I was up nice and early to catch my 7am bus. Unfortunately, coffee was a bit late getting started and I didn’t have enough time to grab one beforehand so it was an uncaffeinated start to the day. Still, I made my bus with plenty of time and got a seat right behind the driver for great views of the countryside.
It was a two hour journey which wound its way past Liberia’s International Airport and continued on through primarily farming country. Small pueblos were scattered en route and the bus detoured through their streets to collect and drop off passengers. I didn’t take into account which side the sun would be on when boarding the bus and it burned down on me for most of the trip. I ended up putting my hat on to try eleviate the worst of it.
We eventually reached Tamarindo, one of Costa Rico’s tourist hotspots. The only reason I decided to go there was that there was a national park I wanted to check out. I stayed in the bus as it drove through the centre of Tamarindo thinking it would terminate at a bus terminal or at best, a designated stop I could get information about on-going transport. Unfortunately, neither option availed and I ended up at the far end of Tamarindo in luxury condo land where no wild woman should wander. It was only about a kilometre back to the centre though so I trudged through the heat to find an ATM to cash up and a bakery to fuel up.
Then it was time to find a boat to take me for a tour of the Tamarindo Estuary, part of Parque Nacional Marino Las Baulas. I had got information from a local hombre to walk down to the river mouth and negotiate a tour directly with the boat captain. This I did but found it more than I was hoping to pay. After weighing up whether to cough up the coins or not, I came to the conclusion that I had come here just to see the estuary so might as well. Decision made, I returned to the boat and jumped on board.
The tide was low, as was the channel the boat had to pass through. It took a while but the skipper and his offsider managed to navigate into deeper water. Once past the sandy river mouth, the estuary was immediately lined with ancient mangrove forest. Interestingly, black mangroves grew on the east side of the estuary and red mangroves grew on the west. A myriad of coastal birds waded, flittered or soared, whilst below in the murky water, fish and crocodiles went about their daily business. On the mud banks, soldier crabs scuttled about.
After puttering around for a while we stopped to check out a little patch of jungle for howler monkeys. As both the hombres got out of the boat in separate searches for the little beasties, I had to take my pack with me. I wasn’t overly keen on this part of the tour as I had already seen heaps of monkeys and would rather have spent the time on the estuary, but dutifully followed in tow to nil effect. The beasts had bolted and were nowhere in sight. I reassured my guide I wasn’t disappointed and we returned to the boat.
We puttered further on and found a crocodile swimming in the water. Said crocodile was eying off some soldier crabs on the mudbank so was dutifully still for a photo opportunity. We waited for a few minutes to see whether it would lurch out of the water for one of the crabs before eventually moving on. As soon as the boat motor started again, so did our crocodile and quickly disappeared under the swill.
Back at the river mouth, I farewelled my guides and walked back to the main road where I could get a bus onwards. I had an hour to wait so stopped for a cerveza next to the bus stop. At the appointed time, the bus lumbered up and I jumped on board. We rolled back up the hill on tightly winding roads and in and out of little pueblos where families were going about their daily life. Eventually we arrived at Santa Cruz where I planned to spend the night.
Santa Cruz had a most festive vibe about it which was confirmed by my bus driver who advised it was the Fiesta Típicas Nacionales de Santa Cruz, one of Costa Rica’s premier events of the year. Taking place deep in ranchero country, this Tican style country and western gathering is an extremely popular week long event drawing a huge crowd. My hopes of attending, however, were dashed by the bus driver stating I would have Buckley’s chance of finding any accommodation and would be best to press on to Nicoya. As I wandered through the throngs of locals, dressed in ranchero garb and dancing to the myriad of local ranchero bands playing on every corner, I was disappointed to have missed such an opportunity. Still, I got a taste of it before finding the bus terminal for Nicoya.
Nicoya was only half an hour away and I got information about a reasonably priced hotel not too far away from where the bus terminated. Dumping my pack, I went out in such of food. On the other side of the Parque Central, I found a little food truck still open and perched myself down for some local fare. It would seem that some of the party vibes from Santa Cruz extended to Nicoya as the park was brightly and colourfully lit and ranchero music rang throughout. Locals mingled and it provided a pleasant backdrop to my dinner.
Wild Woman Wandering 