Today, Oldman officially becomes an Old Man. While no one knows his time of birth, exactly, we decided to celebrate it at the break of dawn. Of course, this was accompanied by the frenzy of packing to be ready for pickup by 7:10. We made it, though the van was five minutes early, and we traveled up to Sky Trek for a second zip line tour. This one had much longer cables, but it only formed a zigzag down the mountain, which didn’t really allow for any surprise compared to the last one. There was also a rather harsh wind coming in from over the ridge that made standing on those high towers rather uncomfortable.
From the Sky Trek, we blitzed home for lunch at a little sidewalk shop, where the owner spoke no English. I ended up translating, and while I could understand most of what he said, I found myself faking understanding more often than not. Shortly before I received my empanada, one of the cooks shouted and pointed to the street, where a tiny crab scuttled its way under a car. Apparently, the cloud forest crab lives in the canopy, using bromeliads to replenish its moisture content. Who knew?
Our stomachs full of grease (and the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had), we hopped in a taxi for the four and a half hour ride to Manuel Antonio National Park. Our driver was very friendly but spoke very little English. Fortunately, his Spanish was very clear and easy to understand. We passed the beautiful vistas of Monteverde on our way down to the Pacific. We stopped off once for a bathroom break and perusal of souvenirs, then continued on. There was a bridge over a river, where we stopped to see crocodiles lounging on the banks, and then we continued on the last stretch, passing enormous palm plantations, dedicated to the manufacture of palm oil. These plantations stretched to the horizon on all sides of the road for about ten miles. One could see where birds had carried the seeds to the immediate vicinity, and it made me sad to see so many trees that so few animals could probably use.
We pulled through the town of Quepos and up to our new hotel, The Falls Resort, which had no creaking floors and allowed toilet paper to be flushed. We relaxed for a moment (Oldman’s birthday wish), and then we went out for a night on the town, or at least at El Avión, an old, hollowed-out B-52 bomber turned into a restaurant. There, we enjoyed some fantastic beef tenderloin while doing our best to get Oldman drunk on Sex on the Beach. Needless to say, the jokes about Sex on the Beach by itself were numerous. We spent the evening giggling hysterically about Oldman's pronunciation of "basiliss lizard" and "crocodilio" before slowly making our way back to the hotel for an early crash. Happy birthday, Oldman!
From the Sky Trek, we blitzed home for lunch at a little sidewalk shop, where the owner spoke no English. I ended up translating, and while I could understand most of what he said, I found myself faking understanding more often than not. Shortly before I received my empanada, one of the cooks shouted and pointed to the street, where a tiny crab scuttled its way under a car. Apparently, the cloud forest crab lives in the canopy, using bromeliads to replenish its moisture content. Who knew?
Our stomachs full of grease (and the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had), we hopped in a taxi for the four and a half hour ride to Manuel Antonio National Park. Our driver was very friendly but spoke very little English. Fortunately, his Spanish was very clear and easy to understand. We passed the beautiful vistas of Monteverde on our way down to the Pacific. We stopped off once for a bathroom break and perusal of souvenirs, then continued on. There was a bridge over a river, where we stopped to see crocodiles lounging on the banks, and then we continued on the last stretch, passing enormous palm plantations, dedicated to the manufacture of palm oil. These plantations stretched to the horizon on all sides of the road for about ten miles. One could see where birds had carried the seeds to the immediate vicinity, and it made me sad to see so many trees that so few animals could probably use.
We pulled through the town of Quepos and up to our new hotel, The Falls Resort, which had no creaking floors and allowed toilet paper to be flushed. We relaxed for a moment (Oldman’s birthday wish), and then we went out for a night on the town, or at least at El Avión, an old, hollowed-out B-52 bomber turned into a restaurant. There, we enjoyed some fantastic beef tenderloin while doing our best to get Oldman drunk on Sex on the Beach. Needless to say, the jokes about Sex on the Beach by itself were numerous. We spent the evening giggling hysterically about Oldman's pronunciation of "basiliss lizard" and "crocodilio" before slowly making our way back to the hotel for an early crash. Happy birthday, Oldman!
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