1st day at the refuge

Last night, the hotel I am staying at had a "Raligitano night", It's really Raleigh playing the guitar. The staff who was so friendly to me the first night was playing, so I went. Or more like, I had to eat dinner and I wanted to try the local beer (Imperial) and I figured why not listen to some good music. He did play some good music, I won't deny I had a good time. It was a good turn out for his first time at the place. The owner, JT and his son, Luke were there too. Luke is this rambunctious toddler who tends to do what he wants. I think he is hilarious and he has already given me a scare when he ran towards the road for some coconut. But last night, Luke brought his machete, "Macheche". Macheche is made it out of wood, but in the hands of a toddler during an open mic can cause as much terror as a steel sharp machete int he hands of a maniac. As he was throwing around his Macheche, and Raleigh was trying to sing "Sexy bitch", I couldn't help but laugh at the scene I was witnessing. I came all the way from Philadelphia, escaped a snow storm and inevitable double shifts as a hostess, to see a young toddler screaming in Spanglish and throwing his wooden machete at the ground as a grown man tried his hardest to sing acoustically a club song . It isn't what you expect everyday. I surely never expected it.
The restaurant in the hotel has good meals, and therefore I had no problem eating there. I am a little concern at the lack of Costa Rican food in my diet at the moment, but I am in no hurry to stuff rice and beans down my throat. Maybe tomorrow for lunch after I find myself a surf school...

The next morning (this morning), I woke up bright and early at six. It wasn't just my body's reaction to the one hour time change, but also, the fact that I had found the other volunteer in the hotel and she had promised to take me to the refuge at 7am. I couldn't be late on my first day. This particular lady is a Dutch nurse who has been here for two months. She cares for the baby sloths in the nursery and bikes at a reasonable speed. I followed her after I managed to gather the donations that I had brought over (which I couldn't fit all in my backpack). The bike ride is maybe 25 mns at the most on a very flat road. The only real danger are the occasional car that is confused about which side to drive on and the casual stray dog that looks confused on the road. Once I arrived, I parked my bike and entered the residency. This sanctuary is nothing short of paradise within paradise. Even in the rain, I could frolic between Tucans, Lola the parrot and Chai the deer (without counting the baby monkeys that demanded to climb on your shoulders).
I was given a very very quick and brief tour of the sanctuary while everyone was getting the place ready for the first visitors. Cages had to be clean and animals had to bed fed. Among the chaos, I am not sure I learned anything valuable, but I was promised a free tour, and therefore, I took the chance and started working. First, I racked leaves. My second task, given to me by our Costa Rican gardener Jimmy (yes here too the gardeners are from Central America), was to kill every spider I saw and to clean the cobwebs. I stood there as I watched him kill three. He kept putting them in his hands to prove to me they didn't bite and then threw them under his boot. I squirmed while holding my broom and waited for Jessa, my partner for the day. She was not pleased with the news. For the first five minutes, we cleaned cobwebs, then we encountered our first spider. This was no baby spider that we see in North America. This was a palm size (this description might be exaggerated by my imagination) black and yellow spider that inhabited a web made out of silk that the almighty scientists are working with to create bullet proof vests. Paul (the woman who tried to explain to me what the refuge was all about) came around, and I explained to her our task. Since we had been standing there trying to build up the courage to bring this spider down and squish it, Jessa had gotten her broom stuck and was standing still so the spider wouldn't move, while I was on the other side trying to figure out if I would actually be able to squish it once it is on the ground. Paul laughed and told us to wait for one second. She came back with Kyle, a very quiet man who looks like he could either 16 or 40. He grabbed my broom, scooped up the spider and brought it outside. I ran to Jessa's side and we had a shiver going down our spine, while Jimmy was watching all of this smiling. The monster came up behind us and tickled our neck, to get a reaction out of us. Well, we both screamed and swatted at our neck as Kyle was on his way back. The dream team was completed, Kyle would catch the spiders and release them, while we would just take care of empty cobwebs. This plan worked for the rest of the day, until the tour started. I screamed for Kyle, and he came running with his broom and marveled at the giant creature in front of his eyes. - We did commit some abortions as we found spider-egg-pockets on the monkey dorms.- That was the end of my experience with the spider hunting.

The tour had started and I was trying not to show my excitement, all the while checking that I didn't smell like sweat, monkey poop and sloths. I didn't, at least not against the other volunteers. There are many different types of animals at the refuge. The refuge is actually were the owners live. It used to be their garden, until the people of Puerto Viejo, Cahuita, Cocles and Manzanillo found out two biologists from Spain had settled there. One night, a woman dropped off a sick baby jaguar, and as Encar tried to save the baby jaguar, an idea came to her mind. Since so many locals came to them with sick animals, they might as well start to accept injured animals and rehabilitate them. The baby jaguar didn't make it, but throughout the years they had many more animals, some who survived and some who didn't. The ocelot I was so excited to work with died two nights ago of a seizure. It had epilepsy and didn't survive this one particular strong seizure. The only remaining big cat is a Marguay:

This is not the one from the center. The one we have is only approachable by Encar and Sandro (the owners). This Marguay was found around this size (in the video above) at the border of Panama and Costa Rica. Some man was trying to sell it on the black market for 20,000$. The little kitten Marguay, a carnivorous animal, was fed only coffee and bread for months. As you can imagine, it is not fond of humans, especially males. It is also a little shorter than a typical Marguay, but it is such a tiny difference that it doesn't matter. They tried to release it once, and it ate the neighbor's chickens, causing a huge scene in the village. Sandro had to buy new chickens and I don't think the neighbors are friends with the refuge anymore. The second time he was released, he came back with scratches on his face. Encar and Sandro suspect that he was too young to be released and got into a fight and lost.

Most of the animals that were turned over to the refuge were once pets and therefore are either aggressive or too friendly towards humans. It is evident when an animal was a pet. Chai, our white tail deer comes up to you and acts like a dog, licking you for your salty skin and demanding scratched behind the ear. While Lola, our parrot has learned to mimick a baby howler monkey's cry to get attention, and uses it to play tricks on us. She laughs this deep maniacal laughter when her trick works. The most recent dump was this woman who drive from San Jose (remember how it is a four hour drive?) to drop off a baby howler monkey whose mother was shot. Encar is now its mother, and whenever she walked by he cries for her.
There is no feeling like having a baby monkey (whatever it be spider monkey or howler monkey) cuddle into your neck asking for milk at the end of a spider-killing day. I will tell you that much.

On a side note, I did give some of the donations to the center. The vet grabbed the syringes, the coagulating solutions, the Front line and the goat milk and went "So precious. So, so, so precious." I explain to her that this wasn't only from me, but also from my friends, and my mother's friends. She only had one response "You have good friends. Generous friends. Good people." If only she knows that Sunday will be another gift giving day. Anyway, I had to get my picture taken. So after 6 hours of hard labor, my photo is on the web with everyone's donations.

After the bike ride home, I went directly to the beach. This is no Ocean City beach. Those waves hit you hard. I didn't expect it at first, and goodness I swallowed salty water. But the whole experience washed off the crass and sweat of the day. It was refreshing and I wished I could transport people down here, rather than come back up north.

Alright, it is time for a non-Costa Rican dinner!
Ciao, amigos!

1st morning

I finally made it. I am finally here.

I am not gonna lie and say that, as I sat in my parent's car, I didn't regret booking this trip. I thought of all the people I was leaving behind, and I especially remember how Kitten would always  cuddle with me under the sheet.
But now, that I am here, I regret nothing. I am writing this blog post not from my comfortable couch at home, in front of my TV but from a wooden bench overlooking the black sand and the busy street of Puerto Viejo. It is 7 am, and I am the only one awake in the hostel. The excitement and the humidity kept me awake and after organizing myself a bit (and wondering which bird was screeching out my window) I quickly proceeded to step outside.
Again, I can't describe the amazement that I feel right now. Especially after having my first impression of Costa Rica through the eyes of an exhausted traveler. Now let's back track a bit so you can understand what I mean by "exhausted".

At 3:30 AM on Wednesday, I stepped out of my parents' home with one suitcase (46lbs), one big carry on, and another backpack which carried my laptop, passport, money, and important valuables. at 4:00AM, we arrived at the airport. The Philadelphia airport is nothing short of a maze. After going up and down stairs, crossing bridges, and opening doors, we finally made it to check in. I, nervoulsy, put my suitcase on the scale, ready to quickly switch items to my carry on. The suitcase's exact weight was 47.5 lbs. The limit is 50 lbs. I had half a second to debate if I wanted to add items, but it was early in the morning and I didn't want to give TSA another reason to search my bag.
After more anxiety provoking experiences, my bag made it through TSA. It got its little sticker "cleared" and I relaxed a bit. The new worry was food. Will I have a last meal in the USA?
Well, PHL is constructed in such a way, that the food court in terminal A East is on the other side of security. So I didn't get to have my little DD or Cinnabon with my parents (which I am sure I won't be upset about).
I smiled and waved at my parents as I went through security. A little 5ft young adult managed to have 4 baskets out and two bags. I was walking back and forth through the line to push all my stuff together. Nervously waiting for TSA to find a reason to stop me.
Again, I made it clear. I boarded my first plane. Within seconds, I fell asleep. I woke up in Miami, confused and boiling hot. I had booked a window seat, and the sun had been beaming on the window's protective curtain, resulting it in being scolding. My face had NO IDEA until I woke up. Whatever, I still got some sleep.
At the Miami airport, my new gate was only 5 minutes away from the exit of the plane. It wasn't only convenient, but I got to peruse the breakfast places (it was 8:00 at this point). Quickly, I paid my 3$ for a chocolate stuffed croissant, took my malaria medication. I was two days in. I better had not start forgetting. Before boarding the plan, I met a family that was on a NatGeo historical tour of the Panama Canal. I flagged their tour guide over, as they didn't notice she was taking names. Turned out, their boat had issues and their trip was going to changed drastically. I couldn't help but feel a little bad, before I bolted for the gate. Group 3 was called, and I had this constant worry that my giant carry-on would not find space. It did. Everytime.
This plane was harder for me to sleep on. The worry of the unknown was gnawing at my stomach, and my brain was racing through the plan. Get off the plane, grab my suitcase, get a ticket for the 14:00 MEPE bus to Puerto Viejo, get on the bus and get off in the city. Once in the city, find a taxi or walk to my hostel.
I had forgotten so many details of being a traveler and Costa Rica didn't take its time to remind me that the moto of a traveler is that Things wont go according to plan, but it will be fine.
I arrived, and forgotten about customs. The line was long, but it was quick. I met a farmer in line who had sold all of this land in the USA (Nevada and Utah) to move down to Panama. He was getting ready to sell his propriety in Costa Rica. He talked about the economy collapsing and how Costa Rica had too many gringos for him.

It was my turn to go see our little customs officer. He asked me if I spoke Spanish and I said yes. I answered all of his questions correctly and he asked to see my return ticket. I told him I only had it on my phone. My anxiety took the best of me, and as he gave me permission to show him my phone, the phone went flying through the air and crashed on the ground. Battery popped out. My phone is used to taking a hit for the team, but it enjoyed revenge as well. After five long minutes of awkwardly waiting for my phone to turn back on, I showed him the email from American Airlines. He stamped my passport, and off I went to grab my suitcase. I still had to go through Costa Rican customs. I was certain that at this point I had an ulcer, as the only food I had eaten was half a chocolate croissant in MIA and that I had been feeling nervous pain for the past 4 hours. I put all of my suitcases, carry-ons and jacket through the X-ray. The suitcase went through and I saw the guard put on his gloves.
He knew. I knew. He asked me in Spanish what the cans were. I baffled in Spanish "Leche de Cabra" (Goat milk) and pulled one out. He must have noticed my shaking, and my wide eyes and he let me go. Now was the easy part I told myself.
I walked out of the airport expecting to be in a city.
SJO airport is nowhere near San jose. It is 30 minutes away by taxi. How did I know this? The airport taxi staff told me. Now the guide books had warned me that taxi drivers like to rip off the gringos. At this point, I wasn't sure to trust him, but it didn't look like there was any buses here. There was no sign for a train, or a bus. Only taxis and renting a car. I reluctantly asked him the price and jumped in his cab. Luis was incredibly nice actually. After a few mishap in the city (such as getting pulled over by the police and going to the wrong bus station), we made it to the right bus stop. I had missed my bus by 10 minutes. The next bus was at 16:00. I had to wait another 2 hours to get to where I wanted to go.
People kept sitting on my bench and a few tried to talk to me. My phone was dying, and so I was forced to ask a few of them for the time. All of them were surprised of my origin. I was indeed, not a tica, but a full blooded white chick from two parts of the world.
After so much waiting and almost boarding the wrong bus, I made it onto mine. I sat next to a random man who I hoped hadn't eaten some bath salt. After three long hours, we made it to Limon. It was 8 PM. We were granted a 12 minutes break. Why so precise? I am not about to find out. I got off to the bus station which was mostly closed and looked through the merchandise. The only thing I recognized was peanuts. I was not in the mood to be adventurous with food, and I wasn't sure how much money I would need in the near future. I bought the bag of salted peanuts for 650 colones (1.3$) and pretty much ate all of it in one setting. I had some water from the plane to SJO and drank some of that. I tried to use one of the payphone to warn my hostel of my late arrival, but I had no idea how they truly worked.
Anyway, my 12 minutes were up. I got back on the bus, and the human sweat and odor was pungent. I could hardly believe that I had been breathing the smell of sweaty old men for the past three hours (granted I was asleep for a good hour). I told myself I only had 45 minutes to Puerto Viejo and that I would totally survive. It was dark and everything around the road looked the same. I wasn't sure if I would be able to recognize a place that only had pictures of it during the day when it was pitch dark outside.
I wasn't the one who recognized it. It was another young woman. She screamed "KAYA's" while on the bus, and it stopped. I grabbed my bag and got off the bus telling the driver I had "dos maletas". I grabbed my suitcases and rolled them in the sand to the receptionist.

He was closing the reception desk in 10 minutes. I was not amused, he was not amused. I was shown my room and all I wanted to do was shower and sleep. It was 9PM. I took a cold shower (as we are in Costa Rica) and emptied my bags into the tiny cabinet I was given. My room is far from luxurious. I have a bed with a small mattress, and a wooden desk/ cabinet. To be honest, I am happy with whatever they wanted to give me for 10$ (as long as it was a private room). The constant beating of the waves on the black sand put me to sleep as soon as I set up my mosquito net ( I had been there for 10 minutes and one landed on my arm. I am a mosquito magnet). I was snoring away.

This morning I woke up in disbelief that I was here. The combination of luck and readiness was flagrant to me now. If it wasn't for the ticos who had taken care of me along my way, I would still be in the airport looking for MEPE bus (maybe even crying).

Anyway, the hostel does have a cat, which I think is in heat so I get my daily dose of cat cuddles. No worries guys, it seems I picked the right place to be.
Now, I am gonna go on this beach that has been tempting me so badly!

As the ticos say it "CIAO!"