It was time to bid this sweet little town adios, but first our small gang of the previous evening went to see a tree where one of the group was pretty sure a sloth was living. We were certainly rewarded for our early morning efforts as not so high in the massive cinnamon tree was a sleepy sloth. After we unwittingly disturbed it from its slumber, it stretched a bit, then made itself comfortable and went right back to sleep. We left it be then and continued on our way.
One of the guys had booked a surf lesson and the rest of us went with him to find some breakfast close to his meet point. Pickings looked slim, but then we spotted an hombre sitting out the front of a hotel with a coffee so asked if the hotel restaurant was open for breakfast. It turned out that this particular hombre was the hotel owner down for a few days to attend to some business. French-Canadian, Jean, was particularly chatty and very entertaining as he explained how he came to purchase a piece of rocky land by the beach in the 1970s and transformed it into the beautiful little hotel it is today. He invited us to look over the property after we had had our breakfast and we ended up spending a couple of hours there chatting with him and getting the low down on Cahuita’s more recent history.
Back to the hostel to check out and collect packs for three of the five of us. I decided a farewell cerveza was in order so we went back to my favourite beach-front hotel for a brief bevvie before parting. Then it was to the bus station and boarding buses in two different directions.
Peter was heading to Tortuguero so caught the same bus as me as he had to pass through Puerto Limon to get there. After about half an hour of the bus rumbling along the main coastal road, stopping to pick up and drop off passengers, it started to rain. Heavily. Windows were slammed and the temperature inside the bus climbed steadily. Rivulets of water streamed past and the road was quickly inundated. As we approached Puerto Limon, thunder and lightning began to make itself known as the rain intensified.
Once at the bus station, I organised a taxi for Peter to take him to the boat he needed to get to Tortuguero as he didn’t speak any Spanish. I then checked how far away my hostel was. According to Google Maps it was only 2.5kms away and the rain seemed to be easing. I figured I could probably make my way there in between showers so started making my way in the light drizzle. Unfortunately, the drizzle ended up becoming a bit heavier and the route became quite interesting. Costa Rican footpaths (if one can bring oneself to refer to them as such…) are a mishmash of steeply sloping driveways, narrow steps, broken and uneven paths of concrete and/or tiles, and narrow, grassy tracks. Hazardous enough in the dry, they become almost suicidal in the wet. To top things off, shortly after setting off, the route began to climb a particularly steep hill. I remained committed and eventually reached my destination in a somewhat less than tidy condition.
My hostel host was particularly chatty and although desperate for a shower and dry clothes, I had coffee and a conversation with him first. I was pleased how well my Spanish held up as I haven’t really been conversing in it a great deal this trip and I’m still very rusty. However, I was able to satisfy his questions about me and Australia and passed a pleasant hour as such. Suddenly, I got a message from my Chilean friend, Maria. She had returned from Tortuguero and was now spending the night in a downtown hotel. I bit the bullet and walked back into town to meet her for dinner. It was a slow trip as playing chicken with Costa Rican traffic was hazardous enough at the best of times. It was lovely to catch up with Maria for one last time as she was leaving for home the next day. It’s one of the things I love about travelling; you are always making friends on the road. We said our final farewells and I turned to make the slow, steep trek back up the hill to my hostel.
Wild Woman Wandering 