Costa Rica, that paradise often visited from far and wide
for the beaches, jungles, wildlife and rain. Oh no wait, sun? Nope, none of
that, just a sprinkling of rain followed up with a hearty main of rain with
some puddles on the side, and for dessert you guessed it. More fsomething rain,
let’s call it fain for short.
Campsites were asking around 10 US dollars per person to
camp. We paid less than that for a hotel in Mexico, and anyway isn’t Costa Rica
pretty safe? So we decided to start boondocking again, aka wild camping, or I
guess you could say being a gypsy and parking up wherever. We parked up next to
a river so we could say we “live in a van, down by the river”. Sometimes food
it taken away at borders depending on the rules that we are too lazy to
research so we tend to cross with an empty fridge and stop at a shop once
across. We didn’t bother this time so made an exotic meal with the stuff from
the bottom of the cupboards.
After a freezing but much needed dip in the river in the
morning we headed along towards civilisation so we could stock up on cash and
then spend it on fuel and food, our two biggest expenses. The currency is
called Colóns, which sounds disgusting but is several hundred to one of
anything else, so you feel like a baller when you’re at the hole in the wall.
We quickly start to realise how well established the tourism
industry is here and it’s not a good thing for us. We have the ability to
travel by ourselves and camp wherever we stop so we don’t want or need all that
crap that comes with tourism; damn tourists ruining everything! Between two
expensive (70 US dollars per person just to visit!!) spas is the bridge over
which you drive to spend all your money at these resorts. These places are set
up on a thermal river for pale skinned tourists to bathe until their skin turns
red, but using our superpower app we find out that you can park on the road and
enjoy this river for zero cost. So we do.
Here is a graphic warning about photography. Look below?
What do you see? It is Jenjen stood in a river in the rain under a dodgy bridge
covered in graffiti.
But what if the camera was pointing the other way? Now we
see Steve bathing in glorious warm water, cleansing his body, mind and soul in
the misty jungle high up in the mountains surrounded by nature and wildlife. I
hope this lesson is valuable, although we are not sure what the point was.
We even find magic right here. Something darts across the
water, but it wasn’t a figment of our imagination, it was a lizard. This lizard
was running on water, especially when poked and prodded although we can’t say
how we know that…
Next camp spot has to be down by the river again, because
who doesn’t want to "live in a van, down by the river"? (Probably time to google
that video). Not sure what this bird is or why it looks so delicious.
Reaching our riverside camp spot requires crossing a weird
bridge that is just a load of concrete poured around some rocks with an entertaining
warning sign which is very hard to take seriously. So we don’t, and continue
onwards to find more tourists but this time with quadbikes just across the
water. In order to assert his manliness and professionalism as a leader, the
tourist tour guide jumps to our rescue and guides across the easily visible
(albeit a bit narrow) bridge in front of his swooning audience. Thanks, we
guess. Maybe he knows how we like to get stuck in rivers?
The spot was worth the life risking manoeuvres and we awake
to some actual sunshine, for once in Costa Rica we can take some nice photos. Steve
even ventured onto an old abandoned and sketchy bridge just because it was
there so why wouldn’t he… He returns triumphantly with a bunch of lovely green
coconuts, these are good for coconut water and not meat, as we have learned
through our obsessive studying.
There was another fruit, so we had to investigate. The
photos tell the story all too graphically.
And some wildlife.
Sunshine still out, we almost reach the advertised power of
our solar panel, almost 100W of lovely sunshine keeping our beer cold. Science,
magic, what is the difference. And a really cool plant.
The sunshine never lasts here. As we drive along we smell
pineapple and it took us far too long to realise it was the truck in front,
just rammed with pineapple chunks full to the point where they would fall off
over every bump in the road. But all that was irrelevant because we saw fallen
coconuts again, and Jenjen was quick to save these poor fallen cocos from their
rotting fate. In the end we were too slow to consume them so they all leaked
disgusting milky water onto our carpet and we threw them all away. The enigma
of these beasts continues to intrigue us, with every whiff.
Oh look! We are still living in a van, down by the river.
This spot was very remote, with two joining rivers flowing
over huge rocks. We don’t have a dishwasher (tiny violin playing) so when we
can, we use bodies of water outside the van since our sink is kind of awkward
and our water supply limited. Sometimes this involves standing in the pitch black
surrounded by jungle rising all around you, water drowning out all sounds of
whatever is out there that could be creeping up on you…. Spoookkkyyyy.
Heading towards the capital, San Jose, we travel over a
winding mountain road past waterfalls and misty views on smooth tarmac without
holes in it for once. And plenty of cool old vehicles bumbling around.
So we’ll try and explain how we came to find Fabian, our
spring hero. When we were checking out the scout run old prison place in
Nicaragua with the transformer robots in hiding, a lovely man by the name of
Jairo came to chat. Jairo is a Nicaraguan who has an older VW bus and travels
around just like us, and was unusually not travelling due to family sickness
but was showing his dad the prison. Despite Jenjen really really reaaalllyyyy
needing to pee, we chatted for ages about travel, vans and the even the political
situation in Nicaragua. It was great, and we mentioned how one of our springs
has snapped, so he gave us the contact details of a VW nut in Costa Rica. We
messaged this guy, who then put us in touch with Fabian who seems to be the
only Vanagon mechanic in Costa Rica supplying parts and help to a small group
of enthusiast who drive these vans despite them never seeming to have been sold
here. Fabian knows these vehicles inside out, having converted his own van from
2wd to 4wd, and changed the engine in the desire for power the same as us.
We go out for rip in his van, where he dramatically climbs
what feels like a near vertical grassy bank giving us serious traction envy.
Afterwards, for a great deal, he sells us a pair of heavier duty 4wd rear
springs and helps us fit them right there on his driveway. Westy Rick is back
to full health, and even a little jacked helping us not smash the sump on rocks
any more we hope…
Our route towards the Pacific involves driving across the
capital during rush hour, bad move. We eventually find our own little camp spot
near a dam, down by the river.
Another tourist attraction is a bunch of crocodiles that
live near a bridge. People selling souvenirs, trying to earn a dollar by
wearing a high vis vest and waving you into a parking spot with a few blows of
whistle and all manner of other ways to extract money from tourists. The
pineapples were 3 to 4 times more expensive than everywhere else, cheeky
buggers. We wonder why the crocodiles stay around the bridge, who might be
throwing some encouragement down to them when there isn’t anybody around… But
it was cool! And we didn’t spend a penny.
In search of a nice fan to take the edge off the unbearable
coastal heat and humidity we stop by a fancy posh marina, somehow getting past
security in our filthy old smelly van. It is so incredibly posh the sewerage
system is actually capable of handling paper! Now you may think that a sign to
tell you to throw the paper down the toilet isn’t necessary, but we found a
toilet where there was no sign, and there was no bin in the cubicle and so there
was a pile of discarded poopy tissue in the corner. We teach you so many
incredible lessons it really must blow you away.
More touristy places, where people rent a space in a fancy
high rise building to watch the fain out the window on the beach. There’s
always a reason that out of season is cheaper.
Our last night on the Pacific and we can’t wait to get back
to the mountains again where it’s cooler and greener. We camp on a peninsular
by a park where there is a security guard who keeps the toilets open for us and
makes us feel very welcome.
On our way to higher altitudes we find our route blocked by
a lack of bridge. Probably not worth attempting this crossing, but we do find
the bridge nearby. In a heap beside the road, not much good there is it.
Ahhhh, mountains. That’s better. We make it up to a “cloud
forest” for a short hike around finding huge waterfalls and lots of birds
buzzing around. We spot what we thought was a Quetzal but it turns out we were
wrong, but more on those later.
As the sun starts to set, we head on towards another camp
spot, down by the river (seriously, you should probably search for the SNL skit).
The darkness calls for our main beam and we find yet another thing not working,
the light bar isn’t illuminating so we feel like we’re driving by candle light in
comparison.
Reaching in our destination it turns out to be just the dead
end of a road, with the river a short walk over a muddy bank but it will have
to do for the night. Just as we turn around a thought crosses Steve’s mind and
it turns out to be true, the light bar has been stolen. Bastards! Even with mild
anti-theft measures in place, someone has taken it while we slept beside a
security guards office. Thinking back, we remember seeing the guy who must have
done this. As we walked around the park this lowlife scumbag went and peed
against the wall in front of the van, something we thought was weird at the
time since the toilets were just across the road. He must have been working out
what tools he needed and returned once we were comfortably asleep in a false
sense of security. Can you please join us in hoping whilst fitting this to his
90’s dark red corolla that he trips over, dropping our light bar on the floor
breaking it and smashing his face on the ground breaking a tooth?
We aren’t asking for sympathy, but we’ve learned that
maintaining perspective is actually a really hard thing to do. Some days one of
us, or very occasionally both of us, wakes up in a bad mood. We can be driving
past beautiful views in our little van with a thermos full of delicious coffee
in hand heading towards another amazing adventure with an immovable frown on
our face. The day the light bar was stolen started out that way for Steve, even
before he knew the light bar was stolen, and the bridge was missing, and the fain
wasn’t going to stop and the camp spot was going to be crappy…
We can’t explain it, in the grand scheme of things we have
absolutely nothing to complain about, but it still happens. There are plenty of
contributing factors, you are probably thinking that the main one is our
ungratefulness for not being conscripted into a world war or something similar and
we feel the same, but it can still be a hard feeling to shake. A good night’s
sleep and a refreshing freezing dip into a lovely mountain river helped Steve
stop being a grumpy git this time.
Time to push Westy Rick too far again, this time heading
towards “Cerro de Muerte” or “The Road of Death”. This is a road that climbs
from the Pacific back to the capital via 11,000ft. From our crappy spot near
the cold river we take a back road to join at the top. We forgot that a shortcut in distance would
also be a shortcut in altitude gain and find ourselves crawling up a relentless
gravel road in first gear. It is so steep that we don’t want to stop for fear
that getting moving again will be tough, so we keep climbing, and climbing and
then some more climbing. Rear wheels scrabbling in the dirt it just doesn’t
end. We climb approximately 6000ft in 40 minutes, and slowing down for a photo
Steve says “oh look, the clouds are whispering past the window” to which Jenjen
responds “ermm.. smells like smoke”.
Van is stopped, fire extinguisher grabbed and Steve moves
faster than ever he has before. Turns out the gearbox overheated and pissed
itself again, throwing oil all over the exhaust and everything else within a
100m radius but nothing is actually on fire, phew. It may also not surprise you
to hear that the beer can heat shield didn’t quite cut it, and now the timing
belt cover has fully melted leaving exposed the very heart of the engine, the
rhythm setting belt whose demise would spell catastrophic disaster. 
Eventually we scale the road of death, alive, and head to a
Quetzal tree. So this bird, what’s so special? Well it’s really pretty and
quite hard to find. It lives in the misty cloud forests and the feathers are iridescent
so when it’s sitting in the shade it is pretty boring and camouflaged, but when
it flies in the sunlight the colours are incredible. It has a long history in
the native beliefs, even being the national bird of Guatemala and their
currency is named “The Quetzal”. We read a lot and it was pretty interesting,
but you can do that too if you’re bored. The most interesting thing we found
out is that they can’t be held captive, they kill themselves shortly after
being made captive so are therefore known as a symbol of liberty. Don’t quite
know how they do it, cyanide pill or shoe laces tied to the ceiling presumably.
Keen twitchers gather at this tree before 7am to see these
birds but we arrive around midday to find no one else there, and no Quetzals.
So we keep a keen eye on the tree and make pretend with the sign that tells us
about the entrance fee we won’t have to pay because nobody is there. Whilst
Steve intently watches the tree, Jenjen is easily distracted and finds a small
lizard. 
Just before we get too bored and wander off, something
flutters into the tree and it turns out to be the elusive Quetzal! A female,
which isn’t as pretty as the males (who suspected Steve would think that?) is
hanging out in the tree. It looks left, it looks right, it isn’t very
entertaining. Eventually it flies away and although we are too slow with the
camera, you’ll have to believe us that it was pretty spectacular shining green
and red in the sun. Well worth the 0 dollars ($0 CAD, £0 GBP) we spent.
It begins to fain again and the melted timing belt cover
weighs heavy on our minds, what if a stone flicks in there, what if a mouse
tries to make a nest and an eagle swoops in and knocks the sensitive parts.
Spotting a big sign advertising “Arte Metal” we stop to try and source
something a little more durable and effective than beer cans. Well obviously
beer cans are effective, just not as intended for our heat shield. Here we meet
Frank, a man of great skill who makes furniture out of metal in a small
workshop. More than willing to help us, he jumps under the van and grabs a
plate of steel for us. Explaining that I want to make it myself, he says sure
thing and suggests we back up to his shop and he’ll let us use his facilities. Two
hours later, and soaked through to the sensitive parts, we have an actual heat
shield to prevent any future melting, maybe this time it will actually work. 
Now nicely delayed and thoroughly soaked, we head to a
nearer camp spot where we park on the road and use the facilities of a hostel
for $3 per person, such big spenders! Hot showers, kitchen, WiFi and some
friendly dogs turn our one day stay into two. Using this rare internet access
Steve tries to source a replacement non molten belt cover and we were
astonished at the amount of help people gave us. Before we know it there are
half a dozen Costa Ricans scouring their contacts list for someone who might be
able to help, some of them Subaru nuts, some of them VW fans. Our tight
timeline meant we couldn’t get the part that was found, but we were flattered
by the help people gave us. So as an interim solution… we used a beer can again…
Time to crack on to the border, with fond memories of Belize
in our head we make tracks back to the Caribbean Sea and on our way we stop for
a photo opportunity that couldn’t, and probably hasn’t, been missed.
We find the ocean, only this time it is a little different. It’s
faining. Palm trees, coconut trees and miles of beach all to ourselves and its
gross, windy, raining and a severe thunderstorm somewhere in the distance.
The driving rain starts to seep through the canvas and is
relentless, but the Cocoloco addiction kicks in and coconuts are retrieved
despite the dangers of outside. Such as ants. Now we used to have a lot of
respect for ants, they work hard and build incredible underground structures as
a big ol’ team. Very impressive. But now we hate them, especially the small
ones. Whilst you’re minding your own business inside the van, they are swarming
all over your flip flops outside. You unknowingly slip them on and walk a few
steps until you feel something sharp, an ant has bitten you. You look down with
wide eyes as dozens of ants are readying for the final assault, tucked between
toes and halfway up your ankle you begin to jump around slapping at your feet
as the attack commences like a crazed morris dancer. These bites itch for days
and days, a constant reminder of how much we hate ants.
Despite the fain, we decide it’s worth getting wet to go for
a swim in the waves. Just look how much Jenjen is enjoying it!
Tomorrow is the border crossing into Panama, our last land
border before shipping the van to Colombia in just over a week. So much to sort
out, so little time and so much fucking rain, sorry I mean fain.
