Cari Anna Camera

If you haven’t already read the first installment in Family Vacay: A Trilogy, then stop, drop, and roll back to the homepage to read that before proceeding to read the below post. Or you can find it here: Family Vacay: A Trilogy (Vol. 1)

So where were we? Oh yeah, we had just left Río Celeste and were en route to our next stop: Arenal.

Unfortunately, we had to lose a beloved member of the crew once we arrived in La Fortuna; Landyn still had one more week of class, so that Sunday afternoon he hopped on a bus and ventured back to Rodeo alone in order to be there for class Monday morning.

While we were sad and definitely missed Landyn’s presence, it wasn’t entirely the end of the world since this was the one place him and I had already been to. For that reason, I was super stoked to do Arenal activities because I knew just how awesome our days there were about to be.

We stayed in a bungalow RIGHT by the bottom of the volcano, and it was a spectacular location and view.

Once we got all checked in and settled, we hit the town for some food, drinks, and shopping. La Fortuna is very touristy, but in a way that still makes you love it, ya know? So I knew this was a great place for Carly and Niters to start collecting trinkets.

p.s. it took my family coming for me to realize that I have not a single souvenir-type item from Costa Rica…all these trips and not a single. one. #touristfail #amiatouristthough? #ilivehere #stillonatravelersvisathough #idigress

We came to Arenal because once my family read my blog post/heard me talk about/saw my pics from Landyn and I’s weekend there, they wanted to essentially replicate our trip. Also because it’s a volcano, it’s cool as hell, and an awesome area with lots of activity options. 10/10 would recommend.

But since we didn’t want to have the exact same trip, we switched up the location of our morning hike: we decided to go inside the National Park as it seemed like an easier, less time-consuming hike than Landyn and I did our first go-around.

What started out as a semi-cloudy morning eventually cleared into a beautiful, sunny day. And although the hike was not as strenuous, it still gave us the perfect balance of workout and leisure feels. We also still got to climb over old lava flows, see a wonderful view of the volcano and Lake Arenal, and see a lot of cool foliage. We saw tons of animals along the way, too, some of which Landyn and I had never even seen!

After about two and a half hours, the trail dumped us back out at the start. When we first began the hike, we could only see the bottom third of the volcano. When we finished, we could almost see the top:

Super duper cool stuff.

Then, it was time for the activity all three of us were most excited about: Baldi Springs.

Allow me to remind you of the magic of Baldi: Baldi Hot Springs is a resort which sits on top of several hot springs, stemming from their location at the very bottom of a volcano, I’m sure. So, they built these gorgeous pools and pump them full of the spring water, creating 20 different pools with varying temperatures from about 68 degrees to 116 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s amazing, it’s luxurious, and since the water is all natural it doesn’t leave your skin with that tight, burning feeling that you get from over-chlorinated waterparks. You just feel soft and rejuvenated.

And so we went. And, for me, it was equally as incredible as the first time.

Voted the best drink from the swim-up bar: Blue Margarita. We did have some close runner-ups, though.

My mom and Carly just kept saying “I can’t believe a place like this exists,” and that’s honestly how I feel about Baldi, too. It’s so gorgeous and relaxing and fun in a mellowed-out kind of way. It’s truly one of a kind.

We stayed at Baldi for the rest of the night, leaving around 9pm or so, and hunkered down in our bungalow for the night. This is also the night we figured out that all three of our March Madness brackets were completely and utterly busted with no hope for revival. With that, we turned in.

But that night we had something really strange happen: it rained. Like, downpoured. It was a monsoon so loud that it woke me from a dead slumber, and I am not a light sleeper. It was so weird because it hardly ever rained here at that point (although now we are currently encroaching on the wet season), and even if it did it never rained that hard. But of course, when we have fun activities planned, the sky has other ideas.

Thankfully the rain stopped around 7am, but things were still wet, damp, and the tiniest bit chilly. Shit. This was the part where we were getting in a river. The travel agent in me wondered if I should amend our plans, but the sky looked like it was clearing and the La Fortuna waterfall was too cool not to see, so we forged onward.

I think there was a part of my mom that was secretly hoping we would have to cancel our trip to the waterfall because, right after the drive to Monteverde, this was the part of the trip causing her a lot of anxiety. Simply because of the stairs. During our trip-planning conference calls, I tried to foreshadow things as blatantly and as honestly as I could. So when I told her that there were 500 stairs, each way, to get down/up the Cataraca La Fortuna, she basically freaked out.

Remember in the first part of the Trilogy when I referenced how my mom thinks she’s dying when her heart rate got above 110? Well, this is that story. My mom works out consistently, eats pretty healthily, and overall is in good shape. She’s killing it. But for whatever reason, I don’t think she realizes how in shape she is–how capable she is of handling these physical challenges. Honestly, I blame this on Carly because she gave my mom her old Apple Watch a week before the trip, so my mom could easily track her heart rate and therefore feed her shortness-of-breath anxiety.

I actually get it, I really do. The feeling of not being able to catch your breath is unpleasant and terrifying at times. My mother is just a tad dramatic about it.

So here we are, top of the stairs, and we begin our descent towards the waterfall and when I’m looking at the people heading up the stairs, I notice something: they’re all old. Like some are using canes. There was a geriatric tour group doing these same stairs.

I turned around and stared at my mom, hoping she had already noticed the median age of our stairway companions.

“Mom, these people are literally 80 years old climbing these stairs, can we be done being so paranoid now?”

She laughed and nodded.

When we got to the bottom, Niters and Carly were impressed and awestruck by the waterfall, just as Landyn and I had been. Prior to our descent, I was worried that seeing the pristine, turquoise beauty of Río Celeste may have ruined the beauty of this waterfall–I didn’t want the extreme, unique beauty of that water to set the bar too high for the rest of our explorations. Thankfully, they were still enamored and humbled by the natural phenomenon. The flora and fauna, the wildlife, the natural wonders, they never get old no matter how many times we see them. I never feel “used to” the beauty, and I don’t think I’ll ever be over it.

When it came time to jump in the river, we hit some unexpected snags. The tiny little fishes I had seen in January had grown into large scaly swimmers that were not afraid to get up-close and personal with us humans. These unforeseen friends combined with the frigid water temperature left Carly and Niters less than thrilled.

There were a few situations during this family vacation that showed me how significantly more low-maintenance and carefree I’ve become since moving down here. More than that, it’s the ability to be flexible and spontaneous and roll with the punches.

This swim was one of those instances. My mom and sister were really freaked out by the fish and the cold, and I think if I hadn’t gone in the water they wouldn’t have. I started swimming into the current and climbing all over the rocks, and they were apprehensive about that at first, too. It was incredibly strange to see that I was the brave one because, historically, I have always been the worry-wart of the group. And don’t get me wrong, sometimes I still am. But overall, there’s been a shift in me and that has been exciting and fun and weird. It’s an odd feeling to be cognizant of the process of becoming your truest self.

As Carly and Niters warmed up, so did the weather, and we wound up having quite an enjoyable time. On our way back up the stairs, I had to frequently remind my mom (who was adamant we take a break every 44 steps because that’s how many she does at work every day) that there was a, legit, GERIATRIC tour group that did these same steps with no ambulance called. This convinced my mom to push her range to 50 steps between breaks. *eye roll*

Pick your battles, friends.

After our aquatic adventure, we hit the road to come home. Just as we were about to leave the city, we hit the most gorgeous view of the volcano. Typically the clouds never clear all the way off of the top, so it’s rare to see the entire volcano. But we were the lucky ones, and it was the perfect send-off scene.

Rodeo

After leaving Arenal, we had a bit of a stressful drive home. The roads are narrow and windy with very tight curves which were stress-inducing for all passengers. By the time we reached Ciudad Colón, where we were meeting up with Landyn, our nerves and our patience were shot.

We wandered around the organic market Landyn and I frequent every Tuesday, we went to our favorite grocery store to pick up some essentials, which at this point translated into booze, and we headed home. The tension was real the entire time. We were all tired, cranky pandas, ready to plop ourselves in Rodeo with nowhere else to go for a few days.

Sure enough, Rodeo revived us.

We had ample pool time and puppy time, as well as touring them around Rodeo (which does not take very long) and showing them the UPeace campus and adjacent park. My mom and Carly were able to experience our day-to-day lives, including our vegetarian diet. I never thought I’d see the day, considering I am an avid chicken nugget lover, but meat is not only expensive down here but it’s also much different than in the States. It doesn’t come as the best cuts in nice, neat packages. They just cleave off a section from an entire leg and send you on your way. No thank you. 

Thus, Carly and Niters ate our way, drank the delicious Costa Rican coffee, and sipped rum cocktails by the pool for three days. Not too shabby.

We went back to Colón Thursday night to watch Landyn play soccer at a field in town, a weekly ritual for him and I. The small things like watching Landyn play soccer while talking with our friends and getting to know them better, then getting drinks and hitting up our favorite ice cream place afterward were the among the greatest things about them being here. Our life here is just so so different from anywhere else they have seen us, and we LOVE it, so it was very important and special to me that we were able to give them an authentic view of our new normal. It poked my heart, as the three of us would say.

In my experience as an amateur travel agent, I’ve learned that you can plan all of the crazy, action-packed, breathtaking activities in the world, but sometimes there’s nothing better than just being with the people you love in a place you love.

Friday morning snuck up on us so fast. After Landyn was done with class at 11:45 we were going to hop right in the car for our last leg of the trip: the beach. Their flight back to the U.S. left at 1:15am Tuesday morning, so we planned to spend all of Monday as a beach day, drive back to San José in the evening hours, take back the rental car and drop them at the airport, from which Landyn and I would Uber home.

So the moral of the story is, Friday morning was their goodbye to Rodeo. Goodbye to our bright little apartment that already felt like their home, too. Goodbye to our precious pups. Goodbye to our little sanctuary. More than anything, it was a reality check for all of us that somehow this “long,” 12-day vacation was flying by at the speed of light, and sooner rather than later we would be saying goodbye to each other again.

Naturally, my mom was bawling. She’s an emotional sap and we love her so much for it because she always breaks the sadness ice. You know, like in a sad situation when you don’t want to be the first to crack and show emotion? Mom always handles that because she’s always the first to shed a tear. I guess that’s how you know you’ve had an amazing trip, though–when you’re super sad to leave.

After mom dried her eyes and Landyn got home, we hopped in the car and headed off to, I think, my favorite part of the trip.

Writing this all down and reflecting back on how much fun we had and how much my mom and Carly did for Landyn and I humbles me even more than when I lived it the first time. I am truly blessed with the most entertaining, wild, and generous family. I wouldn’t trade a single moment of this vacation for the world.

Stay tuned for the final installment of Family Vacay: A Trilogy.

Until next time, friends.

 

 

From the moment Landyn was accepted into this graduate program, my mom, Anita (Niters), has been talking about visiting us. She honestly may have been more excited about and ready for our move than we were. Niters and my sister, Carly, had their visit tickets booked before we left the United States in January, and I think it helped make the airport goodbye slightly less tragic for all three of us.

Well, hold onto your hats, folks, because on March 15th, the day had finally arrived: The Tribe (as we call ourselves) was reunited in Costa Rica.

The Airport

The night before their arrival I was straddling the line between healthy excitement and mania. I kinda felt like I was gonna vomit. Kinda felt pumped. Kinda felt nothing at all because I couldn’t fathom seeing two of my favorite humans in my new normal down here.

The morning of their arrival was even worse. I woke up before the sun, rolled around a bit, and, of course, pestered Landyn with my anxious energy. I got to the airport over an hour early, found a bar to plant myself in front of, and sat. Then I got up to order a drink. Then I thought better not, sat back down. But I was kinda hungry. Walked up to order a snack, changed my mind again. Up, down, up, down, until after about four rounds of this the employees behind the counter stopped trying to hide their stares.

“Cari you’ve been acting erratic in an airport, these people are gonna call security if you don’t buy a fricken bag of chips and settle down,” said me to me. So I munched my Nacho Cheese Doritos and compulsively refreshed the Spirit Airlines webpage showing me the flight status. 18 minutes. 11 minutes. 4 minutes. Text from Carly flashes across the top of my phone and the status changes to “arrived.” I almost peed my chair.

Quick background: the San Jose airport has a fairly strange layout, and for peeps that are arriving it eventually just dumps you out into this waiting area where a bunch of taxi drivers and tour companies hold up signs, and call out for customers if they aren’t already booked. It’s complete pandemonium. So there I stood, waiting with the sign I made for them (because I secretly love that all that corny shit) when I was suddenly blind sighted by a massive lump in my throat.

I have no idea what came over me, but as I waited for them to get through the fanfare that is customs and luggage retrieval, all of my I-miss-my-family emotions bubbled right up to the surface. First I can’t sit down, then I’m bawling next to the cab drivers. All aboard the hot mess express.

In the midst of my teary pacing, I saw a head of hair I recognized.

“Mom!”

*her head turns right around to find me while I struggle to unfold my sign*

When I hugged her and my sister, I realized just how much I had missed them. I think I was really compartmentalizing my life here and my life back home; FaceTime phone calls felt like enough for me until I saw Niter’s lob and Carly’s platinum pony and then the need to embrace them was suddenly, overwhelmingly potent. There’s nothing like a hug that’s been a long time coming.

El Rodeo

After waiting over two hours to get our rental car (renting a car in Costa Rica is a whole different beast than renting in the States), we were on the road to Rodeo. It was incredibly fun for me to watch their faces and hear their reactions to the surroundings.

It was also extremely trippy for me–I continued to find that I had compartmentalized more significantly than I thought. My life here, in many ways, feels entirely separate from my life back home, so to have my two distinct worlds collide was disorienting, albeit exciting and entertaining.

You could argue that my sister was more excited to see our dogs (see last post if you haven’t yet) than she was to see Landyn and I. So I think her vacation was already made when our two little cinnabons came bounding over to her as soon as she opened the car door.

Monteverde

Good news: if the freelance writing and blogging spheres don’t work out, I have immense potential as a travel agent. Prior to the family’s arrival, I took care of hotel bookings and organizing general activity timelines for their stay. Lots and lots of three-way conference calls.

The first trip of the trip: Monteverde. Monteverde is in the northwest corner of Costa Rica and has two cloud forest reserves which boast incredibly unique, biologically diverse ecosystems. Monteverde’s extremely high altitude should prohibit many tropical plants and animals indigenous to Costa Rica from growing there, but nevertheless they persist.

Aside from being known for these super cool reasons, Monteverde is also famous for being accessible only by very precarious, sketchy means. The road climbs at serious incline grades, has no barriers between the road and cliff edge, and is gravel. And it’s really windy. And the dust sometimes inhibits your ability to see the road. And there’s not always enough room for two cars, so…yeah.

My mom was rather freaked out about the drive, so we made it a group activity and figured out a system for identifying major potholes so that she could focus on all the other potentially life-threatening factors. “Gully” meant “hey there’s a pothole you should probably slow down for, but also if this car was your Jeep and not a rental then it would be pretty chill.” If we yelled “trench” that translated into “holy shit you better not let this valley topple us right off this mountain, BRAKE BRAKE BRAKE.”

Niters also really likes to verbally panic while she drives, even when the situation isn’t exactly dire, which, of course, panicked the hell out of the rest of us. So then it was decided that no one could raise their voice five octaves and yell “oh my god” anymore, but rather when someone felt a tad petrified, driving or passengering, they had to say “har har, har har,” emulating a nervous laugh. This was hysterical and surprisingly effective in relaxing everyone in the most tense moments of the drive.

At long last, after an hour and fifteen minutes of the harrowing dirt road trek, we hit pavement and all of us rejoiced that we safely arrived in the town of Monteverde. See that’s the thing about living in Costa Rica, sometimes it makes you grateful for things we regularly take for granted in the States, like paved roads.

Our B&B, Nina’s Place, was absolutely fantastic; it gave us all the positive hippie vibes of a hostel, but our private room was spacious, clean, and boasted a beautiful valley view.

 

That first night we explored the local town, ate some insanely good tacos, and checked out a couple tourist shops. For being a known tourist attraction, the town didn’t feel too developed or crowded at all. We loved it!

 

The next morning, after nearly scaring Carly to death, we made friends with a wild Coati–an animal equivalent to a raccoon here, although parts of Costa Rica do have actual raccoons, as well. He actually tried to eat off our plates, and while it was slightly concerning because this animal is the size of a medium-sized dog breed, it was also ridiculously adorable.

Prior to their arrival, I had warned my family that I was going to push them out of their comfort zones during this trip, particularly my mom. She tends to doubt herself and think she can’t do something when she’s actually totally capable. I was determined to help her see that.

Thus, we hit both of Monteverde’s cloud forest reserves–we did a hanging bridges tour through one and zip lined through the other. Both my mom and Carly are afraid of heights/being suspended solely by cables, so I knew I was asking a lot from them. But it turned out to be one of the most spectacular days of the whole trip. While on the hanging bridges, we saw tons of new plant species (super unique ecosystem, remember) and birds for my birding-obsessed beau. This included the rare Quetzal which we were able to see clear as day!!! (We admired it with our eyeballs instead of our cameras, sorry to disappoint any bird fanatics reading this)

 

There’s nothing quite like conquering a fear—that feeling of standing on a precipice (typically figurative but in this case literal) and making a conscious decision to ignore your shaking hands, quaking voice, riotous stomach and do the damn thing anyways. It makes you feel bold, empowered, liberated. Not to mention the intense adrenaline rush that comes from these adventurous activities whether they had you terrified or not. It was amazing to see my family unfold and unwind and, at times, come unglued a little bit.

After finding one line extremely traumatizing, Carly was ready to walk back to the entrance of the park. She was like a zombie during the buggy ride we took up to the next two Superman-style lines. She kept telling me she couldn’t do it, she was gonna pee, she thought she was gonna die, the whole gamit.

Mom went. Landyn went. The guy tried to hook me up next but when I took one last look back at my sis, I knew if I left her there she wouldn’t do it. So I demanded the guy stop and have her go next. I nearly had to push her off the platform myself, but she did it. And I know she’s glad she did. And you want to know what magical words of wisdom I said to her on that platform? YOLO.

That’s right. A quick throwback to the hottest phrase of 2009, “yolo.” It’s cliché, corny, overdone, ridiculous, and some people take it a little too far, but can we just talk about the sentiment behind the phrase for a second? It is so so so freakin’ true. You only live once. So do the thing that scares the shit out of you. Go zip lining. Walk on a shaky suspended bridge. Pack your life into two suitcases and move to a country you’ve never been to, a part of the world you’ve never seen. Because you only get to do this life once. And it’s so much better to have done the thing, to have pushed yourself outside of your comfort zone, than spend even a single second wondering what experiences you could have had if only you’d been a little more brave. So I guess my biggest takeaway from Monteverde is this: fear will consume you, it will ruin you, if you let it. So don’t. Because yolo.

Río Celeste

So the original plan was that after we were done in Monteverde we would go directly to Arenal. But a week before my family came, Landyn and I found out about a beautiful river/waterfall, Río Celeste, that doesn’t see nearly as much tourist action as some of our other trip destinations because it’s tucked away in a remote national park.

However, if you know it’s there, and you’re already driving from Monteverde to Arenal, it only adds another hour onto your drive time (one route takes you around one side of Arenal National Park, the other route the other). So we threw it in as a last-minute must-see.

Good thing, too, because it was on that route that a Toucan flew across the road right in front of our car and perched on a tree for us to pull over and admire him. These creatures are majestic and beautiful and I was so SO happy Carly and Anita got to see one.

Trekking out to Tenorio National Park isn’t for the faint of heart, though. You get out to the middle of nowhere, there’s one tiny sign for your turn-off to the park, and the last 30 minutes are on gravel (Niters was beyond over the gravel roads about 30 seconds into her first encounter with one in Costa Rica, and she was very vocal about this fact).

Eventually, we made it to our destination. This was also a brand new national park for Landyn and I, so all of us were excited to be experiencing another new place together.

 

We began our hike to Cataraca Río Celeste. Only ten minutes in, we were finally able to show the fam some wild monkeys. A family of Capuchins meandered about in the trees surrounding the trail, even crossing branches right above our heads.

The hike itself was relatively easy. However, this was our first hike with the fam that didn’t involve paved paths the entire time, like the hanging bridges did. It was entertaining, to say the least, to see how my mom and Carly handled the slippery, muddy sections of the trail, how they felt about crossing mossy rocks through a mini river, and overall how they gelled with one of Landyn and I’s favorite pastimes.  They’re both active, adventurous individuals, but hiking is just a whole different ball game. Aside from my mom insisting she was having a heart attack every time her heart rate got above 110 (more to come on that, later), they totally embraced it. Before this trip I had never gone on a true hike with my family and now they’ve caught the bug. Mission complete.

 

Once you reach the waterfall, there are about 250 steep stairs that take you down to the water level. While these were a pain in the ass to climb back up, the waterfall was completely, entirely worth it.

 

The impeccably clear, turquoise waters get their color from various volcanic minerals found in the two separate rivers that eventually join to form Río Celeste. Swimming is actually prohibited since the concentrated levels can make people sick. Otherwise you best believe I would’ve been soaking up those gemstone-colored waves.

After voyaging back to the start of the trail we saw the single greatest thing you can see after a hike in this tropical climate: coconuts. Coconut stands are extremely common here, and they’re so much better than the bottled coconut water b.s. you can buy in stores (which I can’t stand, in case I was too subtle there). Fresh pipas were calling our names and it was such a delight to see my mom and (especially) Carly fall in love with a good ole fresh coconut, picked nearby and sliced open with a machete.

Once we were revived, we headed back out on the open road to our next destination: Arenal. Now I know doing our trip this way, venturing off to several different locations, added up to quite a bit of time in the car…it was essentially a three hour trip everywhere we went. Do you take vacations to sit in the car? No.

But the thing about our road trips is that was where some of our best moments happened–the funniest airhead moments, the strangest comments that had everyone laughing at one person’s expense, the bonding time when I got to just be with my family. Just exist alongside them and relish our adventures together. Also the time where Landyn sat on a piece of chocolate and simultaneously destroyed the backseat and his pants.

And for my mom and Carly, they got to see a true, authentic representation of Costa Rica. Our route wasn’t all freeways and express lanes, but rather the majority was on small, windy roads through tiny towns and residential areas. They got to experience the people, the culture, the landscapes that you miss when you take puddle jumper planes around the country. They got the rare opportunity, much like Landyn and I, to straddle that line between a typical tourist and a temporary resident.

So yeah, we did exciting, unbelievable, adrenaline-junkie activities during this first leg of the trip. But a large chunk of the heart and soul of this entire vacation lies between the pictures, between the landmarks, between the action. I hate to agree with another tired cliché, but it really is true: sometimes the journey is even better than the destination.

Stay tuned for the next installment of the Family Vacay Trilogy.

Until next time, friends.

In preparation for our trip everyone kept asking me how I felt, what I thought, if I was excited. But I truly, whole-heartedly felt zero emotions. And I’m a feeler. I feel everything, all the time, deeply. So since our last week in the States wasn’t a slow-burn of tears and sentiment, I knew the feels were going to ambush me. They were lying in wait, holding out to seize their moment.

That moment was when our landlord opened the door to our apartment. I walked around the quaint one-bedroom. It was clean, the property was beautiful, and the next morning I woke up in pure shock of how incredible our new home was. But that night, standing in our kitchen, tears just started rolling. Landyn was so frustrated with me and couldn’t understand what was wrong because in that moment he had the mental clarity I couldn’t find; this place was even better than the pictures. What was the problem?

The problem was I funneled my life into two suitcases. The problem was this was a lot of change that I hadn’t even begun to process yet. The problem was they don’t have a Target.

I needed food. I hadn’t eaten all day, hadn’t slept in 36 hours, I was a red Sim: none of my basic needs were being met.

Landyn and I were arguing as we walked down our steep driveway, when something dived out at me from the bushes. I screamed full-force, cussed Landyn out for moving me to the boonies where I was sure to be mauled, and then looked down to see my attacker: the cutest chihuahua I have ever seen.

We left the property a few times that night as we began to explore, and every time we came back she was waiting in the driveway to greet me. The final time, a second one joined the welcome party. Maybe Rodeo wasn’t going to be so bad.

Since that night, these two furry friends have progressively integrated themselves further and further into our lives. This is the story of our divided household: me and the dogs versus Landyn.

It started with my favorite, the one who lunged at me from the bushes, sitting outside our apartment every morning. She hopped on the chair and waited. A queen on her throne, peering through the window if we didn’t come outside to say good morning quickly enough. Her name is Sofía.

Then the second dog began approaching us more. We have since discovered that this second canine, Guadalupe (Lupe for short), is Sofía’s mom. Could this scenario get any more precious?

Lupe’s gnarly underbite gives her a grumpy, villainous look but in reality she’s incredibly docile, always jumping in your lap.

I swiftly fell in love with these adorable creatures. We are now at the point where they whine at our door every morning, eager for snuggles while I drink my coffee.

They’ve even begun to whine at our door during evening hours, too. Allegedly they belong to our neighbors, however they’re constantly on our property.

Initially, Landyn made it very clear that he did not want the dogs inside our apartment. I accidentally (“”) let them in.

Landyn conceded that it wouldn’t hurt to have them inside for a few minutes, but definitely not on the couch. It was a hard no:

After the couch became on-limits, the next hard line was drawn at the bedroom. They absolutely could not leave the living room.

^ This is the bed that LANDYN (Captain Hardass) made for them out of some extra bedsheets and my carry-on duffel. It’s on our bedroom floor, a foot away from our bed, so they can sleep as close to us as possible.

See a recurring theme, here?

Which was important because we have clearly fallen in love with these precious pups, but Landyn was adamant that one zone of our apartment remain dog-free: our bed.

I felt like that was fair. And I am proud to say that although I may have lead the charge on busting the dogs through all of Landyn’s other red-tape areas, I did NOT let them on the bed. I knew I needed to respect Landyn on this one.

So about a week later, I took my nightly shower, brushed my teeth before bed, slathered on the moisturizer, and walked out to this:

And since that night?

Sofía and Guadalupe have gradually infiltrated our apartment, our hearts, and our lives. While we’re gone on trips I always say “I wonder what the dogs are doing.” We keep water for them inside AND outside the apartment (in case we aren’t home when they’re thirsty). I bought them doggy shampoo and gave them baths. I’ve thought about buying dishes of dog food. I’ve googled how to import dogs into the United States.

Landyn is less convinced.

He argues that A) the dogs aren’t strays, they actually belong to someone B) they live a great life here in Costa Rica, with being outside all the time and enjoying the great weather and C) it’s harder to find an apartment that takes dogs in D.C.

How dare he be so logical. And how can I trust someone that can resist these tiny faces?

I’m not sure what’s going to happen with our dogs. I’ve never knocked on someone’s door and asked them if I can have their dogs so I really don’t know how that’ll go over. I don’t even know that that’s what I’ll do. Maybe Landyn’s right, maybe they like their life here and I should leave well enough alone.

No matter who ends up with them, these dogs are forever going to be a big part of our story here. You know the sayings like “people don’t come into your life on accident” and “everyone serves a purpose in your life, good or bad” etc.? I think that’s kind of true, and I think it doesn’t have to be a person….it can be a dog. Or even two dogs.

They sprung out at me from the bushes and nearly gave me a coronary at the exact moment I demanded to be taken back to the airport because, ya know, change is scary. I mean what are the odds?! That has to mean these dogs were destined to be mine, right? RIGHT?!

Maybe I sound crazy and there’s no such thing as fate. Or maybe there’s no such thing as coincidence. One unarguable fact is this: these peewee puppies quickly turned this strange new house into a home. They’ve given us something to look forward to upon our homecomings, a purpose, and their companionship has been such a gift during this massive transition. We are now a family of four.

Stay tuned for future updates on my little cinnabons.

Until next time, friends.

 

Last week, I got a teeny, tiny taste of being a graduate student. The core of Landyn’s latest class, Natural Resource Management- Field Course, was a week-long field trip through the Osa Peninsula. Not many tourists make it down to Osa since it’s the southernmost point of Costa Rica; it’s a 7-8 hour drive from San Jose and does not have its own large scale airport to accommodate travelers.

The university was gracious enough to allow me to attend the trip as well, making me an honorary U Peace student for the week. (P.s. I did raise my hand and contribute to critical discussions on numerous occasions…when I play the part I fully commit)

We stayed at 3 different locations during the trip: a community called Longo Mai, an indigenous community called Bribri, and an eco-lodge named La Tarde.

First Stop: Longo Mai

For some background: Longo Mai first started in Europe in the late sixties, founding communities based on progressive ideals and a cooperative social structure.

They tried to replicate this in Costa Rica, taking in refugees fleeing from the civil wars in El Salvador and Nicaragua throughout the seventies and eighties. But the clashing of various Central American cultures proved that the cooperative society was not in their best interest– it just didn’t work. However they did not inform us of this before our arrival.

So we thought we were going to experience a super rad hippie village that is entirely self-sufficient, but rather it was just a cluster of houses on a huge, fenced-in chunk of land; a community of individuals brought to this property under the same pretenses, but entirely independent of one another.

Us students were split up into two’s and handed out to host families like free hot chocolate at a night-time fundraising walk. Excited yet still cautious.

Our host mother wanted nothing to do with us (“us” being Landyn and I, thankfully we did not have to split up in this place since I was still very unsure how I felt about it); she asked us if we were ready to eat whenever we walked in the door, gave us a plate of food, and then immediately went back to the television. To be fair, the telenovela she watched did sound rather intriguing. We slept in what appeared to be a garage: concrete flooring and walls, tin roof, ceiling absent.

A few Longo Mai representatives showed us around the community and we ended up on the porch of a woman named Guadalupe. She was the closest we came to feeling hippie vibes; after beating cancer FOUR times she gave up all household products that she herself did not make. From cleaners to soap to shampoo, she began producing everything herself and invested hundreds of hours into researching which plants are best for said products, what plants naturally heal common ailments, and then subsequently building her own medicinal garden. She’s kind of my spirit animal.

It was, sadly, extremely relatable and a little mind-boggling that someone in a different country also feels the effects of corporations poisoning their patrons with harmful chemicals and continued use of proven cancer-causing agents in their products. I’m so envious that she has the land and resources to be able to become completely self-sufficient and no longer rely on these terrible companies.

In keeping with this tone, we toured around the farmlands of Longo Mai where they grow produce such as bananas, cacao fruit, and sugar cane. They told us about how they have to frequently fend off developers from turning their land into a pineapple plantation– a task not easily managed.

The next day we visited a nearby organization, run by the son of the owner of Longo Mai, that aims to teach the community about permaculture and restore forests depleted by reckless agricultural practices (or those damn corporations). Their main objective is to prove, and perpetually improve, sustainable alternative methods to traditional agriculture.

Overall impression: Longo Mai was loaded with great information and I learned a ton about topics I didn’t even know existed, but it was more than a little strange that they could not provide answers to some of our questions. Namely, where is the money coming from, where exactly does it go, how can the inhabitants own their house but not the land the house is built on (allegedly a European organization owns the land), and how the land gets divided up. It was an awesome idea in theory, and it’s a fantastic long-term relocation option for refugees, but there appear to be few checks and balances on the man in charge.

Next Stop: Bribri

**Quick disclaimer: the following section does not represent the entire indigenous community of Bribri, just my personal experience as a passing visitor. I have deep respect for all indigenous peoples, and wish I had the opportunity to speak with more everyday members of the community, not just two representatives**

After a quick 24 hours in Longo Mai, we drove a couple hours south to reach the indigenous community of the Bribri people.

We seemed to be welcomed in with open arms; there were two men doing most of the talking during our welcome lecture, but they did bring a woman who spoke only when asked to, about a women’s empowerment group that she had started in the community. There was kind of a weird vibe amongst the three of them, but the men went on to stress the importance of women to Bribri culture, and their belief that the earth, oceans, and stars are all women. So I kind of ignored that strangeness that set off my spidey-senses, and embraced the pro-women, feminist ideas they presented.

The next morning, we got up and hiked through the mountains to where they grow their crops.

After our fun, adventurous morning, I was exhausted. We all felt exhausted. But we rallied for our afternoon walk through the medicinal garden. I was genuinely interested in what they had to show us and the information they would provide.

I was mislead, it was one hundred percent false advertising, folks. There was no garden, they took us on a walk through a small patch of woods on the property and explained the Bribri cosmovision to us. This is really where things started to go south.

First issue: turns out they are not feminists. Our guide, one of the same dudes from the welcome lecture the night before, showed us a woman mashing corn between two rocks, a practice that allegedly happens all the time, and proceeded to tell us how a woman’s place is in the kitchen. He tried to spin it, of course, like any good PR-conscious man would, by throwing in terms like “sacred” and “crucial.” Also, in Bribri culture, a woman isn’t ready to get married until she can mash the corn with the rock well enough to their standards. *cringe*

And the whole world was created by trampling a fat girl to death. Yeah. Yeah. I know.

AND THE WORST PART, YOU GUYS! Remember the prop woman mashing the corn on the rock? Well, a girl in our group tried to ask her a question as we started to walk away, and she told us she wasn’t allowed to speak to us. Disclaimer: things do get lost in translation, but this was a native speaker she said this to. Starting to feel uncomfortable yet?

Second issue: man, they hate the West. Which is all fine and chill, but it kind of gets awkward when talking to a group of Westerners. Homeboy was out for BLOOD when he began speaking about Christianity, referencing with such vitriol in his voice how our version of heaven is about nothing but gold, riches, and wealth (this was new news to me) whereas Bribri heaven is about nature and inner peace. He also came for our blonde haired, blue-eyed Jesus (have y’all ever seen a blonde Jesus???) by suggesting it’s not right that the only place you can access him is within the walls of a building. He also hated on the Bible. And blamed the West for machismo culture in the Bribri community. And for everything else wrong and bad in the world, essentially.

While I’m much more spiritual than religious, I cannot emphasize enough how supremely awkward, uncomfortable, and honestly infuriating this entire exchange was. This man made a bunch of snap judgments about an entire group of people based on what…his own personal opinions and biases? Not cool. Not cool for him to do it, not cool for you or me or anyone else to do it. I have a newfound respect for just how uncool it is.

By the time we left the next morning, I felt immense relief getting out of there. The vibes were weird.

Last Stop: La Tarde

La Tarde was our furthest south destination, taking us deeper into the Osa Peninsula.

On our way, we stopped at a beach on Golfo Dulce, the hottest natural water I have ever swam in. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, the heat in Osa was overwhelming and the humidity had me sweating as soon as I hit outside air. We were so far south that we could see Panama in the distance across the gulf.

After the beach we got to La Tarde, by far our nicest, most beautiful homebase.

La Tarde is an eco-lodge that sits on the edge of the Corcovado National Park, and was started by a super cool guy named Eduardo. Eduardo spent 30 years illegally mining for gold in the park’s rivers, making hardly any income, and consequently resorted to killing protected animals inside the park so that his family could eat. He was not the man to go to for a lecture on conservation.

But one day he was approached by a hotel in the Osa area to run tours through the national park, and he quickly realized that that was where he had an opportunity to make money. So when he was done with his two-year contract, he came home and built every structure on the property himself. It’s beautiful, it’s successful, and now he advocates for conservation and protection of the wildlife in the area.

Another thing we did while staying at La Tarde was visit an incredible organization, Ascona, that fights to ensure the little land in Osa left unprotected by the government does not fall into the hands of careless developers ready to destroy precious ecosystems. There are dozens of species exclusive to Osa, so it’s incredibly important to protect these animals and their homes since you can’t find them anywhere else in the world. Ascona does vital, amazing work, so I strongly encourage you to learn more about them and find out how you can donate here. PSA students: they’ll build internships and volunteer opportunities for you as well!

We left Ascona feeling inspired by the work they do and how selfless they are (working for legitimately zero pay), and headed to the outlier stop of the entire trip: an exclusive luxury resort called Lapa Rios. All of their rooms are private bungalows with ocean views and the bidding starts at a cool $1,030 per night.

I was beyond excited. After five days of cold showers and sleeping in either a garage or open-air quarters I was thrilled at the prospect of even just standing in a beautiful lobby for a few minutes. I imagined the fancy conference room they would take us in to talk to us about their establishment’s sustainable practices and how they maintain their eco-lodge status (they’re ranked as one of National Geographic’s most unique lodges in the world).

So here’s what actually happened:

We got to Lapa Rios and they made us wait in the parking lot. Fair enough, we were a little early so they were still getting things ready for us. But once we walked through the lobby out onto their incredible ocean-overlooking deck, the guests looked horrified. They stared at us like we were dirty street urchins sent to steal their children and destroy their lavish vacation. The waiters and waitresses had to rush to each table and explain what us common folk were doing there, and that everything would be okay because we’d be gone within a few hours. The staff was so sorry.

Then, the sustainability manager for the property, a very nice gentleman named Guillermo, took us to where he would be presenting his slideshow: the kitchen.

Legit, the kitchen. At one point a staff member started washing dishes next to me before getting shot dirty looks from Guillermo because, you know, they were trying not to call attention to the fact that they stowed the nasty peasants in the only place where the elite guests wouldn’t see us. And to think I pictured a gorgeous walnut conference table.

Between my own pride and dignity and the fact that the ice machine kept rattling around and scaring the crap out of me during his presentation, I really didn’t get much out of it. Lapa Rios was started by two people from Minnesota. That’s all I have for ya.

Despite all of this, the trip to Lapa Rios was very worthwhile. Background: Costa Rica holds roughly 5% of the entire world’s plant and animal species. The small Osa Peninsula holds HALF of Costa Rica’s biodiversity, so roughly 2.5% of the world’s biodiversity sits in this small area; henceforth, throughout our time in Osa we saw tons of different animals than we typically see in the Central Valley. We saw the greatest biodiversity specifically at Lapa Rios. We saw macaws, toucans, spider monkeys, squirrel monkeys (endemic to Osa), pigs, vultures, wild turkeys, and various plants unique to the region.

 

 

 

 

The monkeys at Lapa Rios were my favorite part. At one point, we were standing in their garden and dozens upon dozens of squirrel monkeys had us surrounded in the trees. Poor Guillermo was working so hard to keep us focused and engaged with him, but these were some of the cutest creatures I had ever seen, and cute pint-sized monkeys > garden plants.

My least favorite part of the biodiversity sector of this trip was a night hike we went on near La Tarde, graciously led by the owner, Eduardo, himself, in which our sole purpose was so find venomous snakes residing by the nearby river. We saw four venomous snakes, and one beautiful, huge lad that was safe to touch. It was a one-and-done type of experience for me because as much as I enjoy walking through the jungle at night with no contingency plan if I did in fact get bit by one of our venomous, slithery friends, I’m not really in the market to feel that type of stress again.

Our last day was rather awesome, albeit rather sweaty. We hiked 3 miles each way to a ranger’s station on the edge of the Corcovado National Park to hear about their conservation efforts. They delved into the challenges of being underfunded, understaffed, and overworked park rangers.

I really felt for them, right up until they said women aren’t allowed to be park rangers because they could never handle the isolated lifestyle, and, they could never go out into the park for days on end because they get periods. They legitimately said this, you guys. So yeah, strangely, I didn’t feel quite so bad for them anymore.

Regardless, the hike was awesome. On the way back to La Tarde, we decided to hike along the river which turned out to be a huge mistake for me. What started out as a nice, chill river with wide walking banks on either side turned into vaulting myself over fallen trees and climbing over, under, around massive boulders. I got my ankle stuck in a hole between rocks, slipped and fell, and failed to effectively climb up a boulder, sliding down into the cold, waist-deep water. Factor in the heat, humidity, and that all I had for lunch was a snack size bag of chips and we had all the makings for a super crabby Carebear. And that’s exactly what we got.

I had never been so eager to hop into an ice-cold shower.

That night, Eduardo threw us a huge going away party. They smoked a pig for hours before dinner, brought in a bunch of beer, and set up a lit-wedding-reception size sound system for dancing once it got dark.

La Tarde was the warmest welcome and most gracious goodbye we received from any of our host places.

So, Student Cari, What Did You Learn?

What a wild, obscure, unique week of my life.

I realized how complex communities can be. That might sound obvious to some, but I grew up just outside a subdivision in suburban Wisconsin. The most complicated thing I ever heard about was a tyrannical Home Owner’s Association.

But when communities are so small and fighting against huge corporations for rights to their own lands, life can be extremely difficult. Both at Longo Mai and Bribri the community representatives spoke at length about how the pineapple corporations perpetually poach their lands, itching to turn them the lush forests into profit plantations. They painted them to be textbook villains: they destroy the land, they use unsustainable practices, working conditions are terrible and pay is even worse. And I believe them.

And yet…members of both communities work at these corporations. Work options are extremely limited in their remote locations, So they end up working for the very people they despise.

And we were served pineapple repeatedly.

It’s confusing and horrifying and maddening that companies exploit people that they know don’t really have another means of income to do hard labor under terrible conditions for shit pay. I can’t imagine how it feels to know you’re selling out a little bit, going against what your community believes in, but knowing you have to put food on the table.

It’s such a universally relatable situation, too. It may be pineapple corporations here, but look at Monsanto in the U.S. [Enter any giant, soulless corporation in any given country here]

But what really weighed heaviest on my mind, what really had my emotional gauge all over the place was how marginalized and othered I felt during points of this journey.

Being judged, and downright attacked, for being a Westerner by the Bribri: rather infuriating.

Getting whisked back to the kitchen at Lapa Rios before the rich clientele had to look at us for long: total bullshit.

I’m white, middle-class, and grew up in Wisconsin…my privilege really shined through in that kitchen. I was madder than almost everyone else about that kind of treatment–it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, they invited us to come to their resort! It was a special kind of anger because it’s one of a very few number of times in my life that I’ve felt the weight of eyes in that way.

PSA: treating others like peasants does not make you royalty. It just makes you a turd.

Don’t be a turd.

Until next time, friends.

 

Special shoutout to another student, Tsubasa, for sharing some of these incredible pictures he took on the trip.

 

So the week before last, I went on vacation. I know, I know. This thing might make it seem like my whole life is a vacation. Not exactly an inaccurate statement.

Landyn’s class schedule operates like a year-round school: 3 weeks on, one week off. This past week was his week off, so we hit the road with 6 of our friends to the Nicoya Peninsula of Costa Rica.

Our first stop: Montezuma.

The day began with a 4:45 wake-up call so that we could make it to our 6am bus out of San Jose. After bussing for 2 hours, we hit a port where we needed to vacate the bus and take a ferry boat across a bay. The alternative is to drive completely up, around, and down the entire peninsula, whereas this route allowed us to just cut across the water to the southern part of the peninsula, where Montezuma is located.

I was not hyped about getting on the boat. For whatever reason, the feeling of a big boat swaying really freaks me out but I love the feeling of a small speedboat zipping around a lake. Turns out the ride was actually very relaxing, and the land formations surrounding the bay made for a gorgeous voyage. There are few things more exciting than your first whiff of ocean air on a beach vacation; the seagulls diving around the railings, begging for a stray cheeto, the mountains, the Latin music playing on the boat, wind in my hair….yeah. That was pretty great.

An hour and a half later we hopped off the boat and got back on our bus (which, to my amazement, was stored away underneath the boat….I did not think the ferry was that big but hey, you go glen coco) and drove another hour through the jungle, basically. One more bus switch and 30 minutes later, we arrived in Montezuma.

It. Was. Hot.

The weather in my town on a daily basis is sunny and 75+ degrees, typically feeling warmer depending on how strong the Central Valley breezes are that day. I’ve adjusted to that heat, but this heat was on another level. The humidity, cloudless sky, and minimal breeze punched me in the face when I got off the bus. I don’t think I stopped sweating the entire time I was there.

We grabbed lunch, checked into our hostel, and hit the beach.

The water was perfect. Even though it’s the Pacific Ocean, and therefore ice cold up in the States, every beach we’ve been to here has the perfect temperature water. The sand itself was a little rocky in some areas, so we had to position ourselves wisely, but the waves and the surrounding views were stunning.

The downtown section of Montezuma was also perfect–just a touch of tourism, a lot of artisanal goodies set up on tables along the street, and plenty of friendly locals that made me feel like I belonged. It was more of a true Costa Rican beach town, rather than a tourist town.

The nightlife was actually rather poppin’ for being such a small town, and we wound up at a bar hosting an Open-Mic Night. Just when I think I’ve got the hang of this Costa Rica thing, something happens, almost like an idiosyncrasy (to me) of the culture, and I’m reminded that I’m a Gringa with a language barrier.

Case in point: I ordered a tequila lemonade. The waitress asked me if I wanted some mint. Now I’m a massive fan of all things mint, particularly mojitos. So when she offered this, I was pumped. I envisioned a tequila mojito with cute little mint leaves in the bottom of the glass, giving me all the vacation vibes I could ask for. When she came back and set this in front of me, I was at a loss for words.

Y’all. Go ahead, take a look. Take it all in. If that ain’t the most putrid looking alcoholic beverage you’ve ever seen in your life, you’re lying. I was horrified, and then hysterical. I could not stop laughing. What went wrong? How did my cute, fun mojito turn into a horrifying wheatgrass smoothie? They blended the mint leaves into the drink.

Why would someone ever do such a thing, I really couldn’t tell ya. But it’s one of those things that got majorly, majorly lost in translation.

One of the cardinal rules of being poor and in college is that you always, always drink the drink, no matter how terrible it is or how much you hate it. You chug that thing because you paid for it and you have pride. Well, old habits die hard and this grassy cocktail was $8 so I plugged my nose and began the process of self-loathing and chugging. My friend Kamil was in the same boat and we just kept looking at each other teary-eyed, half from laughter and half from regret, as we choked down our huge, thick concoctions.

Thankfully the next day was so fantastic it erased all lingering taste of foliage from my mouth.

We woke up early, had a delicious, healthy breakfast at El Sano Banano (10/10 would recommend), and then began hiking toward some nearby waterfalls.

We were stopped in our tracks by an entire family of monkeys crossing the rocks and climbing into the trees.

We forged onward to a towering waterfall and deep swimming hole.

Since it was blistering hot, I thoroughly enjoyed the crisp water. It wasn’t as cold as the waterfall water in La Fortuna, but also not as crystal clear. Regardless, we had a good time jumping off the rocks and swimming around.

After playing at this waterfall for a while, we figured out there was a rugged “trail” you could take to get to the top of the waterfall, and the subsequent falls that fed into the big one.

We climbed the loose dirt to reach the top, and followed a narrow, winding path around to the other falls.

The theme of the day was rock jumping, but when we saw someone jump off the above waterfall, we all said “hell no.”

Except then one of our friends jumped. And just like that, we all felt obligated too. A second friend jumped. Crap, now I knew that if I didn’t do it I would have massive regret once we left. Everyone jumped, I was last on the cliff.

Fear is such a potent, disorienting emotion. Sometimes it propels us to push ourselves outside our comfort zone and do something amazing. Sometimes it protects us from doing something stupid and reckless. How do you know when it’s all in your head and there’s an actual imminent threat? The longer I stood up there, the more times I stepped up to the edge just to walk right back, the more I thought about why I was scared.

The locals who were jumping freely kept telling us that we had to get our body into a pencil dive position before we hit the water, otherwise we could really hurt ourselves because the waterfall was just so freaking high. I kept worrying that I wasn’t going to get straight, that I was going to get hurt. I was so concerned about the aftermath, I realized that what came first, what would get me off the cliff–the jump–wasn’t even on my radar.

I could stand on the edge and worry about something 2 steps ahead, or I could just go with what I could control in the moment and hope for the best after that. Too often I choose the former. So that day, I chose the latter.

Turns out I did go a little sideways, and it definitely hurt. However it was also exhilarating–not just the jumping and falling itself, but knowing that my mind and body was so terrified of something and I did it anyways.

At the bottom, we spotted Howler Monkeys in the trees, and had an amazing view over the edge of the first waterfall.

After cautiously climbing our way down, we hiked back towards the beach. I was riding out my YOLO high and honestly did not think the day could get any better. But then we heard whisperings on the town street of turtles. Baby turtles. The kind of turtles I have waited my entire life to see, the only thing I really wanted out of Costa Rica.

We took off down the beach and found a crowd of people making an aisle from storefront to the water. Lo and behold, dozens of baby sea turtles making their way into the ocean for the very first time.

It was everything. It was the sweetest ending to an already fantastic day.

The next day we took an hour long shuttle up the Nicoya Peninsula to destination number two: Santa Teresa.

When we arrived at the Airbnb house we rented, things were not as the were supposed to be. It was, essentially, a junkyard, and rather than having the entire home like the reservation promised, we were told there were two bedrooms, and the entire family would also be staying in the small home. “Entire family” including a two-year-old and an infant. We had a group of 8 twenty-somethings.

So we were homeless for about 30 minutes, until we drove back down the ONE road in Santa Teresa and found a Selina hostel: a known party-hostel brand located all across Central America.

Santa Teresa is home to world-renowned beaches, famous for their beauty and their strong waves. Surfers from all over the world flock to Santa Teresa, and many surfing competitions are held on its shores. For me, that meant that I was getting TOSSED in these waves; they were so giant and powerful that I could hardly go half as far from shore as I normally would, and even then my feet had a hard time staying on the ocean floor.

After a couple more beach days, we were itching to switch it up a bit, so we got a private guided tour to some waterfalls about 30 minutes outside of town. The first was not quite swimmer-friendly, however it’s one of only seven waterfalls in the world that leads directly into the ocean. It also bordered another beautiful beach.

The second waterfall was the epitome of “off the beaten path.” We drove through a gate JUST wide enough for the van to fit between the posts, and then on a dirt road (with gigantic trenches) back towards some woods, all the while surrounded by cattle on a private farm. One could interpret it as trespassing.

And after all that, we still had to hike down a steep trail in the woods to reach the swimming hole.

The cool water was clear enough for Landyn to do some snorkeling and check out the aquatic life.

It was on this last day in paradise that we were informed by our waitress that the tap water, which we had been drinking for the entire duration of our stay, was not actually safe for consumption. (About 24 hours later, it hit us hard. Especially Landyn 😢)

This last night of vacation was also when Landyn and I ventured out to the beach to check out the stars. We were reminiscing (why does reminiscing underneath a starry sky feel so right?) on how much fun we had on the trip and how great our friends are, but in the same breath how excited we were to get home and chill. Somewhere in that conversation I came to a strange realization: I don’t really know where “home” is anymore.

For someone who used to have a very strong sense of home (and that home was in Wisconsin), this was a trippy realization. But maybe my idea of home was a little too rigid. Maybe you can have more than one.

Maybe home is less a destination and more an emotion. There were moments on our trip that I looked around at my friends and felt very at home, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. But by the end of the week I also longed for Rodeo and our apartment and our dogs. How can you both feel at home and simultaneously miss it? Who knew I’d fall in love with my life in Rodeo so quickly. And where does that leave my life in the Midwest?

What I decided is this: homes aren’t always brick and mortar. Home is a place you feel safe and supported, a place that brings you comfort and peace. Sometimes you’re born into one, sometimes you have to build it yourself, from the ground up. And the people who help you along the way, the people who make you feel at home no matter where you are, are worth holding onto.

Until next time, friends.

Have you ever gotten such a perfect present from someone that you knew nothing else they could get you in the foreseeable future would even come close to topping it?

That is me, right now, about this year’s Christmas present from Landyn to myself. He took me on a weekend getaway to a volcano.

I don’t feel blissful a lot– I’m too in my head for that. But this weekend was truly euphoric.

Our 48-hour home was the city of La Fortuna, directly next to the Arenal Volcano. Scientists thought the volcano was dormant until, in Mount St. Helens fashion, it randomly erupted in 1968, wiping out a nearby small town. It remained active until 2010, and has not had significant seismic activity since then. The volcano’s beauty combined with its interesting (and slightly depressing) backstory have transformed La Fortuna into quite the tourist hub.

Landyn booked us at the Arenal Green Hotel– a charming, eco-friendly resort comprised of individual bungalows scattered throughout the property.

Friday night was spent wandering around La Fortuna, getting into vacation mode, and preparing for our next action-packed day.

We woke up early Saturday morning and set out on a lengthy hike. Landyn had done copious amounts of preliminary research before our trip and thus determined the coolest trails. The one he picked was supposed to be the best in the area, however it was long and rated as a high difficulty trail.

Nevertheless, we wanted to see creatures, get a solid workout, and have amazing views, so we began our 3 hour trek.

Our expedition took us through multiple terrains from grass to lava rocks to dirt. We circled a lake, carved out as a result of the 1968 eruption, and we were surrounded by plenty of creatures: birds, reptiles, hordes of ants marching leaves to their underground lair.

As we entered an area with particularly lofty trees, I looked up to find an entire family of monkeys swinging around the canopy, living their best lives.

There were at least 12. It was incredible.

We pushed onward through lava fields and arrived at the view the online blogs had raved about:

Completely worth the 3 hour sweat session.

After said workout, we were on our way to our next destination when we hit a traffic jam. Odd for the middle of the day, our taxi driver told us it was probably an animal crossing the road that was holding up traffic. Then he pointed and said the three words I have been waiting, dying, needing to hear since I came to Costa Rica: it’s a sloth.

I could have set a world record for fastest exit from a vehicle.

They are exactly how they have been depicted in every animated movie and show that I have ever seen, they really do move extremely slowly, and they are SO CUTE.

After he arrived safely to his destination, we came upon ours–Baldi Springs.

The genius behind Baldi Springs built 25 beautiful outdoor pools and filled them with natural hot spring water that flows underneath the facility. So it kind of feels like you’re at the Wisconsin Dells but there’s no harsh chemicals in the pristine water, and all of the pools naturally vary in temperatures from only 68 degrees Fahrenheit to 116.

It was extravagant and the most relaxed I’ve been since I came out of the womb.

When I leave a normal waterpark, I feel exhausted, my eyes are dry and heavy, and my skin is cracked and parched. But this spring water made me feel completely different. It was refreshing, relaxing, and my skin was velvet soft.

I think for some people, like myself, relaxation is significantly harder to achieve than it is for others. I’ve always known that I need to learn how to relax because stress is so bad for the body and mind and all that. But how do you? How do you explain to someone how to quiet their mind when it prefers to run at a hundred miles per hour all the time?

Gradually, in small doses, I feel like I’m finally learning how to mellow out. Baldi Springs was a perfect place to work on it and it really encompasses everything that I feel “Pura Vida” is all about: slowing it down and truly enjoying the little joys that life has to offer.

We kept this water-relaxation theme going on Sunday when we went to a natural waterfall nearby. (Note: before the relaxing water portion could begin, we had to hike two miles ENTIRELY UPHILL and THEN descend 500 stairs to reach the waterfall. Up, down, up, down…)

This was our Sunday morning pre-waterfall:

This is where we ended up:

I keep feeling like these places I go to aren’t real, this can’t be real life. My typical January is the coldest, snowiest, grayest month of the year. But here I am jumping in watering holes and hiking around a volcano, red-faced and sweaty.

Landyn got me an amazing Christmas gift. But even the less exciting days, the ones spent at home just living in this beautiful place, feel like a gift. Relaxation is a key component to the culture here, and after this weekend I’m finally starting to feel like I fit in.

Pura Vida, friends.

Ten days in and I have finally come to understand something that has previously baffled me.

When my Great Grandma would tell me stories from her childhood, she was one of those elderly people that claimed she walked 2+ miles to school, uphill both ways. Sometimes through six feet of snow. I’d laugh and appreciate her flair for the dramatic, knowing there was zero possibility it could have been uphill both ways.

And then about 12 years later I moved to Costa Rica where I am always, ALWAYS walking uphill. I wish I could call her and apologize for ever doubting her recollection because I finally get it. Uphill both ways.

I had no idea that Costa Rica was so mountainous; the roads are winding stretches of incessant hilltops and valleys. You’re up, you’re down, you’re up again. You plateau, you’re down. You plateau there, too.

The last week has been filled with as many changes in altitude as our single road in town. Allow me to recount the changes in our mental and emotional elevation.

Up:

We hosted some friends from Landyn’s program at our pool, had some beers, a girl from Texas taught me what beer salt is, and we all got a few shades tanner.

Down:

We have only one road in and out of Rodeo, and the city bus from Colón only comes out here twice a day: 6am and 5pm. Therefore, we had no choice but to take an Uber to get all of us back into Colón so we could attend the weekly organic farmers’ market happening that evening. There was one Uber that took 25 minutes to pick us up, and then we crammed seven adults into a Hyundai Accent. My head was essentially in the drivers lap, someone’s legs were outside one of the backseat windows, and the poor gear shift clawed us up the steep hills. The scene once we arrived in Colón looked like one of those old cartoons where the clown car just keeps unloading more and more people. #strugglebus

Up:

The good news is, once we got into Colón the market was amazing.

There was no shortage of delicious produce, coffee, chocolate, cheese (which cost TEN American dollars), and artisanal clothing and jewelry.

Down:

We got back to our apartment that night, and in the middle of FaceTiming my mom I realized there was a sizable lizard on our wall. Okay, not a huge deal, they don’t bite so it’s all good, we just have to get it out. Except we couldn’t get it out because as soon as I tried to sweep it off the wall, it darted, legitimately darted, up the wall, onto the ceiling, and disappeared on the dark wood beams.

While staring up at the ceiling trying to locate this lil demogorgon, we found three additional lizards all staring down at us. Turns out there’s a hole in our living room window screen.

After a ten minute struggle, Landyn and I developed a system: we’d countdown from three, I would fling the front door open, he would brush the lizard off the ceiling and fling it right out the open door. I truly wish I had a video of this because it was a little terrifying, a little exhilarating, and a lot hilarious.

Up:

On Wednesday we decided to rip off the band-aid and trek into Ciudad Colón on foot. Hoofing it allowed more time to take in the scenery, and it was stunning. We noticed a few small trails shooting off the main road, and followed them to a beautiful area with waterfalls, a small river, and deep sinkholes that locals were cliff jumping into.

Down:

Later that evening, I was just about to switch off the living room light for the night when I notice something on the floor. A big something. A something that was turned over on its back, a something I had never seen before but somehow already recognized.

“Landyn I need you to come here there is a BIG ASS bug on the floor and I think it’s a cockroach.”

Landyn finishes brushing his teeth, walks over, and evaluates the situation. Not much to discuss, really, since I immediately made it abundantly clear that this was one I was going to have to sit out.

He grabbed the broom and dustpan (why are we always fending for our lives with the broom at 10pm?? idk either) and was trying to figure out the best angle of attack, which I couldn’t understand because the thing was dead, so just get it the f— out already, am I right?!

I more or less said this, to which Landyn responded “well I just don’t want it to be sleeping and then lunge at me once I touch it” and I honestly remember looking at this man like he had seven heads. Bugs do not sleep on their back like that. That homie is dead.

Or. So. I. Thought.

Again, I wish I had video footage of the mass chaos that ensued once Landyn tried to sweep that cockroach into the dustpan and it ran at him. I do not get rattled by bugs, I really don’t. I’ll defeat spiders or stare down the eyes of a centipede and come out victorious no problem. For whatever reason, seeing this cockroach on our floor pushed me to the edge of sound mind, and watching it resurrect from the dead pushed me right over.

I was screaming incoherently, ended up on top of the counter, jumping up and down, and closed my eyes to hear the smacking of the plastic dustpan on the floor and Landyn’s “oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

Long after the bug was gone, I was traumatized. I’m talking lots and lots of tears. I demanded that Landyn drive me to the airport because I was going home. Told him I hated Costa Rica. Couldn’t fall asleep until 2:30. Still have a hard time talking about it.

Up:

The next day was sunny, 84 degrees, and I spent all afternoon reading by our pool. It was exactly the type of R&R I needed after my cockroach encounter.

(More to come on my furry friend)

Costa Rica has two seasons: wet and dry. Currently we are in the dry season, but there have been some funky pressure systems rolling through here lately creating breezier-than-usual conditions (which is fine by this Wisconsin girl still adjusting to the heat and humidity) and causing a few rain showers during a time when there are typically none.

That evening the heavens opened up, and during the four hour downpour the birds came alive. They were everywhere, and Grandpa Landyn was enthralled.

Up:

We, and eight of our friends, decided to head to the beach for the weekend. We opted for the closest beach to us, Playa Jacó, located on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. It was roughly a two hour bus ride from San José. It. Was. Beautiful.

The water was the warmest ocean water I had ever felt. I could have stayed in it for years. There’s something about the ocean that brings me genuine inner peace. It is wondrous, mysterious, majestic. I find comfort in being enveloped by something so much bigger than myself. It makes me feel like just a blip on the radar in a really great way, like none of my problems, insecurities, or doubts matter much in the grand scheme of things. I have a profound respect for the ocean and its ability to take my ass out if it so chose.

We went out that night and let loose. First stop: pregaming at a hostel on the beachfront.

Our group had played beach soccer with some locals that afternoon, and as we walked down the neon-lit, commercialized main drag of the town, we bumped into one of those locals. Working. As a bouncer. Outside of a strip club. Can you see where this is going?

My first time in a gentleman’s club: in Jacó, Costa Rica, escorted in by the bouncer with no cover charge. Not too shabby.

Down:

On Monday I was on a mission to find myself a more laidback purse– something cute and artisanal. A friend recommended a great marketplace in San José that would have just what I was looking for.

We took the 30 minute bus ride into San José and something was just off from the minute we got off the bus. The streets were crowded and dirty, the people were not giving off the same small-town-nice vibes, and both Landyn and I were overstimulated. But I was hellbent on getting to that market.

And honestly, it got much better after a couple blocks. The street turned into a pedestrian-only type of roadway and there was a vast array of shops and restaurants. We started to feel better about the city. And then something hit my head.

You ever have one of those moments where something really shitty (this will be a great pun in a second here) happens but you know you can’t freak out about it at that exact moment, so you flip some sort of emotional switch to dissociate for a minute?

Well, when I touched the side of my face and hair and discovered green, chunky pigeon diarrhea, I had one of those moments. It was a direct hit that threatened to sink my battleship if I didn’t laugh it off. I calmly told Landyn, who was walking in front of me and did not see the air strike, and for someone not easily flustered, Landyn was horror-struck. I ran into the closest restaurant, stole some napkins, and (dry-heaving the entire time, mind you) wiped the bird shit off my head.

This was ten minutes into our afternoon in San José. I should have just turned around right then and there and taken it for the bad omen it was.

The market turned out to be a solid 35 minute walk from the bus station, they did not have what I was looking for, and neither did any of the other eight hundred stores. When my resolve deflated it happened quickly and all at once. I had crusty pigeon diarrhea still in my hair and on my shirt, I was disappointed, I was defeated.

Then it started to pour on us during our 35 minute walk back to the bus station.

Then we couldn’t find the bus station, subsequently got lost, ended up in an extremely sketchy part of town, and Landyn and I completely lost all chill with each other; our communication ceased to exist.

Landyn and I are fricken solid, man. We can always communicate well with each other no matter how high tensions run or how emotional we get. But the substantial stress of being lost in a scary, unfriendly new place is unlike anything I have ever experienced.

I’m so happy I’m here, I’m so happy we are doing the thing, but I don’t believe in using social media, or a blog, solely as a highlight reel for all the wonderful things happening in my life. Because even though I am having the most magnificent experience and I am unbelievably blessed to be here with the greatest partner on the planet, this shit gets hard sometimes, and it would simply be inaccurate to edit the difficult parts out of the story. A lot of times I think the hard stuff is the story.

This journey has taken the phrase “roll with the punches” to new heights for me. I’ve got some type-A tendencies, I’ve got anxiety, and I like following the GPS. But I’ve got spotty signal here, and that’s okay. It’s okay to say f— the GPS, it’s okay when a stray cockroach takes a lil nap on your apartment floor, it’s okay when you become collateral damage from a bird’s bowel movement in the middle of a crowded town square. It’s okay because it has to be. I have to just let go and be okay with not being in the driver’s seat here otherwise I’ll hate this whole experience. “Trust the process,” as they say in professional sports.

That’s what I’ve been learning to do this week: trust the process. Luckily I have a phenomenal teammate who has always been ready to celebrate the victories and commiserate with me through the Ls we’ve taken. Someone who will buy me a $6 bag of my favorite guilty-pleasure American food when things get shitty.

This is not a highlight reel. This is the true, unadulterated story of our lives here. Just like the picturesque, mountainous terrain of Costa Rica, sometimes we’re up and sometimes we’re down. Some days we’re walking uphill both ways.

Relish the highs, laugh through the lows, and stay grateful for the ride.

Until next time, friends.

WE. ARE. HERE!

The Voyage

Flying in was surreal– we began our travel day in the dark gray ambience of a Wisconsin January, and then we flew into this:

But before I get to that, let’s just recap what exactly happened between my family dropping us off at Midway Airport and our arrival into this beautiful country.

We said our tearful goodbyes and then proceeded to security, where they had a drug dog doing laps around incoming passengers. Pro tip: DO NOT MOVE YOUR CARRY-ON OUT OF THE DRUG DOG’S PATH, EVEN IF THAT MEANS THE DOG TAKES A HIT FROM YOUR BAG. Landyn, bless his sweet soul, made this mistake and we were IMMEDIATELY whisked away into a separate security screening area. They were very thorough: they put us through two different x-ray machines and then still felt the need to wand us down. So yeah…don’t avoid the drug dog while getting onto an international flight because they will assume you’re a drug lord smuggling their loot to Central America.

Our flight from Chicago to Fort Lauderdale was extremely uneventful. By the time we got off the plane in FLL we only had ten minutes until we re-boarded for San Jose. I have a serious flying phobia so I’m not one to get pumped about boarding an aircraft, but damn, when we got on the plane for San Jose we were like kids on Christmas Eve.

When we got off the plane in San Jose I was punched in the face by the humidity. I began my day in sub-zero temperatures and painfully parched air, and just 8 hours later I was in 70 degree sunshine and dense humidity. The change was extreme, abrupt, and overwhelming. I must have been disoriented from it, because the first thing I did in my new homeland was open an “in case of emergency only” door, setting off a shrill alarm throughout the terminal. Guess that’s one way to make an entrance.

Six international planes all landed within 20 minutes of each other, so we spent over two hours in an immigration line with minimal air conditioning. During this time, we witnessed an extremely intoxicated couple’s future go up in flames as the woman found out/announced to all of us in line that her partner had given herpes to another (married) woman. They ostentatiously, incessantly berated each other for over 90 minutes. *Yikes*

Truth be told, I tried to quit this trip about fifty times during our wait in the immigration line because it was just too fricken hot. I was a sleep deprived, famished ship that was sinking fast. I thought there was no way it could get any worse. And then, Landyn and I both watched as a thick red droplet fell from his nose onto the pearly white airport tile. The only scenario I did not prepare for was the one where Landyn’s nose starts gushing blood in the immigration line.

Nevertheless she persisted, and eventually we made it through immigration to baggage claim. Somehow, the magical forces of the universe enabled me to fit all of my essentials into two suitcases, one carry-on, and a backpack. I am currently working on a personal thank you letter to Southwest for their generous baggage policy.

Finally, after more than twelve hours of traveling and quite a few pockets of turbulence, we got into a taxi and made our way to our new home.

El Rodeo

Our apartment is quaint and adorable and has lots of dogs, cats, and birds roaming around the property. I’m immersed in nature and the tranquility that brings is almost unsettling at times because it’s so opposite to my life in the United States. I have a feeling this place is going to be great for my anxiety.

The town is extremely small. The kind where everybody knows everybody and waves and says “hola” and all that. Also polar opposite of my hometown. The people are so nice and so understanding when I speak my pitiful, broken Spanish to them while paying at the tiny supermarket here in town or ordering food at one of the two restaurants. It has really made me consider how we treat people struggling with a language barrier in the United States.

Which reminds me…

On Monday we wandered around the nearby city of Ciudad Colón. The Pura Vida culture is tangible in every vibrant square inch of Ciudad Colón. It is significantly more inhabited and fast-paced than our town, allowing for more of the anonymity you’d find in an American city.

And yet I have never felt more under the microscope. I was stared at. To some extent I get it– I’m a very pale white person and I just dyed my hair a blonde hue reminiscent of Daenerys Targaryen. Not exactly the norm around here.

But when you feel like everyone is looking at you, muttering inaudible words in a language you can’t understand, it really doesn’t matter why they’re staring, it’s intimidating and a little unnerving.

In Costa Rica I am in the minority, and despite my glaring ineptitude at speaking the language and looking the part, they have treated me with such kindness and respect that my cheeks flush when I think about how some people are treated for not speaking English or not looking the part in America.

Language barriers are REAL and they’re hard and scary and you bet your ass Landyn and I are speaking English to anyone down here that can speak it too; it’s easy, it’s convenient, it feels like home. But discomfort is the cornerstone of growth, so Landyn and I are putting in hella hours on Duolingo to see who can achieve Spanish fluency first so that we don’t rely on the complacency that speaking English brings.

Even just three days in, I can tell that this experience will bring me new perspective in ways I never imagined possible.

Until next time, friends.

“No one likes you when you’re 23” –Blink 182

“No one likes you when you’re 23 without a plan” –Machine Gun Kelly

Well, shit.

My name is Cari, I just turned 23, and I don’t have a plan.

Actually that’s not entirely true. In five days I’m moving out of the country with my boyfriend Landyn as he studies International Affairs and Sustainable Development down in Costa Rica. As for me, I’ll be studying…myself?…as well as exploring the Costa Rican environment and culture. I’ve never been to Central America and I am so excited and so terrified and it all comes back to being 23.

Our whole lives we are told “someday you’re going to be in the real world and x/y/z” or “in the real world blahblahblah,” and now I’m 23 and I think I’m in it. I can’t be entirely sure because despite continually referencing it, nobody tells you what exactly this impending, indefinite ‘real world’ looks like, or how to know when you’ve arrived at its doorstep. But now I’m 23––there are no more fun Taylor Swift songs about my age, no more privileges to celebrate like when I turned 18 or 21, and I’m no longer a slave to a syllabus or assignment notebook.

So does that mean I’m now in the ‘real world?’ Am I here? Is 23 young or old? Reckless or responsible?

Moreover, am I falling behind already? Most of my peers are starting careers with 401Ks and benefit packages, beginning the perpetual 9-5 grind. I get it, I really do; work hard, make money, save money, buy nice things, provide for yourself. I have tried this rinse and repeat lifestyle and while it’s advantageous in some regards, I could never rinse the feeling that something was missing, that I needed more.

So what’s an idealistic millennial to do? In my case, it’s to say fuck the backwards, corrupt system. I’m putting happiness first and leaving the rat race on the back burner. Sometimes this makes me feel brave and heroic, most days it makes me feel terrified and uncertain if taking the proverbial road-less-traveled is a really dumb idea. Is that road less traveled because people are too scared to take a chance on themselves, or because that road lands you on the street with nothing?

Maybe this will all go up in flames. Maybe my plans to travel and write, write and travel are completely unrealistic. Maybe I won’t be interesting enough, or pretty enough, or entertaining enough. Maybe you are one of only three people that will ever read this. Maybe Cari Anna Camera is my worst idea yet.

All I know is there is only one thing I fear more in life than failure: regret. So here I sit, opening myself up to criticism and judgment and humiliation because I think I would really hate myself at 45 for not being more adventurous when I was 23 because I was still afraid of condemnation from my peers. Maybe that’s the point of 23. Maybe persisting forward in spite of your own insecurities and fear is how you know you’re an adult, that you’ve made it to the real world, that you’re in it.

With that I’d like to warmly welcome you to Cari Anna Camera, an idea I have had for years. Landyn’s grad school in Costa Rica finally gave me the perfect springboard.

Cari Anna Camera is a view into who I am, what I’m about, and, most importantly, where I’m at. Follow me on the greatest adventure and biggest leap of faith I’ve taken yet. I have a feeling 23 is gonna be one hell of a ride.