Spring Break in Costa Rica

I have always heard that Costa Rica was very developed, had all their problems nearly solved, didn’t have a military and was comparatively wealthy while Nicaragua was still mired in corruption, poverty, and was struggling with all the typical “third world” ailments. In fact, many Nicas migrate to Costa Rica to find employment and send remittances. But, I was still not prepared for the contrast between San Jose and Managua. Arriving in San José by bus (after 10 hrs. on that bus and in customs), my first reaction was wow, this city is clean; I didn’t see any fields of garbage lining the streets or people burning it on their sidewalks. Then I noticed that most of the buildings were at least two stories tall and there were even skyscrapers; Managua is a very flat city in terms of architecture with only handful of two story houses and buildings over a story tall. San Jose is also at a much higher altitude then Managua and therefore is much cooler during the days and even cold at nights. When we checked in at our hostel, the receptionist handed us blankets and it took all my self control not to start laughing but I was later happy to it.

As a result of this prosperity, Costa Rica has seen a great influx of tourist and resident aliens from all over Europe and North America. The two hostels we stayed at were full of tourists living there for a couple of weeks and trying to fill up on Costa Rica´s so called “pura vida”. We also met, many Americans who had come down for vacation and never left or kept coming until it made more sense to just settle down in Costa Rica. It was interesting to see how each nationality interacted with each other. The French were very judgmental of Americans but accepted me and my friends because we spoke Spanish and apparently weren’t loud. The Norwegians mostly stuck to themselves but my Swedish won at least some acknowledgement. Canadians and Americans seemed to be the most outgoing bunch although, I might be a bit biased and language helped here. Unfortunately, I didn’t actually meet many Ticos other than the cab drivers and the few that worked in the hostels.

So what did I actually do in Costa Rica other than hangout at hostels? Our first day there, we caught a bus (got off at the wrong entrance and had to hike 3km down the highway) to Braulio Carillio, a national park a little outside San Jose. There we hiked through a lush cloud forest to the Rio Sucio, a river tinted yellow by mineral runoff from a volcano. It was an experience similar to when I was in the rainforest in Ecuador in that you could see so clearly how everything was connected, how each plant supported another. That evening, we dined at an Asian restaurant to celebrate my birthday. In the hostel, we continued the celebration with our new collection of international friends, wine and a watermelon.

The next three nights we spent in Manuel Antonio, a small beach town on the pacific coast that was full of both foreign tourists and Ticos on break for Semana Santa. On Friday morning, we all woke up at 5:30 to arrive at the national park Manuel Antonio when it opened. Our plans nearly were waylaid as the hostel kitchen didn’t open until 6:15 is and no buses were running because it was Good Friday (alcohol was also out of commission). Non-the-less, we arrived at the park gates with a few minutes to spare and we were some of the first to enter. One of the most popular parks in Costa Rica, they only let 600 people enter daily and since it was a national holiday, they were expecting longer lines than normal. We were rewarded with sightings of a sloth (yep, they just hang there and do nothing), three types of monkeys, bright blue butterflies, iguanas (we named one Garry) and Jesus Christ lizards. After hiking around for a while, we settled on a secluded beach, swam, read and I drew.

Our trip home was long but uneventful. Crossing the border took a total of four hours, much of which was spent in lines or waiting outside our bus. On the Nicaraguan side, instead of all the passengers going through passport control individually, a customs officer collects all the passports from a bus and takes them to get stamped. We also had to go through baggage inspection which meant that we collected all our bags and then handed our declarations slips in (no one even so much as glanced at my bag). Exhausted, we arrived in Managua in the early evening and were glad to be home but anxious about getting back to classes.