Month: November 2018

It broke my heart to check out of our gorgeous Ocean Loft hotel. The Fehler tribe was spending one additional night in Bocas del Toro, and we decided that it would be fun for my family to experience staying in a notorious party hostel chain down here, Selina.

We parted ways with Sam, Alyssa, and the kids as they went towards the main water taxi station and we continued on toward Selina’s. After dropping our belongings, we immediately headed to a water taxi booth that would take us to another famed beach in the Bocas province, Red Frog Beach. It was located on another island entirely, and after a 25-minute boat ride and a 15-minute walk through the jungle, we arrived on a pristine, secluded beach.

Knowing we would love to lounge here for the remainder of the day, we invested in some chairs with umbrella shade, bought our first pitcher of rum punch from the bar, and exhaled. This is what vacationing is all about.

The ocean current here was strong, the waves rough and tumultuous. We tumbled like loose objects in the dishwasher, clawing our way up to the surface and laughing in between the next saltwater onslaught.

We had excellent fish tacos on the beach for lunch and afterward decided to set off in search of the famous red frogs local to the area that gave the beach its name. Now, I thought this would be an along-the-beach adventure, so I did not wear shoes. I wanted to enjoy the sensation of walking on sand as much as I could so forget the shoes, right?

Wrong.

We ended up at the very end of the beach, forced to take our walk onto a gravel road. Landyn was the only one who had his sandals with him, as my mom and sister followed my shoe protest. As we walked along, thinking it would just be a short jaunt up the street, Landyn gave his shoes to my mom, the person least down for toughing it out barefoot.

IT WAS HORRIBLE. We tried our best to dodge stones and keep an eye out for bits of glass, carefully selecting the flattest looking sections to place our feet on, tip-toeing in the street like a bunch of idiot tourists. A golf cart passed us twice before finally stopping and offering us a ride to where the best frog-sighting spot was. Anita hurried along behind us, as there wasn’t room for four and she was wearing Landyn’s sandals. When we reached the road which connected to the frog path, we realized there was a shortcut we could have taken just 20 yards from our beach chairs. We could have spared our poor feet a lot of pain.

I’d like to take a moment to point out my own innately stubborn self, for there were multiple times my mom suggested we head back to our chairs to grab our shoes and regroup, but I refused. “I’ve come this far, I’m not going back now.”

Pride is a funny thing. Essential, yet sure to screw you over from time to time. You need just the right dosage. That afternoon, I had too much. Even as I stared down the shortcut path, so close to our belongings, I turned around and headed up the gravel hill, still barefoot. What I didn’t realize was that our journey didn’t stop at the jungle’s edge. Oh no, we needed to trek inside of it to find these frogs.

So, we forged ahead, again without shoes, into a jungle walk that was uphill and somehow even more painful than the road. It was up to this point that we truly had kept our wits about us, but here we became unhinged. Slowly unraveling, then all at once it culminated with all of us yelling at each other in the middle of the jungle.

And then, I saw it. A tiny red being perfectly poised on the end of a leaf.

“Alright, I found it,” I barked at my family.

Nobody could properly take in the beauty and coolness of the tiny crimson creature because we were all way too uncomfortable standing on the rock shards.

Finally, Landyn was over it. “Okay that’s enough, I’m gonna go grab all of our shoes from the beach chairs.” And with that, he took back his sandals and headed out. The rest of us stewed in annoyed silence.

When he returned, we were finally able to enjoy our frog-hunting experience.

We headed back to our hotel around sunset and a wave of sun exhaustion washed over us. What we had thought would be a night of fun at our party hostel turned out to be rather anticlimactic. After dinner, we were all too tired to do any drinking so we hit the hay early.

The next day was our last day in Bocas. We were catching an overnight bus to Panama City so we had until 4:30pm before we needed to be at the water taxi station to take us back to the mainland. So, Landyn, Carly, and I were supposed to all go scuba diving together while my mom hung out reading her book in the sunshine.

However, Landyn had gotten a bad case of traveler’s bug that developed late the previous night and intensified into the morning. We have attributed this fact back to someone using the tap water to make Crystal Light and coffee each day at Ocean Loft when the tap water was not safe for drinking. This may or may not have been the actual cause, but it sure was fun to give my mom shit about it (pun intended).

So Carly and I went by ourselves. Since Carly had no diving experience she did what’s called a Discover Scuba, where they’re supposed to put you in a pool, or other confined water area (like off the end of their dock), and teach you the very bare basics of diving. Then they take you out, plop you in the ocean, and essentially hold your hand as you swim around and explore.

Well, that is not exactly how things went down for us. Carly watched a 20-minute video, and to my shock, we were fitted for gear and taken out on the boat. For some reason, our dive master felt it was a good idea to teach Carly how to breathe using the regulator, how to clear her mask (a super uncomfortable skill that took me quite a few tries to master during our confined dives back when I got certified), and generally how to scuba in the ocean.

I went in first and descended onto a patch of seagrass, and the dive master instructed me to wait there until he came back with my sister. Well it took a while for her to get comfortable with all of the aforementioned skills at the surface, so I was chilling by myself for a solid ten minutes. This was fine with me as I twittered around a little bit and checked out some nearby shells on the ocean floor, but as time ticked on I started to freak myself out a little bit. The visibility in this water was drastically different from the crystal clear Carribean waters I dived in Honduras.

The more I considered this fact, the murkier the water seemed to become. I talked myself off the ledge, took some extra deep breaths, and told my brain to relax. Still, I felt immense relief when I finally saw two humans swimming over to me. After Carly repeated the skills on the ocean floor, we were good to start our dive. At this point, there was no real hand-holding done for poor Carlybear. If anything I think I gave her more support and hand-gestured advice than our diving instructor.

Despite the less-than-supportive leadership, we did have a great dive site and saw tons of beautiful fish, coral and rock formations, and even a stingray burrowing in the sand.

When we surfaced, I asked Carly if she liked it and she couldn’t quite decide. Which, if you’ll remember from my own first time diving in open water, is exactly how I felt. I assured her that after our next one she would feel a lot more confident about it.

The second dive site was really close to our first. As we were about to get in, our dive master informed us that this would be a shipwreck site. Immediately, I felt a little nervous. I had never dived a wreck before, and it wasn’t something I was particularly eager to do because I imagined it would look very creepy.

I’m happy to report that my gut instincts are still spot on.

As we progressed through the dive, I honestly forgot that we were ultimately moving towards a wreck. Suddenly, I noticed a huge, dark object behind Carly and realized what it was. The murky water had obstructed our view of the sunken vessel until we were nearly on top of it.

I pointed behind Carly and watched her gasp through her regulator as I had.

It. Was. So. Spooky.

For whatever reason, all I could think of is the stormy scene in Tarzan where his parents’ ship sinks and they’re washed ashore. I imagined this is what it would have looked like. I found Tarzan’s parents’ old boat.

I didn’t want to go any closer to it. In fact, my first impulse was to shoot right up to the surface and get the hell out of there.

But our dive master swam closer and closer, and like stupid little guppies, we followed. It was a big catamaran that had a net across the bow, like what you see on the romantic Bachelor dates in Bora Bora. I almost threw up in my regulator when he swam underneath it, into the literal darkness and shadows. He motioned for us to follow and I immediately shook my head no. I was panicking. What the hell was lurking in the corners under there? I’m all for experiencing the aquatic marine life but I like to see it coming.

A few deep breaths later I decided that I would be mad at myself if I didn’t do the thing that scared me. Moreover, I knew that Landyn would be so disappointed that he missed a wreck dive, since he had been dying to do one since before we even got certified, and he would kill me if I didn’t take advantage of this opportunity to fully experience it.

So I swam under the damn bow and investigated the barnacle-covered walls and clusters of fish. He then pointed up to the net and motioned for me to swim up through the torn corner. This was double creepy. Something about rising up from the depths of a sunken ship just didn’t sit right with me. But there I was doing the damn thing.

He then had us swim over the top of it, and ultimately through the busted out window into the cockpit. Carly joined us for this portion as she was not about to get left behind all by her lonesome. It was, again, really spooky to be standing in the wreckage with pieces of boat strewn about and the floor caved through. We made our way back out of the cockpit, up and over the top, and became encircled by a school of fish. It was the perfect light-hearted ending to a semi-traumatic dive.

Carly, naturally, needed to take a picture of her touching the butt.

As we closed out our diving experience, Carly said that was a one-and-done for her. Looking back now, I can see why.

We reunited with my mom and Landyn and relayed our harrowing tale, grabbed some lunch, and hung out at our hotel until we needed to head to the water taxi station.

One bumpy boat ride later, and we were back on mainland Panama in Almirante.

We had paid for a service that included our water taxi ride, a shuttle from the Almirante water taxi terminal to the Almirante bus station, and the bus ride from Almirante to Panama City.

However, we were hustled by some guys stating that our “van sometimes had trouble” and they “had no idea when it would be coming.” But, of course, we could pay their friend to take us to the bus station so that we wouldn’t miss our bus. That nonsense really pissed me off, particularly because I have never experienced a glorified shake-down like that at any point in our travels down here, and it was super disappointing to come across it with my family in tow and a bus we needed to catch.

15 minutes of indignation, indecision, and potentially misplaced pride later, we caved and hopped in a taxi and paid the additional cost. After nearly leaving my purse on a chair in the bus station, and what can only be described as a maybe-too-eventful day, we finally got on the bus and were able to relax.

That is until we got onto the mountain roads.

It was the fastest I had ever felt a bus fly through the mountains. We sloshed around side-to-side as the driver barely slowed for the sharp turns. There were numerous times where I truly believed we were going to tip over and roll right down the mountainside.

The silver bullet arrived in Panama City around 4am. We had not booked a hotel for that night since we weren’t supposed to get into the city until 6am, and we had planned to kill time before our hotel check-in for the next night by grabbing some breakfast. This plan was contingent upon a couple of things which ultimately did not happen: the first, that we would get some actual sleep on the bus. The second, that we would arrive in the city when businesses and restaurants were open so we could occupy our time. The third and final wrench to the plan was that the owner of our next hotel (whom I had been messaging the previous day to confirm our arrival) would allow us to check in early.

Again, none of these things happened. The hotel owner gave me the run-around and then stopped responding altogether, we were beyond exhausted at the bus terminal as the wild ride had not been very conducive to quality sleep, and we had nowhere to go since it was still the middle of the night.

This led to an epic debate in the Panama City bus terminal: should we or should we not try to book a hotel room to crash in immediately? Landyn was the only one that had somewhat slept on the silver bullet and therefore couldn’t understand how desperate the rest of us were for a mattress under our bodies. I could exercise zero patience in explaining this to him and reiterating how this was absolutely the best decision for everyone involved. And so we went at it. Fueled by exhaustion and frustration at our strandedness, no sound logic or reason could enter our sphere.

Eventually, we found a deal for a room at a nearby DoubleTree and we jumped on it. We needed comfort and one of those ridiculously delicious cookies ASAP. And when we were finally settled in our room and all of our heads hit the pillows, all was forgiven. For someone who “didn’t see why we needed to find a hotel room to crash in,” Landyn was the first one to pass out cold. Snoring and all. Funny how that goes.

When we rejoined the land of the living around 11am, we all laughed (and apologized) over the early morning’s events.

After we left the homey comfort of our DoubleTree room and checked into our hotel in Casco Viejo, the old, historic district of Panama City, our exploratory journey began.

We spent the next two days wandering around street markets, drinking incredible coffee, and embarking on self-guided walking tours.

One afternoon we took a taxi to the nearby Metropolitan National Park where we hiked up trails to reach some of the most gorgeous views of the canal and the city.

We kept busy but also made time to relax and enjoy the culture and everything Panama City had to offer.

Our third day was arguably our biggest one of the entire trip. Ever since I was young, I had heard my mom talk about how she’d love to see the Panama Canal. When we first began planning this trip and decided we definitely wanted to hop the border over to Bocas del Toro, I quickly advocated for trekking down across the country to Panama City in order for her to see her canal.

Once she researched the different ways to experience it, she decided she really wanted to go on it, go through it, so she graciously bought us all tickets for a boat cruise. She was like a kid on Christmas morning when it came time to meet the shuttle that Tuesday morning. And although she was by far the most passionate about it, we all were enthusiastic and excited to check it out.

After this year I know how incredible and gratifying it feels to check items off your bucket list, so I was most excited for my mom to experience that herself.

And honestly, the tour turned out to be so much cooler and fascinating than we anticipated it would be. There’s something that leaves me filled with awe in knowing I’m looking at (or cruising down) a piece of history. Not to mention crossing over the Continental Divide, hearing how much time and effort went into the canal, the insanely smart ways in which they operate and mandate it, and how it completely transformed Panama as a nation. It was nothing short of extraordinary.

The crew must have noticed the blondie snapping a thousand pictures because they pulled me aside and let us climb up into the captain’s cockpit and take in the views from his balcony.

The tour lasted the entire day, and when it was over we were riding a unique high. A bucket list, we just did a once-in-a-lifetime thing sort of high. It was one of my favorite days from the whole trip.

The next day was a bit of a shitshow. We were all exhausted and hanging by a thread. A jam-packed two-week vacation is no joke. Our activities included visiting Punta Culebra, a nature center associated with the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, and going to the famous Miraflores Lock in order to track down a t-shirt Anita desperately wanted.

We were tired, snippy, a little bit at each others throats, but ultimately ended the day with a walk through another beautiful part of Casco Viejo.

The key to having successful family vacations is being able to roll with the punches and rebound after things get tense. I must say, my family does this impeccably well.

Our final hurdle: getting to the airport at the crack of dawn on Thursday morning. Carly and my mom were headed back to the Midwest, and Landyn and I were headed to our next adventure: Belize. Landyn and I left first with a departure time of 6am, so we needed to be at the airport early.

Our alarms went off at 2-2:30, and we began the Uber-calling process at 3am. The app wouldn’t allow us to select an SUV option, probably as it was the middle of the night and there were limited drivers, and the first Uber that showed up was a particularly small sedan with crap already in the trunk. We kindly sent him away, explaining it simply would not work. We tried to call another Uber, who drove right past us and didn’t turn around as I chased him down the street, arms flailing. The police were very helpful and hailed us a cab, but the driver was going to charge more than double what Uber was, and we were feeling defiant. Finally, Uber sent us a Toyota Camry and we made it work. There were suitcases and backpacks stuffed everywhere, and the audible scratching of the backend over bumps in the road was unmistakable. But we made it.

Carly and Anita’s flight left an hour and a half after ours, so we went through check-in and security together and then they waited with us at our gate. They stayed with us for as long as possible, until we were literally getting in line to board. I found this so sweet and endearing and it reminded me of how lucky I am to have people to miss so dearly who miss me in return. It seems like this past year has been a blur of equally tearful goodbyes and hellos. Our emotions laid bare in one airport after another.

And it’s hard for me to say goodbye to them, it really is. As we buckled ourselves in on our flight to El Salvador, our layover before reaching Belize, I thought about how much I was going to miss them and how wonderful our trips together truly are––imperfections and all.

Transitioning from having them around to having them leave again is never easy. But this time was eased by the knowledge that we were about to visit a place we had been dying to see.

I closed my eyes as the plane gained traction down the runway and as the wheels lifted up, I let go of my sadness and remembered that this is the cost of living this kind of lifestyle. There are hard goodbyes and sad truths. But it is definitely, always, one hundred percent worth it.

Until next time, friends.

As our beers became increasingly emptier and the minutes ticked by, Landyn and I’s anxiety levels slowly crept upward. We were in a small restaurant attached to the San José airport, awaiting the arrival of my family members. Specifically, my mom, Anita, and my sister, Carly, whose plane was listed as “landing” for over an hour. Why weren’t they calling?

Dozens of other people were waiting inside the restaurant with us, and as we confirmed with each other that all of us were waiting on the same flight, my panic skyrocketed. The plane was listed as landed, yet not a single one of us on the ground had heard from our loved ones aboard.

On a complete hail mary, I decided to call my sister, and to my complete shock, she answered.

“Hey Care.”

As if she had no idea we were waiting on her confirmation that they were alive and well.

“Hi, how are you answering? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Well, we had the flight from hell and had to figure out what’s going on and we literally just got word.”

“I don’t understand, are you on the ground?”

“Oh, we’re on the ground, alright. Cari, we’re in Liberia.”

“WHAT?” I shrieked.

My jaw was on the floor.

Our fellow companions stared at me, Landyn looked at me in alarm, as Carly explained that the severe weather and fog in the area prevented them from landing, their plane didn’t have enough fuel to circle above, and henceforth they were forced to land in Liberia––Costa Rica’s other international airport located in an entirely different region of the country.

“Well….I mean…” I sputtered. “Is there a plan? Are you staying overnight there?”

“No idea yet. The only information they’ve given was in Spanish.”

“Okay, well hang up with me and try to figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Okay sounds good, talk to you soon.”

I stared at the phone, looked up at Landyn who was eager for an explanation to my shrieking.

“Landyn, they landed them in Liberia.”

*cue the same reaction I had to Carly over the phone*

After about four more phone calls with my sister and by teaming up with an incredibly kind woman named Yolanda who was sitting at the table next to us (whose niece was also on the flight now grounded in Liberia), we were able to piece together bits of information to figure out what the hell happened. It turns out that the pilot had tried to land the plane, discovered very close to the ground that there was a supremely dense fog preventing any visibility, and bailed out of the landing at the last second, darting nearly vertically back into the sky. They did not have enough fuel to circle above until the fog cleared like all the other planes were doing, so instead they were forced to push on to Liberia where they were refueling. They planned to fly them back into San José as soon as possible. For a while, the San José airport was closed––nobody was coming or going.

Simultaneously, I was compulsively refreshing the Southwest Airlines website, keeping tabs on the other half of my family also trying to fly into San José. Ultimately their timing worked out perfectly. They were one of the first planes to land after the airport was reopened, and they actually got in 15 minutes ahead of schedule.

Landyn and I game-planned to split up––he would take those family members to get a rental car, possibly check into the hotel, and I would wait at the airport as long as it took for my mom and sister to arrive.

About 30 minutes later, we greeted my cousin, Alyssa, her fianceé, Sam, and their two kids Leo and Calliope, briefly explained the situation, and Landyn accompanied them on the shuttle to the rental car office.

I paced nervously around the exit doors, waiting for some sign of my mom and sister.

When I finally saw them emerge I was overwhelmed with relief. This was not the start to vacation I had been hoping for. Even so, I was incredibly grateful that they were safely on the ground, at the correct airport.

We reunited with the rest of the fam picking up the rental car, headed towards our hotel in San José for the night (since our apartment definitely could not house six additional humans), and hunkered in for the start of family vacation. We hit some turbulence (pun intended) but we made it. Everyone was together.

Irazú

The next morning we hit the ground running––after a delicious, quick breakfast at our hotel we headed towards our first destination: Volcán Irazú.

Irazú is a popular place to visit, yet Landyn and I had not yet been. All of our friends had loved it, so we decided to use Irazú to fulfill the “see a volcano” requirement of our trip. Since we had heard nothing but great things, we were pretty pumped.

And it did not disappoint.

 

I had read online ahead of time that it gets chilly at the volcano’s edge, considering the high altitude (the van had to do some serious uphill climbing), but this was beyond chilly. We froze our asses off, so don’t mind the blue-purple lips in our photographs.

 

If we thought the trek up Irazú was steep, that was nothing compared to our journey back down. We took a different route, and it was a true, Costa-Rican mountain driving experience: narrow roads not wide enough for two cars to pass, drop-off edges on cliffsides with no guard-rails, rough gravel with no pavement in sight, steep slopes, and of course the signature winding path.

Despite the dismal road conditions, the drive itself was beautiful. We wound our way down through the rural outskirts of Cartago, Costa Rica’s original capital city, now a budding agricultural community. We were surrounded by lush greenery, beautifully terraced mountainsides filled with cattle and chickens, and rich, saturated flowers.

As we forged ahead, we came to a halt: the road our GPS wanted us to continue down was roped off, closed for construction. Of course, I thought, the first time I’ve seen road maintenance on one of these desolate drives this entire year, and it’s right now, forcing us to turn around. I was thoroughly annoyed and then quickly relieved that our GPS found a different route. Sometimes that truly does not happen down here; sometimes there is literally only one way to get where you need to go. I was so grateful we weren’t stuck.

Sam pulled into a driveway, turned around, and headed up a steep hill on our new course. We got to the top of the hill, finally hit a patch of level ground, and Sam said “our brakes don’t work.”

“What? What do you mean they don’t work? Are you sure?!” said everyone in the vehicle.

Our brakes had died. And honestly, we might have too if it weren’t for that road being closed––the one that was the steepest, curviest looking one yet––and we hadn’t been rerouted to this level surface, in a mud patch. I’m not one to claim “miracle,” but someone in the universe had to be looking out for us in order for all of those things to perfectly align.

Thankfully, we were surrounded by a small farming community and they helped us push the van to a driveway, out of the middle of the road.

After contacting the rental car company, figuring out how to drop a pin and send them our location, and arranging for our pick-up, I hung up the phone and the entire car seemed to let out a collective sigh. It was going to be at least a 3-hour wait until the new van would reach us, we were all starving, and we had no idea how far it was to the nearest town. But at least we were alive.

Over the course of the next few hours, we proceeded to slowly inch the car closer towards the nearby town. We waited for the brakes to completely cool and when Sam could feel a bit of resistance, we set out ahead of the car, watching for oncoming traffic and hills that would be too steep to rely on the E-brake if need be.

We made it through the tiny village, to the top of the very last hill before entering Pacayas, a city with restaurants and places to relax. That hill was a death wish for a car without brakes, so we parked at the very end of someone’s driveway just before the steep decline began.

After roughly 20 minutes, the occupants of the house came outside––a kind man and his teenage daughter. Landyn and I utilized our Spanglish skills to explain our situation, and our new friend, Pancho, was quick to assure us we were no bother at all in his driveway. He stood outside and made conversation with us for what ended up totaling two hours, sometimes enduring the rain in order to keep up our chit-chatting. He took Landyn on a tour of his expansive property and even gave him a carrot fresh from his garden.

Carly and I joined in for the second half of the tour––a building with automated cattle-milking machines. He sold his dairy products to a huge corporation down here, famous for their ice cream and cheese.

 

I continue to be blown away by the warmth of the Costa Rican people. They are so kind, so empathetic, and so accommodating towards others. It’s something we could use a lot more of in the world.

When our hunger began to slightly supersede our fear of having no brakes and we had a decent amount of brake resistance again, we decided to say screw it and make it down the hill. I don’t think a single one of us breathed the entire time. Thankfully, we made it into Pacayas safely and were able to get food while we (STILL) waited for our new van to arrive.

After what felt like a thousand years, my mom pointed out the restaurant door, saying “is that the guy?”

Sure enough, there was a red-shirted individual driving a massive van. Most of us started yelling and waving our arms, but my sister was like something out of a movie: wordlessly, she sprinted out of the restaurant and around the corner, chasing down the van with her signature speed. A few minutes later, the van pulled up next to ours with Carly riding shotgun.

We had the old van unloaded and the new one packed in under five minutes. We were beyond ready to get out of there, our frustrations at lack of control and wasted time at an all-time high.

We had reservations for the night in Cahuita––about a four-hour drive from where we were currently located. Rather than spend the night in an additional hotel, we decided to say ~F it~ and drive out to Cahuita, despite the dark night swiftly settling in.

And, actually, the drive to Cahuita was rather enjoyable. I think some of the best parts of family vacations happen in the in-between moments, like conversations in the car en route to your next destination. Our day of will-testing and the patience marathon we were forced to run finally came to a close around 10pm as we checked into our hotel in Cahuita, grateful to finally be there and ready to put the day’s events behind us.

Cahuita

Some light background info: for this trip, we decided to head towards the Carribean side of Costa Rica since we had not yet been, and while the Pacific side was enduring its rainiest month of the year, October, this was one of the driest months on the Carribean side.

The biggest city that tourists flock to on the Carribean coast is Puerto Viejo, and we opted to stay just north of it and then just south of it. Cahuita was our northernmost stop.

After checking into our hotel, the boys (Landyn and Sam) went to have a few beers at the Reggae bar down the street, and the children and ladies all crashed.

The following morning, we had to be up and at it fairly early, since we had a tour planned. More light background info: Cahuita is most famous for its picturesque National Park. Just off the coast of the park’s boundary is an expansive, protected reef that offers incredible snorkeling for visitors. Since the reef is considered a protected area, a guide is required by law for all snorkeling activities.

Our guide, Manuel, met us at the boat docks just outside the park’s boundaries, handed out our gear, and set out towards the reef.

It was some of the best snorkeling I personally have ever done. The experience was strikingly similar to scuba diving in that the depth of water and reef quality was the perfect ratio where it was shallow enough to see the coral exceptionally well, and the coral was large and healthy enough that it was easy to see details and its marine life occupants.

 

As for the kids, they were not quite sold on the whole snorkeling thing at first. Leo came around to it fairly quickly, but Calliope never really got on board. Similarly, my mom was enthusiastic about seeing all of the coral, however, did not enjoy watching large fish swim so near her. Overall we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

We snorkeled at two different spots, exploring a large area of the reef system. Our highlights included dozens of fish varieties, a stingray, and Alyssa’s spotting of a nurse shark. After 2 or 3 hours, the tour concluded with our docking on a national park beach, the serving of some fresh fruit, and watching monkeys try to steal said fruit. Although the boat could have taken us back to our original starting location, we opted to walk one of the park’s trails back to the entrance so that we could get more of the park experience.

During our trek, we spotted sloths, monkeys, another stingray along the beach, huge blue morpho butterflies, and tropical birds. The kids were such troopers––they hiked a solid 3 miles with almost no complaints.

 

As our hike came to a close, we put an exclamation point on the closing of a fabulous excursion with some fruity drinks and excellent food at an on-the-water restaurant.

Our next day in Cahuita we started things off with a chocolate tour. Of all the things Landyn and I have done down here during this past year, the only “food” tours we had done were part of class field trips, so this was an exciting departure.

Speaking of field trips, if you’ll think back to my Osa post, you may recall that one of our stops was at an indigenous community which turned out to give us rather creepy, culty vibes. Interestingly enough, the chocolate tour was presented by the same group of indigenous people: the BriBri. Our experience in this BriBri territory was starkly different from our last experience, though. The people here were very open, genuine, and receptive to questions. They even explained their cosmovision and beliefs much differently from the other BriBri sect. It was super informative and interesting, and the fresh chocolate was absolutely delicious.

 

After filling up on lunch post-chocolate tour, Alyssa and Sam headed to Puerto Viejo for a ziplining tour and the Fehler tribe (plus Landyn) took the kiddles to the beach. We had a ridiculous amount of fun.

 

As ominous looking rain clouds loomed overhead in the late afternoon, we decided to head back towards the hotel. We took Leo and Calliope’s little hands and away we went. As we approached a small shop, I heard a familiar voice drifting out of it.

“Isn’t that Sam’s voice?”

Sure enough, when we peered in the entrance we saw Sam and Alyssa.

“Oh hi! What a funny coincidence we ran into you like this! How was ziplining?!”

“Actually, we didn’t end up going. The tour company is closed on Sundays. So we ended up wandering around a little bit, getting some food, and hitting up the shops while we searched for you guys here.”

This was the trip theme we had going: smooth sailing then a speedbump. Some of these speedbumps were significant, like the brakes going out on the side of a mountain, and some were easy to handle, like the ziplining desk being closed. That’s the thing about traveling through Central America––it’s gorgeous and rich in activities, wildlife, and culture––but it is not necessarily made for ease and convenience.

We closed out our time in Cahuita with a family dinner at the town’s best restaurant, and it was one of those really fun meals where it seemed at least one person was laughing the entire time. I couldn’t tell you exactly what was talked about now, but the feeling of complete contentment is what I can still vividly recall. Although we were in for more bumps in the road, it was a time of pure joy and bonding and I remember looking around the table and feeling indescribably grateful to have had some of my favorite people in the world in one of my favorite places in the world.

The next morning, we packed up the van and headed to our next home: Chiquita.

Chiquita

Whereas Cahuita was a half hour north of Puerto Viejo, Chiquita is located about a half hour south of PV.

En route to our next place in Playa Chiquita, we stopped at the Jaguar Rescue Center, a true rehabilitation facility focused on helping injured animals prepare to successfully rejoin their respective ecosystems. They were super knowledgeable, very personable, and I’d highly recommend this to anyone traveling on the Carribean side of Costa Rica.

 

After the JRC we began the search for our next home. “Search” is the exact word for what this process turned into. We rented a tree house type home through Airbnb, and the downfall of that site is that they only provide a rough estimate of where the house is located until your arrival date. Well, even with a pin drop, we could not figure out where the hell this place was. After over an hour of wrong turns down narrow jungle pathways, we finally found what we were looking for: Casa Selva y Mar.

 

After getting settled in, we set out to the beach to soak up the last of the sun’s rays.

There’s nothing quite like drinking a beer in the ocean.

As the sun began to set, we spotted lightning in the distance. We tried to outrun it. We really did. We got out of the water immediately, hurriedly put on our clothes and packed up our towels, but we were no match for the weather. A thunderstorm rolled in and took no prisoners. Halfway back to our house, the sky opened up and we were getting drenched. Another one of those speedbumps, I guess.

The next day we split up again: Alyssa and Sam went up to Puerto Viejo to try their hand at ziplining round two, and the rest of us hopped in a cab to go to the nearby Manzanillo National Wildlife Refuge, a gem nearly touching the border of Panama.

I’m gonna brag about these children again, because we had them hike and walk a solid three miles with us, and they never complained. They remained engaged, inquisitive, and happy little campers despite the shitshow that was finding a good beach to perch ourselves on. They were total rockstars, and we had yet another afternoon of quality bonding time with tons of laughs.

 

Our afternoon plan had been to visit a Great Green Macaw sanctuary since they are some of Landyn and I’s favorite birds and my family had yet to see any. As our time in the sun and surf stretched into the early afternoon hours, we were starting to get anxious about reuniting with Sam and Alyssa, who had the rental car. Unfortunately, they did not have any data nor cellular service while down here, so texting/calling wasn’t an option. We had left a note with the name of the park on the counter in the house, but without a solid maps app that would work on their phone, we were nervous they had gotten lost.

We trudged out of the park and wandered back into the town area, happened to see a public bus at the stop, and knew it was now or never. We needed to get back to the house to change if we were going to make it to the Macaw sanctuary on time. It was our one opportunity to see them as we were headed to Panama the following morning. It truly was a do-or-die scenario. So, we scooped up the kids and got on the bus.

I can’t fully articulate what was so funny and amusing about this, but it was absolutely hysterical. Maybe because of the stressful element. Maybe because we looked so out of place lugging our towels and beach totes and the kids’ life jackets. But we looked at each other and laughed really, really hard once the bus started moving.

It was only a ten-minute ride until we arrived at the road leading to our house. Luckily, as soon as the bus left Manzanillo, Alyssa and Sam arrived back at the house and were, therefore, able to contact us through the WiFi there. We told them we’d need to haul ass once we made it back, and as soon as we were dropped at the end of the excessively long drive we booked it up to Casa Selva y Mar, changed our clothes in approximately three seconds flat, and piled into the van.

We made it to the turnoff for the Macaw sanctuary, a place called the Ara Project, with time to spare. As we snaked our way up the narrow road, we hit a big, steep hill. Sam gave it all the gas he could, but we started rolling backward after making it only halfway up. We all must have had PTSD from the brakes going out because I think I started screaming, my mom chimed in with some “woah, woah, woah”s, and Carly threw open the van door, poised to jump out. It was probably hilarious from the outside looking in.

Thankfully we made it up the hill without issues on our second attempt and arrived at the Ara Project gates right on time.

Our tour guide was wonderfully kind, and after a brief introduction to the basics of Great Green Macaws and, specifically, their history and presence in Costa Rica, we walked up to a lookout point with benches and perches for humans and birds alike. Up here we were amongst high tree branches littered with Macaws. This was the rest of our tour: simply hanging out with the birds, observing them do their thing as they flew around, were fed dinner by the staff, and passed no more than a foot above our heads.

 

It turned out to be one of our favorite activities from the trip. Everyone loved it.

 

Afterward, we grabbed dinner from a soda, a Costa Rican classic which is basically a cross between a regular sit down restaurant and a snack bar, up in Puerto Viejo. We soaked up our last evening in Costa Rica before traveling to Panama. It would be the last time we’d have family visit us here as semi-residents. That was a sobering realization to come to, and it only made me even more appreciative of every second we were spending together down here. It also made me feel a twinge of eagerness to see our cinnabons (the chihuahuas that live on our property) again. Nevertheless, I was beyond excited to ship out to Panama in the morning. We were headed to the last leg of the trip with all eight of us: Bocas del Toro.

Bocas del Toro

The trip to Panama began at 6am when we assembled ourselves and our belongings into the rental car for the last time. We arrived at the border town of Sixaola just before 7 and got in line to pay our Costa Rica exit tax. It was so unofficial looking, we probably would have never realized where to go had we not asked a local.

Once we paid our exit tax fee we waited for the border parking lot to open. Since Sam and Alyssa were flying back to the United States out of San José, versus my mom and sister who would be flying out of Panama City, they decided to keep the rental car for the few days we would be in Bocas and then drive it back to the San José airport upon their departure. After getting all of our belongings out and parking the car, we proceeded to the next stop: Costa Rica immigration. They stamped our passports, double checked that we paid the exit tax, and sent us on our merry way to Panama.

 

There’s something really cool and unique about walking across a border versus flying into a new country or driving. I feel a hyper-awareness about the acts of leaving and arriving, and it’s strange to wave goodbye to Costa Rican border patrol officers and then wave hello to Panamanian border officials five minutes later. It simplifies it somehow, yet there is also an unmistakable novelty air about it. Not to mention this particular border crossing offered stunning views.

 

The Panama customs declaration process took place in what looked like a one-room house. We simply filled out our customs slips and left. Nobody checked the forms for accuracy nor did they check our luggage. We then wandered up the street to the immigration station where they took our fingerprints, took photos of us, double-checked our itinerary and gave us our stamp.

Our next objective: get to the town of Almirante. We hopped in a shuttle and embarked on the hour-long drive. Mid-drive, Leo got car sick and puked on his shorts. I wasn’t feeling so hot either, as our shuttle van did not have A/C and it was a particularly hot morning, so both he and I snacked on those portable applesauce things that Alyssa had in her backpack. Just another speedbump.

Once we arrived in Almirante, after a beautiful drive through the mountains, we boarded a water taxi that would drive us out to the island. Bocas del Toro is an archipelago of islands, and we chose to stay on the biggest one, Isla Colón.

 

We clambered out of the water taxi, grabbed our luggage which was stacked precariously in the back of the boat, and met the driver of our hotel shuttle outside the taxi terminal. We were so close to the finish line on this marathon morning we could taste it. Our place wasn’t quite done being cleaned, so we dropped our belongings and headed out for some exploration and lunch.

The town was everything I had hoped it would be––it had the adorable, tourists-love-it island look with the laidback island feel.

We ate lunch at a restaurant connected with a scuba diving shop, which would spark an idea I’ll come back to.

 

After lunch we hit up the grocery store for some essentials––snacks and booze––and headed back to our hotel.

When they took us upstairs and showed us our place, my jaw truly dropped. The pictures they advertised with on booking.com did NOT do it justice, and it was even cooler than I thought it was going to be.

It was called “Ocean Loft,” and it was truly that. A loft with open access to the ocean air.

 

We spent that afternoon hanging out on the dock; we jumped off the diving board, snorkeled, and enjoyed some adult beverages. Landyn and Sam even jumped off loft into the water, as it was upwards of 15 feet deep.

The next day we hit a destination spot which was one of the biggest reasons why we went to Bocas all together in the first place: Playa Estrella or Starfish Beach. We took a water taxi to the northwest corner of the island and they dropped us off for the day. We had chairs, piña coladas, and lobster they caught right there in the ocean. It does not get any fresher than what we experienced. What more could you ask for from a beach day?!

 

It was these days in Bocas that are some of my fondest memories from the trip because they were just so simple. Don’t get me wrong, I love the adventure tours, the wildlife tours, and hiking national parks. But there is something so pure and enjoyable about a beach day with your family, just having fun and hanging out, that gives me the warm and fuzzies. It was absolutely the perfect way to close out our time together.

The following morning, Sam, Alyssa, and the kiddies headed back to San José. They would stay overnight there and get on a plane back to the States the next day.

And it was really sad to say goodbye to Sam and Alyssa and the kids. Even though we had gotten a lot of quality time in during the previous week, I couldn’t help but feel really sad to see them go. Maybe it’s because I knew I wouldn’t see them in a month on Thanksgiving like my mom and Carly would. Maybe the reality of just how far away I am from my loved ones down here hit me with a jolt.

With modern-day conveniences like texting and FaceTime, I sometimes forget just how removed I am. I forget I’m in a different part of the world. But then they come to visit me, and inevitably have to say goodbye, and I’m reminded of that fact.

I was also sad because I had grown to love the speedbump pattern we had going on. It was a trip with a surplus of crazy stories and eventful happenings, and I was bummed to see it coming to a close.

Thankfully, though, I didn’t have to say goodbye to everybody all at once. The Fehler tribe was continuing on in our family vacay journey. We had one more day in Bocas and then we were headed to Panama City.

And I realize now, I shouldn’t have been sad to see our speedbump-riddled journey go––we had plenty more coming.

Until next time, friends.