Feliz Cumpleaños a Mí - A Trip to Catarata Llanos del Cortes.

I suppose I should really start by saying it was DH's birthday ten days ago, and it was a BIG ONE!!!! 

Cake made by Sole.

Funny how things have changed over the years: before we met, DH celebrated his 21st with a surprise party and a stripper; then for his 30th, he was lucky enough to have another surprise party, this time thrown by me, but no stripper; for his 40th we had  a family weekend away to Mallorca along with his brothers.  And this Big Birthday? Installing a kitchen followed by a BBQ with the carpenter, his son and apprentice as well as Jose, the builder, his wife and granddaughters!

These two little girls certainly kept ES and YS on their toes!

Then last Sunday was my birthday. No milestone for me though this year. Nevertheless, for my treat, we packed up a picnic, some Pepsi's and a few cold beers and took a trip to another waterfall, this time further afield between Liberia and Bagaces. We had been told that it was only a few hundred meters past the bridge at Liberia, but it turns out that it is more like 20km south of the city. 

Catarata Llanos del Cortes

No 'tourist sign' or 'brown sign' like in the UK, to direct you to this hidden gem. Instead, along the Pan-American Highway, "Catarata Llanos del Cortes" is marked by a small hand-painted wooden sign. Naturally, we missed the sign and drove further along to Bagaces, where we stopped and asked a petrol-pump attendant which way we should be heading. 

Quick u-turn and we were back on our way. Turned left at the 'sign', down a dusty dirt track, along with one other lone vehicle, packed to the brim with Tico's. At the gated entrance, we were greeted with a "Pura Vida", the obligatory phrase uttered by the locals - meaning 'Pure Life' - and a hand-written note asking for donations for the school. Dutifully, we deposited a couple of dollars into the grubby hands of the dreadfully smelly man; looking back, however, no school was actually visible in the immediate vicinity! Oh well I am sure our donation was put to good use somewhere. 

A little further on, we arrived at the car park and the universally vital high-vis jacketed attendant directed us to a vacant spot, although the place was pretty much empty. Grabbing our belongings, we followed the unmade rocky path down towards the sound of the gushing water.

The Precipitous Pathway.

When we reached the bottom, we were surprised to find a secluded sandy beach, shaded by beautiful trees, with howler monkeys high above guarding their territory. Apparently not many tourists know of this beauty spot, but I would hazard a guess that today the area was populated by an equal number of Tico's and Gringo's; not many of either though as we easily found a cool, shady space to settle in and relax for the afternoon. 

Firstly we munched on our grub, whilst watching a school of tiny little fish devour the breadcrumbs that the boys were feeding to them. To myself I am thinking "Oh God please don't let these starving fish be piranhas." But then my rational side kicks in and my fears are eased somewhat when I spy a couple of Tico toddlers paddling close-by, (piranhas are surely not picky when it comes to nationality are they??). Of course then my mind goes into overdrive, and I can see crocs hiding in the bushes and anacondas gliding upstream, all waiting to attack; it wouldn't surprise me if 'Jaws' made an appearance too!

Anacondas, Crocodiles and Piranhas. All there, hiding!!

YS and I then  headed for the cool and refreshing water. Delicious. Crystal clear in the shallow bits, so much so that you could see fish darting about, but dark and threatening in the few deep ares of the pool (Stop! That's enough of those ridiculous thoughts! This is real life, not some B-rated movie!). 

We headed for the cascade; neither of us have been behind a waterfall before. For the first time in months, I actually felt cold! The spray from the streaming shower was incredible; the force with which the water falls is immense. YS and I were drenched from the deluge. The rocks were seriously slippy, but we managed to scramble to a parapet and watch the merrymakers through the curtain of water: absolutely wonderful! 

Scrambling to Safety.

Looking Out from Behind the Water.

Taking a Shower.

A few young men full of bravado, perhaps trying to impress their girlfriends, jumped off the nearby rocks into the pool below. A couple of teenage girls attempted the jump too, but ultimately were not brave enough, and instead slid awkwardly into the water.

The boys then decided it was time for exploring the locality. Somehow, they found their way to the top of the waterfall, about 30 metres up, where they found the land was surprisingly flat and full of fields. Being boys, they roamed around a bit until they found themselves at the summit of the shoots, whereby they climbed along the exposed edge, getting a fantastic areal view of the place - meanwhile giving me palpitations! 

Can you spot the boys?

They are at the Top.

By about 4.00pm, the vendor at the little makeshift stall that has been selling ceviche and other snacks all day, starts packing up ready to go. Because the gates close at 5.00pm, other people start to follow his lead and pack up their belongings too, as do we. Although a shady ascent back to the car, the Pipa Frias that are being sold by the car-park attendants daughter are a welcome refreshment when we get to the top.

So Happy Birthday to Me. A great day had by all I think. Topped off by a beautiful sunset on the drive home.

Another Birthday Over. 

Earthquake.

YS and I actually experienced our first, and second, earthquake yesterday morning, while cleaning our teeth!

It lasted seconds and we didn't really know what was happening. It was quite an odd sensation; there was just a sort of rumbling, nothing in the house moved or fell over, but we sensed a reverberation of sorts.

DH and ES were oblivious, even though they were in the house too.

Apparently it registered as 5.1 magnitude.

Crossing the Border Into Nicaragua.

Although we have been living in Costa Rica for nearly three months, we are still technically tourists, and as such, we are only allowed to stay in the country for 90 days. Therefore, we have to leave CR for 72 hours in order to renew our visas, which will allow us to remain legally for another 90 days. This is normal practice, and in fact, many of the American and Canadian inhabitants of CR have lived as perpetual tourists for years, coming and going in and out of the country every three months. This is not our plan though, but is something we have to endure while we wait patiently for our residency.

So a three day trip to Nicaragua is decided upon: the border is only about an hour and a half away, nearer than San Jose. Driving from Liberia north to Penas Blanca, the border town, is like driving through the English countryside: rolling green hills with beautifully large Oak-like trees lining the highway. The road is surprisingly empty and not dissimilar to the road between the two ponds in Frensham. There are even some extremely large pine trees lining the route.

The border is not as crazy and frenetic as I suspected it would be. It is actually fairly quiet, with only a few large tourist buses, filled mostly with US backpackers. Of course, there is the huge long line of Big Mack's waiting to cross over, but they have a separate check-in. 

So we pulled up on the side of the road to get our bearings and see what is what. Immediately some chap, with an ID tag around his neck (no high-vis jackets here), comes over to 'help' us; for the purpose of this blog, I shall name him Helper 1. He supplies us with the immigration forms needed and directs us to the office where we have to get our passports stamped in order to leave Costa Rica. Alongside the empty queuing area, on the other side of the barbed wire fence, is Nicaragua: peddlers call out trying to sell money and other goods. Helper 1 then directs us to a long-stay car park, of sorts; more like someone's back yard. As our truck still does not have its number plates, we are unable to take it across the border; instead we have to have to hire a car in Nicaragua. 

This means that we have to walk across what looks like No-Man's Land to cross over the border. Underfoot it is muddy and the sky is grey and littered with clouds. It is just a very surreal experience: DH wearing the back pack with 3 days worth of our belongings inside, with the boys and I straggling behind him; I imagine that we look like some kind of refugees. We don't see any vehicles actually physically crossing the border, just people on foot. Oddly all they seem to carry are bags of Duty Free! 

Helper 1 then passes us over to a Nicaraguan aid, again who also seems to be wearing an official looking ID, for now named Helper 2. They both walk with us across this desolate strip of bordering land. Half way over we have to present our passports again; firstly to some Costa Rican Border Police, and then 100 metres further on to some silver-toothed Nicaraguan Border Police, who seem to take a dislike to my photo! Helper 1 leaves us then to return to Costa Rica, while Helper 2 gets himself an assistant, Helper 3! 

taxi

We are marched over to a colonial looking bus shelter, where the boys and I sit and wait with the backpack, while Helper 2 and Helper 3 take DH to passport control, housed in the bus shelter. DH later relates to us that the queue to get in to Nicaragua and have the passports stamped was horrendous. Instead, he was taken to another office, paid $30 and therefore skipping the queue but gaining the stamps required! Not sure if I'm happy with this, but when in Rome ...

So far, so good. The process has taken less than an hour and has been relatively simple. In retrospect, we realise that we have been ripped off and really didn't need the assistance of Helper 1, 2 and 3, but it's done and we are through. But then things starts to change. Helper 3 guides us to a taxi who will take us to the nearest car hire company located about 30 minutes drive away. DH is happily chatting to these guys, while ES and I have been hijacked into talking to a toothless, Hollister wearing Mexican, wanting to practice his English! Neither of us are quite sure what he was talking abount, although Cancun was praised a number of times! Meanwhile the backpack has been loaded into a rust bucket excuse of a car and DH is motioning for us to get in; I am not happy about this arrangement, convinced that there must be car rental office nearby, but unable to find proof of its existence, myself and the boys climb in anyway. Not even 100 metres up the road, I call for the cab to stop: there is the car rental building. I fear that the taxi won't cease, but begrudgingly he does - that is his commission gone I guess?

Our moods are a bit grim now. Nobody likes to feel that have been hustled  Well, you live and learn: we certainly won't accept any 'help' on our return. 

The guy at the car rental desk looks like Charles Martin Smith, Terry from American Graffiti,  with his long chin and pock-marked cheeks; when he later speaks to us in English, his voice carries a similar Californian twang too. YS notices that his hands are unbelievably small, and unlike his face, they are remarkably smooth. He is called Rodolpho, but to me he is Terry.

 It is at this point, the clouds move in and my mood gets blacker: when I try to pay for the car, after more form-filling than was required to cross the border, my MasterCard is refused!!! Terry calls the credit card company and is informed that my card has reached its limit; obviously my limit has been drastically reduced this last month, as I know that my current balance is a whopping £2.10! But not to worry, just keep calm, it is probably some safety precaution, after all, my card is very good at that sort of thing. I call up international customer services and meet with a brick wall. Similar to the Little Britain sketch, "Computer says no". Apparently my card has suffered a mysterious blip and the date has lost its synchronicity!?!  "Can this not be corrected?" "No". "But it's not my fault". "Tough". "I am in Nicaragua with my family and no other means of paying for car hire (little white lie)". "I appreciate how you are feeling, but tough". "But what am I supposed to do? I am in a third world country with no credit card for back-up". "Wait 48 hours for a replacement card to be sent to you". "That is no use to me. Are you sure you can't override my card and let me use it now, just for this transaction"? "No". WTF!!!! And so for about ten minutes the conversation continued in a similar vein, with me getting more and more irate; especially when the 'brick wall' told me that the managers had all just left the building as it was home time! 

John Lewis Partnership Card, you are in for a right royal rollicking, let me tell you! 

But taking a step out from myself and looking inwards at the scene, the Nicaraguan gun-toting security must have had a laugh. A short little English woman, stomping up and down, shouting profanities down her mobile phone, getting redder and redder by the minute, shaking with anger. (Oh God, I have portrayed myself as a female Rumplestiltskin). Least DH and the boys were sensible enough to keep quiet and hide their smirks and smiles. 

Ultimately, we paid using another card and started the next leg of our trip in sullen silence.