Wild Woman Wandering

Determined to get out and see more today, I was up early and out the door by 8am. I went back to my favourite little Swiss bakery for breakfast and to set a plan for the day over a couple of cups of tasty coffee.

The main church in Orosi is the longest continually operating church in Costa Rica despite being only 250 years old. It is a sweet little building with a lot less of the ostentatious trimmings found in most Central American churches. There was a wedding taking place when I got there so I had to wait to poke around until afterwards. Fortunately, there was a very interesting little museum in the old convent wing attached to the main church. Some fascinating historical ecclesiastical items fished out of local Catholic institution storerooms made up the majority of the display.

Heading out of town, I crossed the Rio Grande de Orosi on what is known as the Puente de Hamaca de la Alegría, or the Happy Hammock Bridge. This pedestrian suspension bridge connects people living on the other side of the river with the main town and provides a novel way of crossing the river. Plus, it provides a much safer way of taking happy snaps of the river without worrying about an errant vehicle not so gently nudging you into its depths.

I noticed on the map, there was a lake only a couple of kilometres away that I thought I would wander out to. Unfortunately, I discovered the land around this closest point to me was privately owned and to go down to the lake’s edge, I would need to walk another few kilometres. As I had already come this far, I decided to continue. The road was narrow and not much in the way of easement on the side in most places, but the traffic was reasonably infrequent so I was able to work around it with a degree of safety.

Eventually, I came to a rutted, muddy track that lead down to the lake. Lago de Cachi is actually a reservoir and hydroelectric power-plant the Costa Rican government built in response to the devastating floods that used to plague the area. Now, it is a impressive, picturesque body of water, fringed with massive clumps of water hyacinths.

As the town of Cachi was only another couple of kilometres further on, I decided to walk there and see about the possibility of catching a bus back as it was now on dusk and I didn’t fancy dodging speeding vehicles on a dark, narrow, windy road. I got information about buses from a couples of señoras who advised I would need to go into Cartago and then back out to Orosi. Although not ideal, it was the safer option. I was directed to where the Cartago bus would stop and at the appointed time, it lumbered up.

The thing about Costa Ricans is that they smell great. Like a waft of sweetly scented fresh laundry. Unfortunately, after traipsing some 7kms in the humid countryside, I did not. And was most mindful of that as I climbed aboard the tightly packed bus. Still, it couldn’t be helped. We drove over the dam wall and although it was nearly dark by this stage, you could still make out an impressive drop into the valley below. The bus lumbered on through the hilly terrain and on into Cartago. This time I had the secret information about where the bus left from, though, I needn’t have worried. The bus pulled up directly in front of the Orosi bus. A few minutes later, I was back on the road again and this time got off in town. A big day, but most enjoyable. It’s great to be out in the countryside and poking around its fringes.

Yesterday took it out of me so I rested up until midday and took the opportunity to do a bit of washing. I’m the only one staying in my six bed dorm so really have the room to myself. Which was just as well seeing as I strung a week’s worth of washing across it.

I went out in the early afternoon to source food and found a delightful little bakery run by a Swiss lady who had been in the valley for the past 30 years. La señora wasn’t surprised to learn there were very few people staying at the hostel. She said that since the country had become so popular with tourists from Canada and the US, prices have been driven sky high which is having a knock on effect to places traditionally popular with travellers who now prefer to take their carefully coffered coins to more affordable neighbouring countries.

Refuelled, I went for a stroll around this pretty little town. Orosi is neatly nestled in a verdant valley, through which the Rio Grande de Orosi flows. The town itself is spotlessly clean and little casas with immaculately tended gardens and terraces front it’s streets. Nearly every casa has a pampered pooch or three and many a well-dressed, well-behaved hound can be seen being lead around the streets by its proud owner. The people are very friendly, greeting everyone they pass with a smile. There is much to like in this little community.

Dusk fell early, as it does in this country, so I returned to the hostel for a quiet night.

I had a much better night’s sleep and was up when the alarm went off at 6am. Caffeinated into a false sense of wellness, I checked out of my hostel and walked the few blocks to the train station.

Estación Atlántica is the main train station in San Jose that links to other towns and cities in the Highlands of the Central Valley. It is a gorgeous Colonial era building with many of its original details still intact. Through to the actual platforms, is another story, though. Functional steel ramps and stairways lead to awaiting spotlessly clean, modern carriages. Which then traverse over rickety, old line. None of the parts seem to match but somehow it all works.

Upon arrival in Cartago, I went to grab a coffee and something to eat. Which I then took back to the train station platform to have finding nowhere else to sit. That was until I was booted out by a transport officer who advised that the station was now closed and I would have to move on. I walked a few blocks until I found the main plaza, Plaza Mayor. There, I could finally get my bearings.

Las Ruinas de la Parroquia lie on one side of Plaza Mayor providing an impressive, albeit somewhat surreal, bookmark. This imposing facade is all that is left of a once magnificent church dating back to the early 17th century. Evidently, the original church was destroyed by an earthquake in 1630. No worries, said the good folk of Cartago, we’ll just rebuild. That was before Mother Nature decided to string together a series of earthquakes over the next 220 years which thwarted progress on the rebuild. Finally, the Cartago folk agreed it just wasn’t worth the effort and left it be. The result today is a beautifully landscaped interior, resplendent with an ornamental pond the kids can throw their hard earned pocket money in. Plus, there’s a really cool ghost story about a headless priest that roams the ruins on foggy nights. Clearly, this is a feature that ticks all the boxes.

My next stop was to visit a church with a different back story. Back in 1635 (or so the story goes), a woman found a statuette of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus and decided to take it home. For some inexplicable reason, the statuette kept disappearing from her house and ending back where she first found it. It turns out that when the lady spread word of this incredible turn of events, the good folk of Cartago were very interested indeed. It seemed that they had been trying to build a church for some time, but those pesky earthquakes that are a feature of this region kept hampering efforts. What if, this was a sign from the Good Lord to build the church where the statuette was found? Regardless, this building stuck and has been in situ ever since, despite numerous rebuilds over the centuries. And the statuette which was the result of all this takes pride of place at the alter.

Unfortunately, when I got to the Basilica, a service was about to start so I decided to visit another place on my list and come back when the service finished. The Museo de Cartago is actually a gallery space but I was interested in checking out the building it is housed in. Built at the turn of last century, it was originally an army headquarters used by officers in command. Like anything to do with the old army, it has been recommissioned for more peaceful purposes. Although it was pretty much a shell of a building, the cells were still available to see, as was a stone staircase that lead from that part of the building to an upper level.

Back to the Basilica and as the service was just finishing up. I took a seat and an opportunity to have a brief play with my blog site settings as they had all changed since I last used it. Suddenly, I had unwitting changed themes and couldn’t reverse it. My site was a mess, my ‘About’ page had disappeared and I couldn’t work out how to fix it on my mobile. I don’t know if the hand of God was on me at that moment but if it was, he was in a mischievous, meddling mood. I decided to shelve it for a bit and have a look around the Basilica.

I decided I would make my way to my final destination for the day, Orosi, where I had a hostel booked. Unfortunately, Lonely Planet in its infinite wisdom has decided to rip out all the useful information it was originally designed to provide and leave a shell of a guidebook which mainly deals with what to see. I did find an on-line bus schedule for Costa Rica which was brilliant, however, it didn’t give you any information on where the bus left from. I searched on-line and found a bus station so walked to where that was. A somewhat disinterested bus driver grumpily told me the bus I was looking for didn’t leave from that terminal and gave me directions on where to go. I followed his directions to find nothing, so went into a shop and asked someone else. This hombre wasn’t sure but directed me along a road where ‘he was pretty sure there was another bus station’. I duly followed until I was fairly convinced I was on another bum steer so turned around at the next intersection.

By now, I was hot, sick and grumpy and the execs of Lonely Planet were being soundly cursed. I had very little voice so asking anymore wasn’t really a viable option. I searched again on-line and found a mention of a corner the bus to Orosi left from so walked to there. However, no Orosi bound buses were to be found. I had the route number from the bus schedule site so showed one of the ‘somewhere else’ bound drivers who gave me directions to the Plaza Mayor. I followed, but yet again, no Orosi bound buses. As I got to the end of the Ruins, I spotted a bus with Orosi displayed and gratefully made my way over to it. The door was shut but the driver opened it to explain that I needed to go somewhere else to catch it. I could feel tears prickling as my new found hope dwindled yet again. Dubiously, I followed these new set of instructions and arrived at the destination, nose running, windswept hair strewn across my face and hacking up a lung. I had definitely had put the ‘wild’ into ‘wild woman’! Fortunately, there was my chariot awaiting to cease my misery and carry me onwards. I climbed aboard.

Now you would think it would be plain sailing from here to get to my hostel, but I was paying penance for playing on my phone in church. The bus had Orosi emblazoned across it’s screen, which I took to mean it terminated in Orosi. Apparently, that is not necessarily the case in Costa Rica. By now it was on dusk and I was enjoying the scenery from my seat when I jolted to my senses. A sign to Orosi pointing in the direction from whence we had just come. I grabbed my phone and checked. Yep, Orosi was on the wrong side of our ongoing direction. I told the driver who somewhat unceremoniously dumped me on the side of the road with a vague wave of his hand to indicate I should wait for a bus going in the other direction. I decided I would start to walk back rather than just wait. After a while, I checked how far back Orosi was and decided I would just walk it all the way. Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of uphill so my poor lungs coped, but it was well and truly dark by the time I finished the 5.5kms to the hostel. I checked in and went across the road to a little pizzeria for something to eat, then a well deserved rest.

Another bad night saw me shivering uncontrollably with fever so decided to sleep in until midday again. Had coffee at the hostel before heading out to wander a bit in another barrio of San José.

Barrio Escalante is a neighbouring barrio to Barrio California where I was staying so I didn’t need to wander too far. It would seem that this barrio is for the well heeled; although anyone trying to traverse it a la Carrie Bradshaw would probably want to rethink that considering the state of the pavement… I was far from well, but couldn’t just stay at the hostel. I knew I needed to get something to eat to take my magic meds with, so wandered out to find somewhere reasonably priced.

I thought I would be able to find a soda, which is where the locals eat and are fairly cheap, however, it would appear that Barrio Escalante snubbed its nose at that and the only places I could find were upmarket bars and restaurants. Undefeated, I spluttered my way along the main drag until I found a cozy, little, not too overpriced offering where I gratefully slumped into a chair. The frijol empañando was tasty and hit the spot.

Afterwards, I walked the few blocks over to the Museo Calderon Guardia. Dr. Rafael Calderon Garcia was president of Costa Rica 1940-1944 and is credited with implementing many of the social reforms which form the basis of modern day Costa Rica. Despite his absolute humanitarian bent, the Calderon Garcia’s were not short a colones or two as the museum is located in the former family home/mansion. Though to be fair, to further oneself (or even get an education in those days) was restricted to the wealthy and society elite. Calderon Garcia looked to changing that and implemented far reaching reforms to better the lives of all Costa Ricans.

My next stop was a quick peek inside Iglesia Santa Teresita. This sweet little church, with its duck egg blue and crisp white interior, is fairly well a newcomer to the Barrio Escalante streets. Built in 1941, it’s design would suggest a much older building. Nonetheless, it’s an enchanting addition to the local streetscape.

By this stage, the sun had well and truly set and I was well and truly done for the day. Last stop was to check the timetable for the following day’s train and back to the hostel with my 1L bottle of beer. Well, one does have to keep hydrated in times like these.

Alarm went off at 6am and I was up ready to make the most of the day. I had had a better night’s sleep, though still feverish at times. I wasn’t confident my little bottle of elixir was doing much so wanted to try find something else. After a pretty average breakfast, I headed out to source different pharmaceuticals and see some sights.

I found another pharmacy downtown which looked a bit more the part than my previous experience and was greeted by an hombre in a white medical jacket. Good start. He even asked the right sort of questions, so I put my faith in his ability to sort me out. I showed him my little bottle of elixir and he confirmed what I had already worked out – it was only for the cough. An array of pharmaceuticals were produced and I managed to get it down to three different tablets which evidently all did something different. Where were Codral Night and Days when you needed them! In Costa Rica, you don’t buy whole packets of tablets, you pay by the pill. I decided to go with three days worth which cost me an eye-watering AUD30. When I think about doing Costa Rica on $10 a day, I wasn’t thinking about that being the cost of my medications!!

I went to a little cafeteria above one of the more upmarket supermarkets for coffee and something to eat so I could start my course of wallet-draining substances. While I was there, I took the opportunity to check out the prices of some things I would need to replace eventually during my stay here. I needed something stronger than coffee to get my head around some of the prices: AUD8.50 for the same brand of deodorant I use back home with the local offering not much cheaper. At least the beer was reasonably priced. Silver linings…

The two places I wanted to check out were close by, so I took a stroll through the throng to find the Teatro Nacional. This amazing theatre was built in 1897 and features all the European architectural features that were the rage of the day. Not a place to see with a hangover, as the gilt and ornate trimmings really are quite over the top. Still, it is very impressive. I took a tour with an enthusiastic señorita who effused about the many and varied aspects of the theatre. My favourite was the very expensively commissioned main painting on the ceiling in the main foyer which was painted by an Italian artist who clearly had never been to Costa Rica. Nor seen a banana. The artwork was to depict a local scene representing daily life of Costa Ricans. El Señor had coffee plantains alongside the beach and depicted an hombre carrying a bunch of bananas upside down. Wonder if his cheque cleared.

The second place I wanted to visit was right next door and situated in a very modern, high tech building. The Museo del Oro Precolombino is owned and curated by the Banco Central de Costa Rica. It’s actually an underground museum with the entrance below street level under the Plaza de la Cultura. You go down a wide, sweeping staircase to a gallery space, then further down to the Museo del Ora Precolombino. The collection features some pretty spectacular pieces and interpretation panels in Spanish and English give insight as to how they were used in pre-Colombian times. Back up at entrance level was an interesting exhibition on the development of Costa Rican currency.

I headed back to the hostel afterwards as I was starting to run out of steam. I’m hoping my super expensive meds will start to kick in so I can get over this lurgy sooner rather than later.

Wee hours of the morning saw me shivering with fever and feeling pretty damn shit. I sought out extra linen and another blanket, then spent a fairly uncomfortable night trying not to throw up. Ignored alarm in the morning and dozed on and off until midday. By then, I forced myself to get up, shower and go out to source pharmaceuticals to get me through the day.

Looking on Maps.Me, it looked like there were a couple of pharmacies only a few blocks away so I headed in that general direction. After finding neither, I resorted to asking locals with little success. Eventually, I had it confirmed that I would need to go back into the city centre for what I was after. Zombie like, I negotiated San José’s hectic traffic and succeeded in not becoming roadkill en route. I stumbled upon the local train station I would need when moving on out of here so one objective was met.

First pharmacy I came to, I stopped and tried in halting Spanish to explain what I needed. Words in any language were becoming challenging, however, the hombre behind the counter spoke reasonable English so I reverted to that to make life easier. He presented me with a little bottle of elixir which I was quite dubious about, but assured me it would do the trick.

After throwing some of the mixture down my throat, I decided I would walk around a bit before going back to the hostel. San José is definitely a very walkable city so long as you are aware of what the traffic is doing at intersections. I always find watching how the locals engage with the traffic is your best gauge on how to go about it.

Back at the hostel, I finally collapsed and decided an early night was in order.

The little restaurant at the hostel wasn’t open this morning, but fortunately there were lashings of free, good quality coffee. Suitably fuelled up, I headed the few blocks over to the National Museum.

This remarkable and extensive museum is housed in the former barracks and headquarters of the Costa Rican army, Cuartel Bellavista. Apparently, when the government of the day disbanded the country’s army in the late 1940s, the Museum Director proved most savvy in requesting the barracks to house its collection ‘in the spirit of community building’. He read the play book and was granted his wish. Museum staff must have been dancing in the street with the news as it meant they finally had decent digs to set up in and spread out. The work over the past 70 years has resulted in a world class institution.

Immediately entering the museum, you pass through double glass doors into a butterfly filled, glass covered atrium resplendent with lush, tropical gardens. With clouds of large, brilliantly coloured butterflies swooshing through the air, and occasionally landing for an obligatory photo opportunity, this place rates up there for enchantment value.

From a corner on the lower level of the atrium, you can climb up inside one of the original barrack towers to emerge onto the rooftop with brilliant vistas of San Jose and the surrounding mountains. It’s easy to see why the cuartel was built there in the first place. The upper part of this particular tower was demolished when the army was disbanded to prevent it being used for attacks on the city again.

From this point, you go back inside at the same level to explore the old barrack kitchen area, bathrooms and even the solitary confinement area. Interpretation panels in Spanish and English are accompanied by historic photos of when the building was a military emplacement. Reading the personal accounts of former soldiers based there, you have to think they would rather have had the place burned to the ground themselves. It was a particularly harsh life for a sentry during that time.

Once through this section you climb a set of stairs to pop back up into bright sunlight and a gorgeous central patio filled with immaculately landscaped gardens. The buildings surrounding the patio is where the Museum’s permanent collection is displayed and well worth a visit to get your head around Costa Rican history from pre-Columbian to present. All interpretation panels are in Spanish and English and exhibits are well presented.

Having not eaten since the previous day, I eyed a cute little restaurant over the road from the museum. Upon being ushered in and presented with a menu, I discovered prices were not to my liking but I had made the cardinal error of not checking the menu first so felt obliged to suck it up and just order something. I chose one of the cheapest things on the menu, rice with shrimps, and a beer. When presented with the bill, it was even more than I had anticipated with taxes and charges added on. For AUD65 I expect a pretty amazing meal but amazingly, this was not. I’m going to have to be on guard here a bit more it would seem.

Back at the hostel, I partook of Happy Hour/s at the hostel bar, chatting to fellow travellers and whiling away the time with tasty rum cocktails in hand.

Arrived at my hostel wee hours of the morning after travelling for 30+ hrs to find I had unwittingly booked my bed a night out!!Thankfully, the lovely receptionist found me an emergency bed for the night after I made noises about just crashing in a hammock or on a couch. Even after a shower and clean clothes I was too wired to sleep for a bit so didn’t start my day until mid morning.

I wanted to just walk around this remarkable city for a bit to get the vibe of the place. It had been five years since I had last been in Central America and that was in Nicaragua, one of the poorest countries in the region. Costa Rica, by comparison, is very much the showy, wealthier relative with support from its rich benefactor, the US. The city is relatively clean and well organised, and it has a veneer of respectability about it. The absence of an army is very apparent as that’s one of the things that is usually very much in your face in other Central American countries. That said, there is a very strong police presence as it was to them the role fell to keep the peace after the army was disbanded in 1949.

San José has many small, immaculately maintained parks which provide a welcome change from the hustle and bustle of city life. I meandered my way through crowded streets which were being cordoned off for a street festival later that evening. Families were setting up along the parade route in order to claim prime position and there was definitely a festive atmosphere in the air.

I left the crowds behind and started exploring the various barrios surrounding downtown San José. The terrain is hilly which allows for some superb views from elevated positions. Picking my way through streets with well maintained garden verges; pretty colonial cottages mingled with more modern concrete edifices.

Returning to the hostal after several hours of walking, I bumped into a Chilean woman I had been chatting to earlier in the day. She said that a group from the hostel were going to go watch the Festival of Lights – the festival I had seen the preparations for earlier on my walk. We left together and walked past multitudes of buses lining a back street. We were trying to find a bar we could hang out at prior to watching the parade but it seemed alcohol was off the menu because of the parade. Strolling back, however, it seemed the parade had started so we stopped to watch.

As luck would have it, this bar didn’t seem to get the memo about the no alcohol ruling, so I plonked myself at the bar and ordered a cerveza. Almost immediately, I was accosted by a more than slightly inebriated Colombian hombre who kept trying to hug and kiss me. Fortunately, he left shortly afterwards with the assurance of a security escort. In his place came along a really interesting, local hombre who was producing music. The bar was playing some great local music and his latest offering, which was filmed in Nicaragua, was on the DJ’s play list.

After I left the bar, I walked back past the buses strung out along the street which were now surrounded by performers in their hundreds in magnificent costumes packing up to go to their relative homes in Costa Rica. I felt of brief pang of regret for not waiting it out to see it, but choices had to be made.