers: Pension de Santa Elena. Our home on Monteverde. Card games with Canadians are dangerous things and lead you past signs that say cootiecomer and to rodeo discotheques. Who ever heard of canned rum and coke? 
Santa Elena Preserve. Our guide Henry. I geeked out and took notes, picking his brain profusely.
Ziplines abound in the cloud forests, and we tried to find the least ecologically impacting service. Our guides were great and really easy to make blush. We were grouped with a pack of east Texans, who we think were all related in some way. They were loud and funny and a hoot to zip with.....especially creepy uncle Dale, who was always behind us on the line, and, not being stellar with the brake, coined the phrase "I'm coming in HOT!" It became our slogan. They called us narrow-assed-girls due to our lack of padding and our quick ascents to platforms.....what can we say? San Franciscans can climb hills. But we do tend to blush when Texan wife points out to Texan husband that "he's done got his junk all tangled" in his zipline harness.
Early morning Monteverde. 
Dogs are everywhere in Costa Rica. This one loved Tara and burying coral.
Barigona. Soft white sand. Huge waves that slightly scared me. pretty shells. pretty sunset. pretty people. Peaceful. I sang as I walked. Charlie drove us in his truck, fording some crazy rivers. I sat by the window and wished I had a propane canister to shove down the throat of the inevitable croc that would inevitably appear at my shoulder. No croc came, but thank you Spielburg, for my worst case scenario solution. Before we left Barigona, Charlie had us help him hoist a 250 lb piece of driftwood onto the car roof for the bar he's building in Samara. Narrow-assed, maybe, but strong nonetheless.
Tara and I in the rural Liberia Airport. It's a hanger. Pretty much. You can't tell, but we are just about to start our vodka and soda and flying regime. Little did we know how long it would take to get home; thunder and lightening in Georgia shut down the airport for awhile. More crosswords, vodka and soda eased the sting of both delays and finding out the Warriors were down 2 in the series with Utah. They won while we were in the Georgia airport bar.....resisting "two buck more doubles."
Rachel was a trooper, picking us up, bedraggled but tan, at SFO at 3AM Saturday morning. Sans my luggage, which I tried to track down on Saturday. Annoyed and then accepting, the universe wanted me to realize the triviality of it before magically depositing my backpack on my front porch Sunday morning....like a gift from Santa. My dad was shaving in the downstairs bathroom when I shoved in, beaming, pack in hand. Mother's day presents intact. yay.
Tara's two bucks more, woot! 
The Tico Lodge in Samara, Costa Rica.
Graffiti, Samara-style.
Street walking.
We walked to Buena Vista beach and had to wade a river. This was the smallest cross point we could find with the least amount of vegetation. Our concern? Freaking crocodiles, which are quite prominent in this area. And no, that fantastic roaring in the forest isn't a croc, it's a howler monkey, who, despite it's lung capacity, is a wee bitty thing. 
Sunset on the way to Monteverde. Staggering.
cat and flowers: Pension de Santa Elena. Our home on Monteverde. Card games with Canadians are dangerous things and lead you past signs that say cootiecomer and to rodeo discotheques. Who ever heard of canned rum and coke? 
Santa Elena Preserve. Our guide Henry. I geeked out and took notes, picking his brain profusely. 
Ziplines abound in the cloud forests, and we tried to find the least ecologically impacting service. Our guides were great and really easy to make blush. We were grouped with a pack of east Texans, who we think were all related in some way. They were loud and funny and a hoot to zip with.....especially creepy uncle Dale, who was always behind us on the line, and, not being stellar with the brake, coined the phrase "I'm coming in HOT!" It became our slogan. They called us narrow-assed-girls due to our lack of padding and our quick ascents to platforms.....what can we say? San Franciscans can climb hills. But we do tend to blush when Texan wife points out to Texan husband that "he's done got his junk all tangled" in his zipline harness. 
Early morning Monteverde. 
Dogs are everywhere in Costa Rica. This one loved Tara and burying coral.
Barigona. Soft white sand. Huge waves that slightly scared me. pretty shells. pretty sunset. pretty people. Peaceful. I sang as I walked. Charlie drove us in his truck, fording some crazy rivers. I sat by the window and wished I had a propane canister to shove down the throat of the inevitable croc that would inevitably appear at my shoulder. No croc came, but thank you Spielburg, for my worst case scenario solution. Before we left Barigona, Charlie had us help him hoist a 250 lb piece of driftwood onto the car roof for the bar he's building in Samara. Narrow-assed, maybe, but strong nonetheless.
Tara and I in the rural Liberia Airport. It's a hanger. Pretty much. You can't tell, but we are just about to start our vodka and soda and flying regime. Little did we know how long it would take to get home; thunder and lightening in Georgia shut down the airport for awhile. More crosswords, vodka and soda eased the sting of both delays and finding out the Warriors were down 2 in the series with Utah. They won while we were in the Georgia airport bar.....resisting "two buck more doubles."Rachel was a trooper, picking us up, bedraggled but tan, at SFO at 3AM Saturday morning. Sans my luggage, which I tried to track down on Saturday. Annoyed and then accepting, the universe wanted me to realize the triviality of it before magically depositing my backpack on my front porch Sunday morning....like a gift from Santa. My dad was shaving in the downstairs bathroom when I shoved in, beaming, pack in hand. Mother's day presents intact. yay.
3 comments:
Thanks for the pics! So beautiful (both the scenery and the ladies)!
wow wow wow! !
radical
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