Jaco salvaged itself slightly with the view over the top of its disauthentic drama to the mountains from my elevated hostel deck. Breakfast started at 8am and I estimated the bus I needed out of there came through around 9.30am so plenty of time. All organised and with a renewed attitude, I was dismayed to find I had miscalculated the bus arrival by an hour as the 8.30am bus zoomed past 45 minutes late. I now had an hour to wait for the next scheduled bus and that was if it too wasn’t late. I was peeved.
As I had the time, I thought I may as well check out the beach. Whilst the jungle clad headlands were pretty, this particular playa had nothing to recommend itself. Crowded and adorned with miscellaneous beach accessory rentals, the beach itself had debris-strewn, dark brown sand. I know it’s hard to impress an Aussie with a beach, but there are truly much more beautiful ones in Costa Rica. And without the shadow of looming high-rise condominium towers. I left the beach and found somewhere to get a fruit smoothie while I waited for the bus. I would have loved to have been able to get one beachside, but that remains the property of swanky hotels with swanky prices to match. Not for this wild woman.
As luck would have it, my bus was nearly an hour late, so my departure out of Jaco was significantly delayed. As we rumbled through the main drag and up the hills on the other side, I did see a quieter, more pretty side to jostling Jaco but not enough to encourage a recommendation. It was a different story further on as the road hugged the coastline in places and wound its way through pretty hills in others. The breeze from the open windows and the quiet chatter of passengers lolled one into a pleasant state of peacefulness.
The bus lumbered into the bustling little town of Quepos, which is the launching pad for Costa Rica’s jewel in the crown – Parque Nacional Antonio Manuel. This National Park is so popular, you have to book a 90 minute time slot to visit. Crawling with tourists, I had decided a while ago I was going to skip it as I had been to many parks and reserves already and didn’t feel the need to fight my way through the throng of tourists in this one. I got information about where and when the next bus left for Dominical and went to find a beachside beer while I waited.
Dominical was much more my vibe. I got dropped off in ‘downtown’ of what was pretty much a small village. Even so, it was only a 10 min walk to my hostel on the edge of town. I found the hostel owner who quickly showed me around and allocated me a bed as he was off to watch a local surfing contest on the beach. I dumped my pack and walked over the road to the beach to join the festivities.
It wasn’t hard to find where the action was taking place as it seemed the whole village had assembled there to watch it. People gathered in small groups with picnics and beers and one señorita even brought her horse with her. A DJ was pumping local Latino music and a commentator was announcing each competitor. It was very low key and had a relaxing, chill vibe to it.
The surfers did their thing and the sun started to set, tinting the slightly heaving sea in gorgeous hues of tangerine. The winners of the competition were announced and people started heading off. I lingered a little longer, soaking up the ambiance of the brilliant sunset before taking my leave.
I soon found where many people had retired to – a beachside bar where a local ex-pat band had the evening’s billing. I ordered something to eat and settled down for a great night of awesome music and stage antics.
Wild Woman Wandering 