Day 4, Monday, March 24, 2014 I milked a cow today, double-handed, and got a shortcut to the milk; straight from the cow to my mouth (there are videos). We left the El Tucano Resort this morning after a 6:40 AM breakfast. It was drizzling rain when, we first rolled our luggage up a three story concrete in to where Juan Carlos had our big yellow Mercedes Benz bus waiting. After loading the luggage, we went back down the challenging drive and right into the dining hall. We filled out plates with grub which include a new dish, fried potatoes (or taters, as Alberto mockingly called them). The taters were indeed a change and seasoned just right. The rain was still falling at just after 7:00 AM when we hit the road back to San Carlos and on to La Fortuna, a repeated trail from yesterday. Many of our tourists slept for this hour. Sleep is cheap unless you do the math on how much a nap cost on a tour. We rolled right through La Fortuna and on toward the dam on Lake Arenal. Once a few yards past the dam, we were in uncharted territory. For many miles, more than 30 kilometers, we drove through the rain forest around the lake. We saw thick jungle of the micro-climate near Poas Volcano. The weather was rainy and cool. The lake was a quarter mile away most of the time. We were at least two hundred feet above the manmade lake. For over an hour we circled the lake. Our mission was to see wildlife. Yesterday we spotted an Amazon Kingfisher near the kayak marina. Alberto indicated that he thought there was a nesting pair near there. Today Juan Carlos saw a toucan in a tree on the left side of the road. He stopped and we were able to take several dozen fuzzy photos of the bird. Another half hour later, just as we were approaching a town where we were to take a restroom and souvenir break, we rounded a corner to see traffic stopped. At first I thought there had been a wreck. Not so. Almost a dozen people with cameras were taking pictures of monkeys, Holler Monkeys, that were in the trees right next to the road. There was family of the creatures. The dominant male stood guard while pregnant females and little monkeys climbed around in the branches of the trees on the left-hand side of the road. On the right side of the road, bachelor monkeys hung out in the thick foliage of another tree. They are ostracized from the group. We took video and still photos for over 15 minutes as the traffic piled up, other photographers got out of their cars and locals sped though the midst of what grew to be over thirty people. In the end, we decided the situation was getting too dangerous and took our leave. We arrived in Tilaran and took our break. We were back on the road in about 30 minutes, and what a road it was. For the next five hours we traveled on nothing but gravel roads. We began with clear skies, quickly move into clouds that produced rain and ended on some to the dustiest, dry, rough roads you can imagine. Along the way we crossed impossible bridges and continued on and on and on at between 5 mph and 15 mph. The bus took a beating. So did we. Dust collected in the coach, on our stuff and up our noses. I got a sunburn through the window before the journey ended. Between Tilaran and Monteverde, the end of our trek, we stopped at a small, poor elementary school in a spot in the road called Laesperanza. We had bought school supplies and soccer balls, along with many other small things, for the children there. Their little school was pitiful when compared to our standards. The kids were all dressed in uniforms; white shirts and blue pants or skirts. They looked clean and well groomed, every one.The principal met us at the wide open door, every bit the professional. I would have to believe that she also taught the one-room class. Our students handed out the goodies. I could not help but feel shame for what I take for granted as a teacher. Our American kids deserve more in terms of education, no doubt about it. However, these kids have practically nothing. One part of the school was unusable. There was a need to renovate. There simply is no money to buy materials and pay for labor. The isolation of the school, down a remote mountain road, means that only the local kids are provided for. These are poor, but proud people. I know we were not the first tour that had visited the school. They was not overwhelmed by our presence and our presents. They were courteous and as gracious as little children that age can be. Students presented us drawings they had made. I had the little girl who drew a picture of a bird in pencil sign her art. After more warming-up between the Laesperanza students and the Americans and Canadians, photos were made, hugs exchanged, conversation initiated. I left the school feeling empty. Here are these children, citizens of the world, our little brothers and sisters with so little and such a small chance of every having any of the chances our American student have, and often squander away. Alberto Hara, our Tour Director, dedicates efforts to help construct and repair schools. That would be a real gift. What would be a truly worthwhile, would be a trip to a country like Costa Rica where students and parents spend at least two days doing physical labor to make a school room usable. Donations from back home to pay for materials would buy what would be needed to open a new room, to repair an existing space. Parents with construction and electrical skills would do miracles. In addition to building and repairing churches in Latin American countries, perhaps some of our local churches could combine with their teenagers to improve the education of children like the ones I saw today. Some churches already do this. What a service to our fellowman would that be? After visiting the little school, we actually had to back down the graveled mountain road for over a mile before finding a place to turn the huge, 55-passenger bus around. Alberto discovered at our stop in Tilaran that our planned route to Monteverde, via Laesperanza, was blocked due to work on a sewage project. So, all of the normal routes were out of question. Alternative routes had to be taken. No road, neither the original route nor the alternate route was paved. Miles upon mountain miles of dusty, rough roads is the only way to get to Monteverde. The bus could not have continue to go forward after leaving the school due to the blocked road. Once turned around, we began an almost three hour journey up and down, around severe curves, gradually making our way to our final destination of the day. When we arrived in Monteverde, it took us an extra ten minutes to circumnavigate the town due to the congestion downtown. While the roads in the town are paved with brick, no one should confuse Monteverde with a metropolis, a city in the sense we consider one in the U.S. Monteverde is a settlement, an ecological staging area, atourist town, home to our driver, Juan Carlos, and developing quickly after decades when it could not be reached by roads that a coach or your car could traverse. It is almost like a frontier town though it has been a destination and home for many generations. Monteverde is an old, old village. During the Viet Nam War, Quakers from the United States sent scouts out to Central and South America to find a place to escape the draft and to find a new home that better aligned with their religious beliefs. It was easier to Monteverde, I assumed, by sea, then overland from the coast. Earlier, it would have been the ox cart that got people and supplies to the village. Later, with the advent of jeeps and other four-wheel drive vehicles, it became easier but still there was little access to other parts of Costa Rica, no major roads. We enjoyed a late lunch, tired, hot and dusty. The rice, black beans and barbecue beef were good. Because we were running late due to the rerouting all day, we were in a hurry to get to the ranch were we would get to ride horses and milk a Brahma cow. Also because we were late and had missed our appointment at the ranch, Alberto had to find another ranch. He found one that turned out to be a blessing, one that he said he had use four or five years previously. Without unloading or checking into the Monteverde Country Lodge, we ate, got back on the bus and headed quickly out of town. About four miles later, after driving on another dusty, graveled road and traveling along the ridge of the mountain, we arrive at a road that turned off to the left. Juan Carlos could not drive down the road due to the incline and the size of the coach. We all got out and walked toward a house we saw at the bottom of the hill. The people who run the ranch, a family, greeted us warmly. They had been gracious to stay open late. It was about 4:00 PM, perhaps a bit later, when we reached the stable area. We were told that there were only enough horses for half us at a time. We divided the group and the first group began to mount their horses with the help of the staff. As we greeted our horse, we were told his/her name. I was in the second wave so I was in the first group to stay behind to milk the cow. It took over 15 minutes to get everyone aboard their beast. Many had never road a horse before. Some, like me, had not ridden a horse many years. Finally, all were mounted and off they rode, down the hill that overlooked some of the most majestic sights you could imagine. The mountains are tall here. The sun shone brightly on the patches of almost vertical meadow surrounded by green trees and brush. In one viewing, you could see for miles. The first group rode out of sight and the group of which I was a member got down to the work of milking the cow in a picture-perfect, rustic stable. To prime the pump a bull calf was brought to his mom. He was hungry! The cows head was secured in a restraint. She happily ate while junior nursed. When the ranch hand was satisfied there was milk flowing from the fountains, he removed the reluctant calf and tied him a few feet away. He cried. Katherine, a teenage daughter of the ranch owners, washed the equipment and place a shiny bucket beneath the cow. But first, the ranch hand tied the cows hind legs together and her tail up and to the left. One by one the kids milked Elsie (name changed to protect the identity of the cow). I finally got my change and decided to try the double-handed method of milking. The milk squirted in to the bucket, splattering against the sides before settling into foam at the bottom. Wondering how good a shot I was, I aimed one of the delivery units toward my mouth and got a taste of the freshest, sweetest milk in the world. Soon, Katherine brought us small brown plastic cups. Many filled the cups with milk directly from the source and drank the warm liquid. Bonita, the 6 or 7 year old granddaughter of the owners drank eagerly the milk. When she was done, she removed the cup from her lips and was left with a great big milk mustache! (See the photo on Facebook). After the first group had been gone for over half an hour, we looked up to see riderless horses running back to the stables. The first thought was that our riders were worse than I had imagined, that they had all been thrown for their mounts or kidnapped. In reality, the first group had been taken to the bottom of the valley and Alberto had herded their horses back up the mountain for us to use. We were eager to get aboard the horses and join our friends as it was the sun starting its descent and the sky was fading into golds and oranges. Some people struggle more than others to get in the saddle; not saying that is me, but... The stirrups seemed higher than I saw on John Waynes saddle. Anyway, after completing that gymnastic feat, I was on top of Appaloosa (his real name) and ready to go. While these horses perform this circuit every day, some have a mind of their own. Appaloosa wanted to run. This is probably because he wanted to rid himself quickly of the weight on his back. I could see in his eyes that he was thinking, did I have to get him! Anyway, we struck out, about 20 of us. Phyllis stayed behind as did one of our Canadian who is allergic to horse. The wind took the powdery gray dust and blew it into our eyes. Known as an area of high winds and turbo generators, several of the monsters we saw earlier in the day, the wind gusted at between 30 and 40 miles per hour. We rode out of the corral area and began our descent into some of the most beautiful landscape in the universe. While every region has its own natural beauty, this rugged, windswept county is awesome in the true since of the word. Because you can see so much, senses are easily overloaded trying to take in the diversity of what you can see in a sing 360 degrees sweep. Down we rode. I found the descent was harder than the eventual ascent. Our horses walked single file behind our leader. When bored, the horses would try to gallop past the one in front. When the kids got bored, they would make their horse gallop forward so they could pass their friends. This was frowned upon by the management, and dangerous for rookie riders in such a treacherous environment. A fall would put you on a rock and a rock would break a bone or cause a concussion. The hospital is in San Jose. The is a helicopter ride of more than an hour. So basically, you would die. We zig-zagged down the worm trail passing cows who grazed the rocky hills and draws. Our riding skills did not impress them and they had very long and sharp horns. After about fifteen minutes, and after stopping many times for the people who did not know where the horse accelerator was located (or wanted to remain a kind friend of the horse), we arrived a flat area next to a roaring mountain stream. We were greeted by three of our Canadian boys and in just a few minutes by the entire first group. They emerged from the wilderness on the left, some soaked to the bone. They had enjoyed the pools the owners had constructed from rock. These pools were filled with 90 degree water, hot spring thermal water mixed cleverly with cold stream water. I hope you get to see the photos of this special place. I cannot adequately describe it to you. Group one saddled up and were off. We walked down a worn, rocky trail to the pools that were located just about the narrow, noisy, whitewater creek. To get to the pools we had to descend about thirty feet using rope hand-holds and rock steps. After spending about forty-five minutes in the peaceful setting where rest and relaxation was a part of the setting, Alberto gave us the whistle from where our horses had returned. By the time we walked the out of paradise, the horses were waiting to be saddled. We walked out of one paradise into another where the vivid colors drained from the land and the sky. The beauty did not diminish. It simply changed. With more confidence, our horsemen took to the trail, following our Spanish speaking leader up the mountain. Our horses were quick to respond to our amateurish rein instructions; they knew what they were doing, where the were going. We acted as if we were in control but in truth, the horses just made us think so. By the time we arrived at the stables, the dusk had almost slipped into evening. Even as we unsaddled, the darkness descended over the mountains foreign to us. The temperatures had dropped and the hot Costa Rican coffee offered up by our hosts was welcome. The hospitality of the owners made us feel as family and the ranch house was a welcome and safe haven to the enormity of the world we had just experienced and the night that took control of the world. I saw Phyllis Wells get a head start on the considerable hill with its unstable rocks in powdery dust. I decided to join her, to take my time (I had slipped on the way down on rocks that had no grip to the ground and the other rocks in the graphite-like dust). It is hard to keep pace with teenagers who seem to ascend every climb on our tour with little effort. At the halfway point, clumps of students began to pass me. I looked up and could see, against the last light left in horizon high above me, Phyllis arrive at the road. Another 100 yards put me at the road just about the same instant Juan Carlos showed up with Ole Yellar cutting the darkness and unknown like a starship. We loaded, counted and were on our way back to the Monteverde Country Lodge. The lodge has a terrible wi-fi presence. You can text but trying to send data on the Internet is almost impossible. This is the quaintest of our three hotel so far. It is owed and managed by a couple with rules. The light go out at about 11:00 PM. If you are outside at 10:00 PM, you are at Disney World. One hour later, you are still in the Magic Kingdom, but you are in Space Mountain, stalled in the dark. Lights here do not symbolize security. The food is good. The rooms spacious and clean. No toilet paper may go into the toilets. All is deposited in a trash can beside the throne. Nice. As you know, this blog did not get sent last evening. Blame the wi-fi. Chris Schwantz had a ordeal with a bug in his ear last evening. There was talk of helicoptering him to San Jose as no qualified physicians were in town last evening and he was in a lot of discomfort. An EMT at a Red Cross meeting took a look inside his ear, pronounced the bug dead but could not get the insect remove with the tools he had available to him. Kim was able to ride the bus to the pharmacy this morning for antibiotics and ear-drops designed to kill bacteria in the ear. Chris still has thoughts that eggs have been laid in his ear and will soon invade his brain. We have planted trees and walked a mile in a cloud forest this morning. It is 11:49 AM and lunch is waiting for me. More later.
Posted on: Tue, 25 Mar 2014 17:56:00 +0000
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