The road chose me

Mike and I have heard nothing but great things about the Nicoya Peninsula and eagerly head in that direction for our first night in Costa Rica. We’re stopped at a routine Police checkpoint and both agree the female officer is Eva Mendes‘ twin sister, complete with a pistol shoved down the front of her pants. I hand over my passport as well as my heart, though my Spanish doesn’t seem to convey my feelings very well. Tamarindo is very touristy and developed, with fast food joints and expensive clothing stores lining the main street. It’s obvious very quickly how expensive everything in Costa Rica is, very similar to prices in the US or Canada, which comes as a huge slap in the face after the amazingly cheap countries I’ve just been to.

The main beach at Tamarindo

When I goto sleep there is only one other tent in the whole campground, and I think I’m dreaming when about fifty people rock up after midnight and have a huge party while setting up their tents, complete with a car stereo at full volume. It turns out a whole village has made the trek to the beach for the weekend and they intend to party pretty hard while here.

The crazy tent city that appeared at Tamarindo

We spend a few nights here, partly because I’m still feeling sick and party because Mike lost his debit card a few days back and is trying to have money wired to the local bank, with little luck. It’s an extremely beautiful place, if not a little busy for my liking.

The sunset over Tamarindo Beach

A 4×4-only dirt track winds down the west coast of the peninsula, possibly called the ‘Monkey Trail’ and is highly recommended by all. We wind our way down to Playa Sámara and quickly realize we’ve found a slice of paradise. The campground is a very laid-back, Rastafarian affair right on the beach and wandering around the town which has one of everything we need and nothing we don’t is great. At night we go to a little community center full of locals to watch a movie sitting on bean-bags & eating popcorn.
It would be easy to stay here for weeks.

Camping right on beautiful Samara beach

We continue south and spend a couple of nights in the Malpais / Santa Teresa area. Here, a beachside road strings together a couple of small towns that have been overrun by surfers riding the powerful swell on the seemingly endless sandy beach. We catch up with Jamie who we met in Nicaragua who has been living in Costa Rica for six months teaching English. She’s been having an awesome time living the local life, which you can read about on her blog: http://rubiatica.blogspot.com/

Overlooking the Nicoya Peninsula

At the very southern end of the peninsula lies The Reserva Natural Absoluta Cabo Blanco, Costa Rica’s oldest protected wilderness area setup in 1963. We pay $10 USD each for entry and set out on a two hour hike to the beach at the southern tip. Walking through the dense jungle and enormous trees we walk right by a family of howler monkeys and spot a couple of brightly colored birds and giant butterflies. The beach is really peaceful and we both take catnaps in the warm shady area.

Hiking through the jungle to Cabo Blanco

These spikey trees are all over the place

We move around to Montezuma, a very popular spot on the coast. It’s a very Rastafarian place and we are offered drugs twice each on the three minute walk to the grocery store. Neither of us quite likes the vibe here, although nothing bad happens.

Scared little crab

We catch up with Jamie again the next day and walk twenty minutes to the amazing Montezuma Waterfalls, where we swim and jump off a low rock. Using Jamie’s local knowledge we walk around and up higher to another waterfall and series of swimming pools which are almost deserted. This second fall turns out to be perfect for jumping off and we all jump multiple times from the 10 meter (35 feet) height before lying around in the sun enjoying the total relaxation.

Winding up for a backflip at Montezuma Waterfall

We move on and hop the ferry across to Puntarenas an the mainland, excited for our next Costa Rican adventure.

The main beach at Montezuma

-Dan

One of the backpackers from Isla Ometepe, Mike, is heading south with basically the same plan as me, so he jumps in the Jeep and we make our way to the border crossing at Peñas Blancas. I’ve been warned by many different people this is an insane border to bring a vehicle across, so I’m ready for anything.

We drive past a huge line of parked trucks that stretches for a few kilometers and stop at a small shack to pay $1 USD for an official exit stamp from Nicaragua. Ten meters away we drive to another shack where the guard gives me a little scrap of paper with the license plate of the Jeep and the date written on the front, then just points at the next building. Pulling in here is where the real chaos begins – there are cars, busses and trucks all over the place, hundreds of people milling about and about fifty guys yelling at me to purchase their assistance. I’ve learnt the trick with these guys is to pretend you are not interested then listen to them while they tell you the next step in the process. When they’ve finished blabbing I politely say “No thanks” and move along. Whenever I’m pondering the next step, another helper materializes, yells the answer at me and I move along without paying a cent.

I find a customs officer wandering around and give him the little scrap of paper. He glances at the Jeep, scribbles his name and walks away to repeat the process for someone else. Next is a policeman who does exactly the same thing, without even seeing the Jeep. I move inside and stand in a line with about ten local guys who are apparently trying to achieve a similar goal. I strike up a conversation with one guy who assures me I’m in the right place and have thus far jumped through the correct hoops in the correct order. I think he’s impressed.

After about twenty minutes of waiting it becomes obvious that waiting in line is not an important concept here, with people pushing in and out of line all over the place. My new friend sees an opening and together we eagerly get to the front of a newly-opened window, shoving our paperwork through. Here, my very official paperwork for the Jeep thrown on a pile and I get a new scribble and even a stamp on my paper scrap, and am pointed to the next line across. The same process is repeated, a scribble and a stamp.

As far as I can tell, the process for the Jeep is complete and now Mike and I have to deal with ourselves. Apparently a couple of tour busses have just pulled in so we wait about 45 minutes in line, fill out a tourist card and pay $2 USD to finally have permission to exit Nicaragua. I still have no idea if my scrap of paper is complete and can’t believe when the border guard barely glances at it before waiving up through. Gotta love bureaucracy.

After all that, we have only left Nicaragua, and must now enter Costa Rica.

Fumigation is first up and I’m surprised when the guy waves me right in without paying. I hope I don’t need a receipt for that later. We park in front of the main immigration building and stand in another huge line to get ourselves into the country. 45 minutes and another tourist card later we are rewarded with a little stamp in our passports. In the room adjacent I pay $15 USD for mandatory car insurance and get a photocopy of my new passport stamp and policy. Just over the road I hand over my paperwork including copies of the registration (title), my passport and drivers license which are all recorded on a piece of paper. A policeman does a cursory inspection of the Jeep and contents, before giving directions to the next building we must go to.

During this whole process a German guy riding a motorbike has been one step behind me, so we’ve been chatting and helping each other out. At this point his debit card doesn’t work and he doesn’t have enough money to purchase insurance, leaving him literally stranded in no mans land between the two countries. With a huge grin I give him $20 and completely change the color of his day. He’s adamant we should stick together until we find a working ATM so he can pay me back, but I’m not fazed at all.
I feel confident that someone will do the same for me if it ever comes to that.

A short drive away I stand in line at a non-descript white building, apparently the last hurdle for the day. Here, all the paperwork I’ve accumulated so far is taken away, typed up and given back to me in the form of a formal-looking document allowing three months entry.

The now common final guards have a look over everything and wave us through into Costa Rica, country number nine…

-Dan