September 24 - Tortuguero to Papagayo

Another 5:00am morning for us, packing up our gear and scooting over to the dining hall for a breakfast promised to be merely “continental.” Continental, in Costa Rica anyway, apparently means coffee, orange juice, fresh pineapple, banana and papaya, breakfast ham, perfectly cooked fried eggs and tasty wheat bread, still hot from the oven. I told Gerardo that in the U.S., you could expect a small muffin in a plastic bag as your continental breakfast.

As we stood waiting for our shuttle boat to arrive, a toucan flew overhead! We boarded the boat and made the short ride over to the Tortuguero airstrip. I felt like royalty riding swiftly over the river, with just a driver, Gerardo and Jesse. Little did we know that our small 12 or 15-seater airplane would arrive – and Jesse and I would be the only passengers! The copilot gave a “ladies and gentleman” speech much more relaxed than the standard TSA lecture delivered back at home. We took off from the small strip of concrete boarded by rainforest on one side and the beach just through a line of trees on the other. It was a short ride to San Jose, where we walked off the plane and across the tarmac to a very, very small gate area to wait for our next flight. We had a strange array of snacks while we waited, including a blueberry muffin and a pear yogurt beverage named “Likigurt.”

Our next plane, which was the same size as the first, was full. We flew to the tiny Tamarindo airport to drop off some of the passengers, and then continued on to Liberia. I spotted a really weird bug that looked like it had been covered in white spray paint, but I was feeling a little too rushed to get a picture. We were greeted by a new driver, Armando, with whom we spoke Spanish the entire ride to the resort. Well, Jesse spoke and I generally just listened. Jesse accidentally told Armando that he’d been to all 50 states, which Armando find very impressive.

We arrived at the Allegro Papagayo Hotel and checked in, receiving our prized golden bracelets that let everyone know we were on our honeymoon. The resort was all-inclusive in terms of food and alcohol, but we were promised some extra perks for the occasion. We tossed our bags in our room and set out to explore. We got excited to see a big iguana sunning itself on a bush, and then realized that the creatures dotted the whole place! We got a bite to eat at the snack bar and walked down to the black sand beach. We walked along the shore for a while, examining the thousands of pretty seashells and the occasional fish body.

Returning to our room, we decided to take a nap in air-conditioned comfort. We woke to realize that we’d completely missed lunch, so we went back to sleep. Those early mornings had caught up to us. We woke again in time for dinner and set out for “La Trattoria” – the hotel’s a la carte Italian restaurant. Reservations were required and a dress code was loudly announced – a dress code which we couldn’t abide by due to our limited clothing and shoe selection. Fortunately, another diner had his shirt unbuttoned practically down to his navel.

Thinking our day was nearing its close, we walked back up to our room, spotting a mama raccoon and several babies along the way. We washed some clothes with bar soap in the sink (a necessity with a 25 pound limit on luggage) and decided to take a quick trip to the hot tub and maybe play a short game of darts at the bar before retiring. Unfortunately, we found the hot tub closed by the time we got down to the pool area. And then there was only one dart in the dart board. The foosball table opened up, so we positioned ourselves there.

Less than three minutes later, I was approached by a member of the “Occidental Fun Club.” The young man directed me to repeat his words to Jesse.

Jesse. If you do not participate in tonight’s production. I will not sleep with you.

And so Jesse decided to participate in the night’s production. Then I got roped into participating as well – bikini top and all. What was the production? GREASE. We were directed to a dressing room along with three men, and told to choose button-up suit jackets. We were then herded backstage and told to choose instruments – Jesse got the bongo drums and I opted for a big cymbal. Our “director” told us to watch the stage for the big red car and once the song “Greased Lightning” began, we were to put on our jackets, grab our instruments and position ourselves just behind the curtain.

I wanted to quit. I wanted to go hide in our room till the next day, bailing out on the rest of the cast. Jesse didn’t act like that was an option so I stuck around. In the meantime, we met Will, a Costa Rican native who had spent many years in the U.S. and who had just returned to Costa Rica 11 months prior (read: preemptively running from the law). He convinced us to do shots of tequila to steel our nerves before our Costa Rican stage debuts. A Spanish-speaking man, Patricio, who looked like he was from Michigan, joined us. Then it was time; the car appeared and the familiar notes of “Greased Lightning” rang out. We grabbed our jackets (I was happy to cover my skin), our instruments, and the curtains opened and music began!

We were only to pretend we were playing our instruments. I nervously tapped my cymbal while Jesse bongoed away next to me. Patricio – previously quiet and shy – ran twirling across the stage, sticking his microphone in each of our faces to do singing “solos.” It was madness. The song flowed into another…this was taking fooooreeeever.

Once our part finally ended, we headed back over the bar with Will. Turns out he had worked at the same software sales company as Jesse had – only at a Costa Rica branch rather than in Beaverton, Oregon. The raccoon family came down and raided garbage cans in the bar area. I got close to a little baby who was too immersed in what he was doing to notice me.

The bar closed and we moved to the empty discothèque…which it seems they opened up just for us. The night ended significantly later than I had anticipated.