Pura Vida Day 7 - Pura Vida!

Friday, August 8, 2008 - The theme the today was Pura Vida or Pure Life. This, apparently, sums up the Costa Rican perspective on living a 'good, relaxed, and peaceful life'. For some, that might mean a quiet day at the beach listening to the whispered philosophies of crashing surf and windy palms. That would not be for us, however. It was a day spent hiking the broad, shady trails at Manuel Antonio National Park.

We started the Arenas golf cart process at 8am - which would take The Gang to our waiting bus at the top of the cliffs. Manuel Antonio is just minutes away from Arenas del Mar, down those winding roads that offer such magnificent Pacific vistas. Upon entering the little town that owes it existence to the Park, I noticed two things: (1) the beautiful public beach was sparsely populated and (2) this didn't matter much given the impenetrable wall of vendors who all but hide the beach from the roadway. I was already dreading the fact that we'd be walking this gauntlet late in the day, and I could only imagine the hilarity that would ensue should I need to haggle with any of these beach-side Vendors.

The road into Manual Antonio literally ends at the Park gate, and this is where the bus disgorged The Gang. Rae and Fico handed out water and snacks to those who wanted them. They also handed out beach towels for those interested in swimming at the park's beach area. We were prepared for this, and easily fit the towels into one of our backpacks. We had also elected to wear our bathing suits under our clothes (on Rae's advice from the day before).

We were split into 2 smaller groups - some of us would be following Fico while the rest would be following a Park naturalist. With a little bit of Sun overhead and gentle breezes to make the humidity bearable, we headed through the gate and down the Park trail for a 90-minute hike. Fico proved to be a great guide (again). With the aid of our own binoculars and Fico's scope-and-tripod affair, we were able to spot scores of animals. I lost count of how many sloths we encountered high up in the forest canopy. The iguanas and Halloween Crabs were also plentiful - as were the variety of frogs hiding in shades of green.

Fico leads the way.

Coming off the trail we found ourselves at the Park's small beach area. Here we had an hour or so to wash the forest humidity from our skin in the warm Pacific waters. JediBoy elected to stay on land with Dee (he felt the waves were too small to warrant his time). BandGeek and I, however, decided otherwise and headed into the water. One of the Junior Adventurers found a coconut shell on the beach, which we used for a spirited game of 'catch' out in the water.

On land, the non-swimmers (including Dee and JediBoy) generally hung out with Rae and Fico around a few shady picnic tables were The Gang's packs were piled. As we had been warned, commando squads of Capucchin monkeys and raccoons paid visits to the picnic tables in vain attempts to grab a pack or two. They have been acclimatized to the fact that 'packs mean snacks'. The monkeys understand how to use zippers while the raccoons take a more brute force approach by simply tearing open the packs. There were enough guards, however, to thwart any monkey offensives while the rest of us chased waterlogged coconuts.

Monkeys are always ready to
lead the way (for a small tip).

Refreshed from our swim, BandGeek and I followed the signs down the beach towards the showers. We found the term 'showers' to be a loose translation of 'trickling pair of hoses nailed to a post'. If we ran only 1 'shower' at a time, we could almost wash the salt from our hair. We soldiered on towards the change rooms which Rae had labeled as 'ill-maintained'. She was being quite generous as it turned out. The change facilities were merely a line of 8 or so washroom stalls - 6 with foul-smelling toilets and 2 without toilets (but foul-smelling all the same). All were in need of cleaning and repair. Fire or dynamite would have worked well, too. Nonetheless, BandGeek and I waited for a chance to use the 'non-toilet' stalls where we would both employ Olympic-caliber balance to quickly change into dry clothes without actually touching the walls of the stall or the ground underneath us.

The Gang proceeded back onto the beach trail to (eventually) exit the Park. Here the Capucchin monkeys came out in force - a crowd of small furry escorts to guide our way. Other Park residents joined in - raccoons, iguanas, and some manner of Costa Rican rodent that was the size of a dog. There was even a Howler monkey or two observing from the tree tops. As the Park path exited into Manuel Antonio, 2 enterprising local old-timers had set up a bridge for us across a tidal creek by parking 2 rowboats bow to bow. It was only when I was fully across the makeshift span did I spy the tip jar - too late to pay these ferrymen.

Looking back to the Park exit
from the Town Beach.

The rest of the afternoon was more or less ours to enjoy. There would 3 hourly shuttles back to the hotel in order to accommodate those who wanted to look around a bit. Alternatively, it was a 20-minute walk to Arenas if one simply followed the beach. We elected to hang out in town for a bit. After grabbing some lunch at The Marlin, we strolled up and down Vendor Row looking (apparently) for just the right souvenirs. I, however, was looking for just the right patch of shade against the hot Sun. The Vendor trinkets were interesting enough and the Vendors, themselves, were never pushy. As a result, Dee and BandGeek managed to find a number of items to add to the inevitable Customs declaration.

Our original escape plan was to walk the beach back to Arenas. The intense Sun and tired legs said otherwise, and we caught the final shuttle back to the hotel. Humiliation was waiting for us in the form of the youngest Junior Adventurer (age 5) who informed me that she had walked back to the hotel with her Mom along the too-hot-for-Crazylegs beach route. I congratulated her with a smile that said, "I could stay up late eating junk food if I so choose and nobody cares that you can walk in the hot Sun. So there.".

With a few hours until our Farewell Dinner, we joined many of The Gang down at Arenas' beach for one last romp in the ocean. Everyone has a great time body-surfing, boogie-boarding, or just hanging out in the surf. After an hour or so, the tide started to come in and the high waves got higher. Rather than risk having bathing suits permanently ripped from our bodies and whisked out to sea, most of us retreated a hundred yards or so to the relative safety and calm of the (lower) hotel pool. The kids played with beach balls while some of 'adults' soaked the salt water away Disney War Stories. I ended up answering a lot of questions about our 2007 ABD London/Paris trip.

Arenas' beach - my lasting impression.

Soon it was time to retire to our rooms and prepare for the evening ahead. All luggage had to be waiting outside our rooms by 9:30pm - they would be leaving for San Jose early to await our arrival the next day. We also had the evening's Farewell Dinner ahead of us. By 6:20pm we had our bags packed and in place and we were making our way back down the trail to the beach-side pavillion where Dinner would be served.

The seating area was well-decorated with long tables covered in cloth and fine china. Wine, beer, and softer beverages flowed freely. As we found a place at one of the tables with our friends from St. Louis, I realized that I would genuinely miss many of the folks on this tour. Saying good-bye in the morning would be a little tough. I made a point of tracking down Rae and Fico to casually hand them their tips and give them my heart-felt 'thanks' for the week behind us.

The Last Supper - ABD style.

Dinner was a delicious buffet consisting mostly of Arenas del Mar specialties. I can whole-heartedly recommend the Black Bean Soup! With dinner out of the way, Fico presented the inevitable slideshow - a slickly-produced montage of the bazillion pictures that he and Rae had taken throughout the tour. I marvelled (again) that our Guides ever got the chance to sleep! As the lights went up after the show, Rae and Fico gave their onw thanks to The Gang, and even offered a few personal comments on the importance of preserving the Earth in all her natural glory.

One last surprise was waiting for us. One of The Gang - as it turned out - was a young lady of 21-ish years of age who was training to be an opera singer! For our entertainment, she sang a selection from Pirates of Penzance and simply wowed the audience. It was almost a Hunter S. Thompson moment - sitting by a Central American beach on a warm Summer night listening to crashing waves and a beautiful operetta. How freakin' cool was that?

And so it was that we collected our sleepy Adventurers and trudged one last time up the switchback trail to our room. We would need our sleep, form tomorrow would prove to be a very long day.

Pura Vida Day 6 - Pacific Journey

Thursday, August 7, 2008 - Another sunrise was hidden behind a deluge - it was raining in the rainforest. But never mind, for our bags were packed and set outside our door for those mysterious forces who would spirit them away towards the Pacific sands while we enjoyed one last breakfast on the slopes of Arenal Volcano.

After one last solitary walk of the hotel grounds - umbrella and video camera in hand - we were on the bus and making our way to La Fortuna to kill some time before our flight to Quepos. Over 40 rain-free minutes, we strolled the sleepy streets, poking our heads into shops to buy coffee and souvenirs for those left behind in more northern latitudes. La Fortuna is actually a lovely little town with it's central park and iconic church-tower framed by Arenal - her attendant clouds in the distance.

La Fortuna in the shadow of Arenal

Next stop was the La Fortuna air-strip where The Gang would board 2, 19-seat Twin Otters that would take us West, over The Great Divide towards the Pacific coast. Boarding the planes was complicated in its simplicity - get off the bus, walk across the airstrip, and get on the plane. If you like, take some pictures on the airstrip. Pose with the pilot. And leave your shoes on. A bewildering process for North Americans. In celebration of these strange, new freedoms, I made a bandolier of extra-large water bottles whilst employing a nail trimmer to clean the soles of my platform shoes. Oh yeah, I'm a Bad Boy.

Welcome to Nature Air!

While only 35-minutes in duration, the scenery from the Twin Otter was nothing short of breathtaking. The jungle plateaus of Arenal gave way to the mountains that serve to divide the flow of rivers, East and West. Small villages appeared here and there and I wondered why they were there. Soon, we could glimpse the twinkling of the Pacific waters and follow the salty foam where ocean meets sand.

As we exited the planes at Quepos air-strip, we were met by Sun and warm breezes. It felt tropical! Waiting for us were 2 shuttle buses ready to whisk us 15 minutes down the road to our next home - Arenas del Mar. The road from Quepos hugs the Pacific cliffs and around every bend was a new ocean vista that would elicit actual Ooo's and Ahh's from The Gang - the surf, the rocky shores, the small islands all furry with green.

Arenas, as we would learn, also hugs the Pacific cliffs. The entrance gate is more-or-less a welcome station where we found an efficient squaron of 6-seater golf carts waiting to drive us down the winding switchback trail to the hotel proper. Along the way we spotted iguanas, sloths, and even a few monkeys. It felt like we'd arrived at an ocean paradise, really and truly. But this was only the appetizer.

Scenic Shuttle Service

As our rooms were being prepared, we were treated to a barbeque lunch on Arenas' private beach. The buffet and barbeque were setup in a shady grove with plenty of tables and chairs setup on the fine sand. Beyond the welcoming shade was the pounding surf in a little cove that resonated Pirates of the Carribbean. One could almost imagine Disney built all this just for us, because no place like this could exist by chance. Translation: Sipping a cool Imperial on a Pacific beach under a palm tree with the smell of barbeque in the air was just about the best time I could have imagined right then.

After lunch it was time for play. The hotel had supplied boogie boards for us, and the kids and Dads put them to great use in the pounding surf. Many Moms pulled chairs into the shallow surf to supervise the smaller kids. At almost 3 hours into our Beach Afternoon, the dark clouds came rolling in from offshore. Weather was coming for us, but it was time to find our rooms anways.

Our ocean paradise under threatening skies.

Just off the beach is an open air lounge/bar, which is where we gathered while Fico and Rae handed out the room assignments. As families were assigned their building and room numbers, hotel staff stepped in to lead us in the right direction. All in all, a very organized procedure, I'd say. Our room was up the cliff near reception, and our 3rd-floor room afforded us an amazing sweep of the Pacific - punctuated by rocky, green islands just off the coast. It was picture postcard perfect!

The rooms themselves were splendid. At the center was a living area with couches and chairs looking our floor-to-ceiling sliding doors towards the water. On either side of this room were 2 bedrooms - one for the kids and one for the adults. Off all 3 rooms was a large terrace that pretty much spanned the entire living space. This would all do quite nicely.

As we were settling in, the dark clouds became rain and intense wind - a storm off the Pacific! The howling was almost surreal. The force of the wind and rain was enough to force no small amount of water around every opening in the living room's sliding doors. It wasn't long before the tile floor was a puddle extending 4 feet into the room! We gathered bath towels from all 3 bathrooms and jammed them along the bottom of the doors. They were quickly soaked, wrung out, and soaked again. One call to Housekeeping and we found 2 hotel staff at our door with mops and many towels. They assured us they would take care of everything, and that was our cue to find our dinner (complimentary umbrellas in hand).

The kids would be dining back down at the beach open-air lounge for a Junior Adventurer's night. The agenda for this event (led by Rae and Fico) was a mystery, known only to our Guides and only the highest levels of the Masonic Lodge. The adults would be dinng in the hotel restaurant near Reception. The menu was ours to explore, and Disney would cover the bill. Any thoughts of a romantic dinner with Dee evaporated when we met the rest of The (adult) Gang in the bar area. Our good friend from St. Louis offered that we all dine at one long table, together. And that's just what we did.

Kids' night out

The meal was great. The wine was great. I cannot remember having such a relaxing good time. We simply ate and laughed for 2 solid hours. It's a rare thing to suspend One's cares so completely - and I was glad to be in the moment.

But by 9pm we needed to collect the Junior Adventurers, so we went down the winding paths, en masse. By all accounts, the kids had a fine time watching a movie, eating junk food, making crafts, and playing games. From the youngest 5 year-old to the hippest teen, they were smiling and thanking our Guides for a wonderful evening. I think they were in the moment, too.

Back to our rooms, we found all traces of the storm wiped from existance. By 10pm, all were in bed save Your Scribe. I elected to sit in the living room, journal and pen in hand, warm Pacific breezes drifting through the open door, keeping the moment just a little longer.

For The Lack of a TARDIS

Since no one is mailing me cool toys to divert my attention, I have a large mouthful of "fuck you's" to share. So here's one.

A big 'fuck you' goes out to the 20-something knob in the red, late-model Mazda with the sunroof. Tossing your empty beverage cup out the sunroof may have impressed the girl in the passenger seat, but it just makes you look stupid. But don't lose any sleep - I picked it up for you.

Fucker.

And your plate starts with 177.

Why I'm Losing Weight

I hate noise - I mean really hate noise. Nothing sends my gut into rolling spasms quicker than late night sonic assaults from hormonal young'uns and their portable steroes. That goes double if there's rap music involved - and there usually is, you know. And please don't get me started on the topic of squeaky trampolines that never stop - well - squeaking.

In the 13 years we've lived at our current address, we've had the odd episode of noisy neighbours. I'm sure we're no different than most manicured suburban neighbourhoods. Of them all, only one episode became a Summertime Obsession that made for bad feelings and one ineffectual call to the front desk down at Police Central. The resolution: the teenaged bad seed turned 18 and was given the boot. We all applauded.

After the past few years of blissfully pleasant Summers where we could sit on the deck and hear the little chirps and warbles of Nature - a new Summertime Obsession has materialized. Ironically, it's the same house as our last episode. You know, the one with the rainbow-coloured blinds whose backyard overlaps ours by just a few feet in the northeast corner. Yeah, that one.

It started with a portable pool and kids spalshing about - not a problem. We have a little pool just like it. It escalated with the arrival of a trampoline that serves as a diving board for the pool. Okay, we can live with that, too. The thing sits kind of close to the fence and maybe isn't optimal for (our) privacy - but no problem.

Then came the backyard entertaining. Dad, the emcee for these events, strikes me as the biker type - bald, goateed, tatooed, a beer gut that belies a history of muscles, and a voice that rasps gravel and too many smoke-breaks. Son is thin, pale-skinned, and brush-cut. He's all about gangly fidgits and bored meanderings about the yard. Beyond these two, there seems to be an occasional cast of supporting characters, including various kids from 6-ish on up to mid-teen as well as a few adults supplying by Central Casting. And all of them swear a blue streak. Where our neighbourhood is concerned, it is without malice and snobbery when I say that these folks just ain't from around here. They are The Osbournes without the benefit of money and an interested audience.

They love kickin' back, it seems, and spend part of most weekend afternoons and evenings with their like-minded friends sitting in their unkempt backyard playing in the kiddie pool and sucking on cans of Blue Light. I know it's Blue Light because I can see the crushed cans littering their yard from our bedroom window. But all that doesn't bother me. It's sweet to see families and friends connecting. And I can always plant more cedars if need be.

The problem: noise and profanity. It's breathtakingly loud and stunningly lacking in class. As the Blue Light flows, so does the stream of 'fuck' and 'asshole' and 'bitch' that is literally shouted through the 'burbs for all of us to experience. I'm not a prude, but this assault is more over-the-top than anything I've experienced in the hockey locker room or on the factory line. Backyards (mine and others) are rendered unlivable during these innocent soirees.

So now Ozzy's neighbours (we're calling our new friend Ozzy), spanning two blocks and a dozen families, are massing for the attack. Ozzy's next-door neighbour has tried once to work things out. Things, of course, did not get worked out.

We are gathering intelligence. Ozzy is a single Dad and Son is 11 years old. Son does not like school and Ozzy has told him he doesn't have to go to school. Son seems to spend the day on his own, often playing his boom-box too loud in the backyard. Son seems to spend a lot of evenings on his own, too. We had hoped Ozzy is renting the property, but it looks like maybe he owns the place and is putting down roots.

The police have been consulted, and they're too busy dealing with student parties to pay much attention to our little problem. Video cameras are capturing the occasional evening bonfire. Ozzy's next-door neighbour has consulted a lawyer. The neighbours want and need to do something collectively, but aren't sure what this something might be.

And underneath it all, we dream of using our backyards once more. We dream of letting Little Ones play on their swingsets without the sonic assault. Some of us secretly pray for rain and snow - and wonder where the For Sale signs might land come Spring.

Fucker.

Pura Vida Day 5 - The Jungle Cruise

Wednesday, August 6, 2008 - Today was the day we answered the age-old question, "Which helmet looked more ridiculous - that which we wore for zip-lining or the one we donned for white-water rafting?". You're right, it's a trick question. They both give the wearer a decidedly tuber-like shadow. It really comes down to whether the tourist underneath looks better in blue or white plastic.

I digress. As I pointed out to my friend David, my verbosity obscures the uneven quality in these dispatches from the jungle. I suppose this means that these little digressions serve a purpose, but this day was long enough without such tangents - so let's begin!

This was the longest travel day of the week. After another early sampling of fried plantains, rice and beans, and tamales, The Gang was settled in on the bus by 8:15am for a 2 hour journey to Finca Corsicana. In other words, the morning would be spent at a pineapple plantation. The weather was, once again, overcast with uneven waves of light rain. As the winding roads took us through varied small towns without names, I struggled to avoid using the lens of North American sensibilities to 'see' how rural Costa Ricans lived. But I continued to be struck by the seemingly down-scale shacks and bungalows that peeked out from the foliage - their windows sometimes framing an expressionless face as our colourful Mercedes coach slid by. For those who preferred their reality to be more artificial, The Incredibles played on the screens above our heads.

Once at the plantation, the skies brightened sufficiently to cause some of The Gang to slather on the sunscreen. Our host, Danny - wielding his expert knowledge of pineapples and an oh-so-sharp machete on his belt - led us from the 'welcome center' into a nearby field to begin our lessons on organic pineapple farming. We were instructed in the finer points of planting and selecting a ripe pineapple. Danny had (and in all likelihood still has) an excellent blend of genuine humour and a interest in farming. While I was sure that he must have delivered these lessons to many groups such as ours, I never felt like I was watching 'just another tourist spiel'.

A teacher and his pupils.

Our preliminary lessons having concluded, we all climbed aboard a quite well-appointed open-air trailer for a journey somewhere into the 28,000 acres of pineapples. Our trailer was pulled by a shiny green tractor under the expert control of Diego. Danny continued our lessons on the finer points of All Things Pineapple as our caravan powered down muddy laneways in search of ripe fruit. On arrival, Diego waded into the field and picked a number pineapples which he tossed football-style to Danny. We would be eating fresh pineapple, we were told, and could consume as much as we all liked. This is where Danny's skill with a machete would be proven. With a few deft strokes, the husk was dispatched and the fruit inside was cut into finger-sized strips, still clinging to the core. Fico and Rae had the pleasure of handing out these treats. The whole thing worked as an assembly line - from Diego supplying the raw materials, Danny supplying the artistry, and Fico and Rae supplying the rewards to The Gang. I cannot remember having this much fun on a farm before.

Diego readies his throwing arm.

After sacrificing a decent chunk of Finca Corsicana's future profits to hungry tourists, Diego pulled us back to the main complex where a surprise would be waiting. There, in the open air cafe, was table after table set with plates of fruit cake, plates of (more!) fresh pineapple, and virgin pina coladas inside hollowed out pineapples. It was lovely - and quite filling! After these refreshments and the obligatory opportunity to case the gift shop, we were back onto Andreas' bus for the next leg of our journey.

The whitewater rafting venue, on Rio Sarapiqui, was nearby. Our journey down the river would begin at a seemingly unlikely spot as we pulled into a laneway protected by industrial-looking buildings. The laneway became 'dirt road', however, and it became evident that we were headed further off the beaten track to find the river. On arrival, lunch was waiting for us in an open-air pavilion - a buffet affair centered around an abundance of soft tacos with lots of choices for building our own creations. It was a satisfying meal in a peaceful setting. Even the nearby iguanas seemed to be restful.

Alas, poor JediBoy (my son) had a brush with Costa Rican wildlife as he finished his lunch. He jumped from the table exclaiming that his leg felt like it was on fire. With Fico's help, we discovered he had been bitten by a nasty brand of caterpillar - not uncommon it seems. A little cooling salve from Fico's kit was all he needed in the way of repairs, however. We also spied a couple of shy (and elusive) Poison Dart Frogs near by. Unlike the caterpillar, they caused us no grief, and seemed to divert JediBoy's attention away from his itchy leg.

Lunch behind us, it was time to test ourselves on the rapids! We filed back onto the bus for transport up-river to our 'putting in' spot. There we found our river guides waiting with our rafts and our gear. Assembly-line fashion, we were issued helmets, lifejackets, and paddles for the afternoon ahead. The final step, a lecture from one of the guides on the mechanics of rafting and taking instruction from our rafting guides.

My family of 4 shared a boat with Fico - piloted by our new friend, Elizabeth (an American earning her keep as a Sarapiqui river guide). Off we went in search of Class 2 and 3 rapids. A footnote: Class 1 is akin to your bathtub while Class 5 is somewhere close to Niagara Falls. Rio Sarapiqui would fall somewhere safely in between. Another footnote: those not wishing to test themselves in the crucible of white water could opt for a gentle float trip down a calmer branch of the river. For the record, no one in The Gang would settle for anything less than frothy mayhem in the warm waters of the Sarapiqui. Adventurers all!

Grim preparations for the challenges ahead.

We shot some rapids (the roughest being early on) and spent time splashing the other rafts as they came near. A common thread through the journey was wildlife. We spotted sloths, Cormorants, herons, vultures, and monkeys at every turn. At the halfway mark we all put ashore for a welcome break and were surprised by an informal buffet of local fruits set out on an overturned raft. I think our raft was paddled quite well - following all of Elizabeth's commands and avoiding losing any of our number. I came oh so close to falling out only once, and thanked the Fates that my feet were firmly entrenched in the raft's toe-holds.

Danger awaits at every bend.

All too quickly we were back at the landing spot, where towels, change facilities, and plastic bags (for our wet clothing) were waiting for us. An added bonus was the barrel of beverages - including local beer - that was offered up for the thirst tillers. I, for one, enjoyed my cool Imperial as I sat on the bus and imagined what kind of images I had captured with my waterproof camera.

Now it was time for another 2 hour journey back to Hotel Kioro. As Monster's Inc. kept people amused via the overhead screens, I may have dozed a bit. Maybe.

We were back in our rooms before 6:30pm. Dinner would be a la carte in the Kioro's restaurant, and we opted to get there early so as to afford Dee enough time to get to her spa treatment later in the evening. The food was very good. Even through my fatigue I managed to enjoy my succulent piece of sirloin with Roquefort sauce. While Dee begged off early to run to the spa, the kids and I elected to punish our full bellies with rich deserts and black coffee. Heaven.

After dinner the kids summoned the energy to don their swimsuits and meet their like minded chums at the outdoor hot springs. I elected to write in my journal amid the solitude of the hotel room. My only interruption was Dee - back from spa experience - looking relaxed and happy.

We slept well. Tomorrow would be another big day spent winging our way towards the mighty Pacific - and the next phase of our Costa Rican adventure.

Pura Vida Day 4 - The Road To Arenal

Tuesday, August 5, 2008 - No matter how tired we were the night before, we always seemed to be the first ones at breakfast. This day was no exception, and I could only conclude that we just were not getting the hang of this 'vacation thing'. On the plus side, Fico was not far behind us and, with his help, we were able to spy a pair of large toucans from the restaurant balcony. That was pretty cool.

The day's Big Event would be zip-lining - something we were really looking forward to trying. I had been dutifully tracking my weight for weeks to ensure I was nowhere close to the 220lb limit. I typically hover around the 200lb territory, so my biggest fear was getting turned away because I was - you know - a little close to the limit (safety first!).

In contemplating the day ahead, I got to wondering exactly how the idea of hurtling through the air on a tethered wire got started. I mean, what was that conversation like? Did it start with, "Hey, listen to this idea, dude!"? Or was it more in the vein of trying to crack the thorny problem of rapid transit in mountainous jungle areas? However it came about, I was sure at least one of the inventors looked and sounded like Keanu Reeve's character from that Bill and Ted movie.

By 8:45am we were on a bus headed for Sky Trek - picking our way down the bumpy dirt roads that skirt Arenal Volcano. The rain was already starting, but we would not be deterred. Our first task on arrival was to suit up - helmets, harnesses, leather gloves, and our own very own pulleys. I felt so eco-hardcore, and just a tad intrigued by the overt bondage vibe one gets from being harnessed and cinched. Next, we made our way to the SkyTram - a set of 3 gondolas that would take us on a scenic trip up the mountain or, depending on one's state of mind, deliver us to our Maker.

The view from up top was incredible - the lush jungle canopy and the massive man-made Lake Arenal below us. One of our zip-line guides, Freddy, instructed us on the finer points of flirting with danger. He explained how we would be hooked to each line, how we should hold our legs to avoid those embarrassing rope burns on our thighs, how to stop, and what to do if we don't make it all the way to the other end of a line. Sadly, Freddy did not teach us how to avoid soiling ourselves or how to dodge large bugs and monkeys along the way. I assumed these skills would come naturally.

Each of us tested ourselves on 2 training lines - short and low to the ground. From there, we would traverse 6 successive lines down the mountain, with the entire trip taking something north of 1 hour. We were also given 3 warnings of sorts: the first line is the highest - coming in at 600 feet from the rainforest floor(!), the fastest line is the final one - with speeds reaching up to 45mph, and once you do the first line you are committed - there is no other way down the mountain.

BandGeek & Friend launching
down the first line.

My first-born, BandGeek, was the first of our family to brave the lines. As with most kids, she actually rode tandem with another kid - both of them clipped to the same line and hanging onto each other - to ensure there was sufficient weight to make it all the way to the next platform. And made it they did! I went soon after. To describe the sensation of being Out There - high and fast - cannot be described by my own puny words. It was the closest brush with flying that I shall ever have. It was not exciting in the sense of a carnival ride - all stomach tickles and happy nausea. Rather, it was the exhilaration of hanging out in space in a place so foreign.

Dee comes in for a perfect landing.

The Gang snaked its way down the mountain - cheering each other on at every platform. I think we could actually sense the group starting to gel, and that added a sense of occasion and anticipation to the week ahead. For myself, I could not imagine being anywhere else - with anyone else - right there, right then. As we completed the final (and fastest) line, the heavens opened. The light rain that struggled to penetrate the jungle canopy all morning turned into a downpour just as made our way into the base station to surrender our gear. It had been a good morning.

Lunch was held back at Hotel Kioro as The Gang waited out the morning's adrenaline rush. The afternoon activity would be more sedate. We would be trying our hand at hand painting gourds in the traditional Costa Rican style. Upon arrival in the 'great room' that had been set up for this event, we found long tables filled with paints, brushes, and gourds. We also had the benefit of 3 local native artisans to help us with our lack of artisitic talent. Also helpful was the fact that each gourd already had a pencil-drawing of an animal - frogs, snakes, etc. - and we need only refer to nearby pictures and paint in the right colours. This was a lot of fun and quite a relaxing way to spend a rainy afternoon in the rainforest. Eventually, most of the kids filtered out to the games room (or somewhere), leaving a number of us adults to paint in peace. For our family, we now have 4 brightly-painted masterpieces adorning our Family Room wall.

Going native with a gourd.

The evening was spent at Hidalgo Hot Springs - a private, family-run establishment at the base of the volcano. It must be seen to be full appreciated, and I will not do it justice here. The focal point is a set of 5 large hot springs - each will successively hotter water fed from the volcano. The setting is lush jungle, natural woods, rock, and discrete lighting. As one moves to the next pool, there is a convenient bar that serves various beverages - beer, liquor, soft drinks, even non-alcoholic tropical smoothies. This is significant on 2 counts. First, the beverages are served in plastic containers that can be taken into the pools. Second, beverages are purchased on the honour system. Since it's a tad inconvenient to carry a wallet in a bathing suit, Hidalgo asks that you keep track of what you order and then pay for it as you exit the premises. All in all, a low-key, relaxing time (even if the change rooms are a bit on the cramped side).

After a hour or so of lolling about in warm water, sipping a cold beer, and chatting with new friends, The Gang made their way to an open-air dining area where dinner had been setup. The buffet offered dishes of variousd types: chicken, beef, fish, rice, etc. The kids even had the option of hamburgers, pizza, and fries (although the majority of kids elected to stay with the adult fare). The hot springs and libations had served their purpose in generating a relaxed vibe within The Gang, and dinner was as lovely a time as I can remember. Yes, I said 'lovely' - and I don't use that word lightly.

Fairy lighting in the rainforest
at Hidalgo Hot Springs.

The bus ride back to the Kioro was pleasant enough, and we all assumed that the evening was close to 'officially over'. We were wrong. Fico and Rae announced that a shuttle would run that evening to the far side the volcano to see the lava flows. The theory: the day's heavy rains should mean that the clouds would have moved along, affording a view of the volcano cone. Those of us who had an interest could partake of the excursion to (hopefully) witness lava flowing through the night sky around Arenal.

My family, of course, jumped at the chance - although some elected to stay behind (I presume they were still enjoying the sleepy afterglow of Hidalgo's libations). After a brief pit-stop at Kioro, our driver, Andreas, pointed the bus in the right direction and we slipped into the Costa Rican night once more. When we arrived at the Secret Volcano Spotting Grounds, we encountered a number of other lava-seekers who'd had the same notion. It was a slightly surreal atmosphere - all of us standing beside a lonely single-lane bridge, waiting for a sign from above, with only the occasional headlight to pierce the blackness. It brought to mind a scene from Close Encounters. While the skies were still misty, the veil did part for a moment or two - and we saw lava! All told, I'm guessing we saw tumbling boulders and flowing, glowing lava oozing from the cone for a grand total of 1 minute. But it was worth it. We cheered and pointed without really knowing why. I suspect our excitement sprang from the unconscious knowledge that most of us would never see such a sight again. Of the millions of people who have walked the Earth, only a very small percentage had ever scene the visceral beauty of an active volcano (and survived). It felt kind of cool to be in such exclusive company. The entire expedition, from Kioro to volcano to Kioro, had lasted about 90 minutes at the end of a very long day- all for 60 seconds of excitement. It was totally worth it.

The gravy: While getting ready for bed, Dee and I once more witnessed the clouds part over Arenal and the volcano's cone glowing red and sputtering cinder. Exclusive company, indeed.

Pura Vida Day 3 - The Tropic's Rainbow

Monday, August 4, 2008 - It's the first official ABD tour day, and my clock is still out of whack. I greet the morning Sun with a smirking "What took ya so long?". On the plus side, we easily meet the 8am deadline to have our bags packed and waiting by the door for those mysterious folk who'll collect them for us while we sip coffee elsewhere.

The sunny day starts with an ABD Welcome Breakfast in the poolside pavillion. It's a lovely buffet affair, with a few families already seated around one of the large round tables. Rather than claim an empty table for ourselves, we join a family from St. Louis who turn out to be great folks. Our Guides, Rae and Fico, do the intros and info-sharing once the whole gang is there. Each family takes turns introducing themselves - Dee does the honours for our clan. It turns out that we're not the only ABD veterans in the room but we are the only Canadians.

By 9:15am we're on the bus for our first leg of the week's journey. Dee and I sit together towards the front of the coach while our kids gravitate towards the rear with the rest of the Junior Adventurer crowd. Through some kind of telepathy or kid-sonar, Nintendo DS devices are unsheathed for group gaming. While silently a little bit jealous, I resolve to make a public display of my Awesome Powers of Parenting by reminding my kids that - for the record - Costa Rican scenery trumps Mario Kart. Other parents seem to agree - or silently opine, "The Canadian dude is a bit of a dick.".

Over the next 90 minutes we emerge from the Central Valley into the surrounding mountains where coffee is grown. As Fico narrates the geography and history of Costa Rica, we follow the narrow, winding roads higher still - beyond the coffee farms - until we reach the cloud rainforest that engulfs La Paz Waterfall and Butterfly Gardens. It has started to rain in the humid high altitude, so we make sure that we have the appropriate jackets handy. Rae and Fico hand out ponchos and umbrellas for those that need them.

Coffee beans meet the sky.

The Gang splits into 2 groups. We follow Fico, first, into the Butterfly House - one of the largest in the world. Butterflies of every colour and shape are everywhere - and it's marvelous! Fico tells us everything there is to know about what we're seeing, and implores the kids to collect 'dead butterfly wings' from the floor (they'll be used for a project later in the week).

Next up is a hike through the rainforest down into the valley to find a series of waterfalls. I thank Dee for insisting we buy water shoes, as they keep us safe on the wet and slippery (and steep!) pathways. The rain is coming harder now - propelled by warm, moist trade winds climbing the mountains around us. At times, we're actually shrouded in clouds!. While the jungle canopy is shielding from most of the downpour, I silently smile. "How cool is this - to be wandering through a rainforest in the rain!", I think. I get that otherworldly feeling, just for a second, when I remember that 'home' is 2500 miles away and 50 hours in the past.

Our first jungle waterfall.

We hike by several waterfalls, all of them spectacular in an Indiana Jones kind of way. I lose track of how many pictures we take and how much video I shoot. I'm simply glad to be in the moment. I feel oddly small and content - another reminder that the world is much bigger than I am.

It's nearing lunchtime. An old school bus, painted green, is waiting for us at the bottom of the valley. It shuttles us topside where a buffet lunch is waiting for us in an open-air pavilion perched on the edge of the Cloud Rainforest. It's amazing. What's not so amazing, however, is the lack of coffee in my cup. My timing is stunningly bad in that every time I go seeking a cuppa Arabica from the beverage station someone is off refilling the decanters. Fate is definitely testing me given that I've been awake since 4:30am and have just completed a hike. Somehow, I avoid taking a life, despite the fact I never do find a cup of coffee. My table-mates, of course, are completely unaware of how precarious their lives have been over the past 45 minutes.

Lunch behind us, we have some free time to explore the La Paz complex on our own. We elect to check out the reptile house, the frog house, and the hummingbird garden. With the exception of the small birds, everything else we see is either poisonous or at least hangs out with something else that is poisonous. I become suspicious of the hummingbirds' place in the jungle hierarchy.

Soon it's time to get back on the bus for the 2-hour trek to the day's final destination, Hotel Arenal Kioro. The rain never seems to let up us we follow more twisting roads through Costa Rican farmland. For those that tire of looking out the window, a DVD movie is shown (Disney, of course).

Hotel Kioro, a fairly new complex, is perched on beautifully landscape slopes in the shadow of Arenal Volcano (one of the country's most active volcanoes). The check-in process for The Gang is super-easy. All the rooms have been pre-assigned and listed (by name) on a number of index cards setup in the lobby. With a simple signature, we are escorted by a hotel guide to our room (rooms are in a series of buildings that dot the hotel grounds). We have 2 adjoining rooms - and they are incredible - tile flooring, lovely tropic furnishings, hot tubs, and a commanding view of the volcano through floor-to-ceiling walls of glass. The kids are in their glory, of course. Not only do they have their own room, but they have a hot tub to call their own. If only I'd known they were so easy to please.....

Soon after receiving the grand tour of rooms, a knock on the door signals that our luggage has arrived. We have some time to rest and unpack before heading over to tonight's Dinner Celebration in the hotel's banquet room. Dinner is buffet style with many excellent Costa Rican dishes and a good supply of alternatives for the less adventurous. BandGeek and JediBoy make me proud by diving into the local cuisine. They may not have liked everything, but they tried it all.

As we work our way through various courses, the evening's entertainment gets underway with a trio of gentleman singing and playing Tico folk songs. These fellows - who hold day jobs as dental assistants and construction workers - are really good! They play 3 or 4 songs and bid us a good night to wild applause. Next up are a group of high-school girls who perform a number of traditional dances for The Gang. They are in a school club, it turns out. They are also good - and very spirited in their shouts and stomps across the floor. They finish up their performance by gathering 'volunteers' to learn a few steps. One young lady tries to draft JediBoy to no avail. She tries to draft Yours Truly - also to no avail (which I will later regret). But our dancer succeeds in dragging Dee up to the floor, where she will learn that she is not a natural-born Costa Rican folk dancer - even though it's a lot of fun.

Swirling young ladies.

Our evening ends will a stroll through winding pathways back to our rooms. The rain has stopped and the clouds have dissipated a bit. Incredibly, we look towards the cone of Arenal Volcano (some 5 miles away) and discover that it's glowing red. Something like sparks are tracing ruby spider-lines into the sky. We are seeing lava and we're smiling and pointing at our good fortune. It's been an amazing first day.

Arenal steams in the distance.

Pura Vida Day 2 - Tico Rhythm

It's Sunday, August 3, 2008 and we're in San Jose (just play along, okay?). According to the 'ABD storybook' provided for Pura Vida tour, today is Day 1 of the tour. Don't be fooled - today is Day 0 of the tour, for we're all on our own without any Disneyfied activities on the schedule.

It gets dark early in Costa Rica - by 6pm or so. Cruelly and predictably, it gets light by about 5:30am. As a result of awakening by 4:00am yesterday and coupled with the 2-hour time difference, I'm awake before the Costa Rican sun. Today is going to be difficult, and I'm pretty sure that I'll be testing the local coffee quite extensively today. The morning is bright and sunny - and I can see mountains out our window. Or maybe they're volcanoes. I make a mental note - albeit with very messy mental handwriting today - to find the travel book that clarifies this point.

We rouse the kids and hit the breakfast buffet in the hotel restaurant. It offers a lot of the generic American Business Hotel fare: eggs, sausages, etc. I opt to go native from the starting line and load up on fruit (plentiful and tropical), rice-and-beans (peppery goodness) and tamales (something akin to mashed potatoes cooked inside a banana leaf and tasting excellent). And, of course, coffee.

Tico Tip: Waiters will arrive at your table with 2 jugs: one containing coffee and one containing warmed milk. If you answer in the affirmative about wanting milk with your coffee, you'll get half you cup filled with warm milk. Otherwise, you get rich, black coffee.

Bellies full, we take advantage of the morning sun by hitting the hotel pool. We do this immediately after breakfast rather than safely waiting 1 hour. When one of the kids points out this safety fact, Dee and I gently explain that the 2 hour time-zone difference from 'home' makes it okay to swim. We take the kids' eye rolls to signify grudging acceptance of this biological math.

Around 10am we're back in the rooms in time to answer the telephone. "Frederico!", I think. I'm close. It's our other ABD Guide, Rae, who's called to introduce herself and let us know when she'll be in the lobby for a meet-and-greet. She sounds very nice on the phone, and I'm at ease now that ABD has coming a-callin'. Down to the lobby we go to meet Rae - and Frederico. We chat a bit, and discover that Rae is good friends with our ABD guide from 2007, Alex! I feel like the world just got a little bit smaller. This, of course, conjures up small dancing dolls and a neverending song in my coffee-addled brain. I make another illegible mental note to avoid doing this again. We also learn that Frederico goes by the nickname Fico. With our lanyards and assorted brochures in hand, we are ready to meet the day in San Jose.

At the Concierge desk we inquire about the Coffee Tour - which has received great reviews on several websites. Alas, we're 15 minutes too late for the 11am tour, so we opt to take the 4-hour San Jose City Tour. The Concierge makes the arrangements and instructs us to be in the lobby by 12:45pm where we'll be picked up for the tour. Since we have a bit of time, we hit the Multiplaze (again) for a quick food-court lunch.

Sure enough, a small tour bus pulls up to the hotel by 12:45pm and a driver comes in to collect us. He also collects a few other families for the tour - families who will turn out to be fellow ABD Adventurers in the days ahead. Yes, this is foreshadowing.

I won't spoil the City Tour (too much) for anyone who may consider doing it. It's a good way to see a bit of San Jose - which is not really much of a tourist town to begin with. The Tour involves a pretty good historical dialogue as the bus drives through various areas of the city. To get to that dialogue, however, you may have to endure a bit of a 'milk run' as the bus stops at other hotels to pick up other interested souls. Since we were one of the first hotels on the route, we win a 1 hour tour of other hotels. To be fair, it should have been a 20-minute process, but the police were busy closing streets (in an already-gridlocked city) to make way for a Cow Parade. You cannot make this stuff up.

With extensive English and Spanish narration, we see old buildings, run down buildings, historical buildings, heavily-fortified buildings, and a few parks as the bus negotiates the narrow streets of San Jose. Normally, the tour includes a peek inside the National Theater, but we have to settle for walking around its outside since it was closed for the day. We then walk across the Plaza Cultura to the Gold Museum, where we receive a narrated tour of ancient Tico gold artifacts. Back on the bus - we make a few more stops.

San Jose's National Theater

First, the President's house. Yes, his house - in a nice subdivision. It's protected by a police car, a security camera, and a couple of plainclothes security guys. I'm pretty sure I see the curtains move, so I'm guessing the President is home trying to avoid tourists. Or maybe he owes the paperboy for a few weeks of Tico Times. It's nice to see people are the same wherever you go.

The final stop is the inevitable gift shop gambit at a place called Esmerelda's. To be fair, the place was actually interesting. They make various gold and silver pieces using pre-Columbian designs and methods. We're escorted inside by a very young fellow holding a police stick and an umbrella (over our heads). One inside, the doors are locked, we all take a seat, and a nice lady gives us a lecture about their products and methods. The lecture ends with a give-away of a small gold charm. We're asked (all 21 of us) to pick a number between 1 and 21. Dee, who is the second person to choose a number, wins the prize! Why the other 19 of us go through the tension-filled process of picking unique numbers remains a mystery. Afterwards, we are let loose in the store, where we actually buy a few things. The staff there are very helpful and never pushy - a refreshing experience compared to other 'gift shop stop' experiences we've had.

The President's Place

We're the second stop for the post-tour drop off, and by 5:30pm we're back in our rooms making dinner plans. By this time the rain has started in earnest, so we opt for the hotel restaurant (again). The evening ends with packing and organizing, for tomorrow morning the Disney Pura Vida experience really begins!

Okay - Let's Do This

The Theater lights are on again - yellow lightbulb glow on fading red satin curtains. The floor has that familiar stickiness. The popcorn smell is all at once warm and stale.

I'm back.

But first, a little bidness. David, my congrats to you and yours on the arrival of your new bambino! Finally, the 4th controller has a set of hands. As others have undoubtedly made you aware, it all changes now. Kid Number 1 is no longer outnumbered. Be prepared, my friend.

Now, it starts - the Costa Rica trip report for all my friends over at Disboards.

Saturday, August 2, 2008. 3:35am came way too early this morning, but the alarm said I needed to get up and so I did. I never fight the alarm - it's bad karma. We needed to be out the door by 4:30am to catch our 6am flight out of London Slightly-International Airport. The plan: fly from London to Toronto Pearson. From there we'd push our loathing for Pearson Airport deep down into our guts and catch a direct flight to San Jose, Costa Rica. We'd spend the next 5 and 1/2 hours tempering our mistrust of Air Canada with the fact we were headed to sunny(?) Costa Rica for our Adventures By Disney tour: Path to Pura Vida (Spanish for Pure Life).

The trip to Central America was more or less glitch-free. Everything was on schedule. Air Canada has switched their in-flight entertainment over to personal video-on-demand, which affords hours of movies, TV, etc. via touch-screens built into each headrest. It was a little finicky to use, but it did allow me to watch a brutally editted version of Caddyshack and a few episodes of Big Bang Theory (a not-unfunny geek show, sorta). Once in awhile, I'd even read a few pages of Heart-Shaped Box.

We touched down in San Jose at 12:30pm local time as the clouds started delivering a light rain. The airport: smallish and modern. The Customs line was long but moved at lightspeed towards courteous officials who smiled as they stamped our passports. Being North American, I was immediately suspicious of any kind of good experience at an airport. It was obvious from the get-go that Costa Rica knows the importance of tourists to their economy (tourism is their number one industry these days).

As we passed through Customs we were immediately met by a nice fellow holding an Adventures By Disney (ABD) placard. We were on his list - and so he slapped some sticky-backed badges on our chests and propelled us towards Baggage Claim using Spanglish as fuel. All I could figure out was that (1) we needed to get our bags and (2) the stickers would magically get us some transportation.

Bags collected, another fellow materialized from the crowd to direct us to some kind of transportation. Either the badges were working, or we were about to be taken hostage. I put my fears aside and followed him. His partner materialized with a baggage cart and soon we were all following our luggage out of the airport to.... something. Just when it couldn't get any more bewildering, a nice lady wearing an ABD golf shirt appeared by our side. In a burst of friendliness she produced a van (oh, *snap* David Copperfield) that would take Dee, JediBoy, BandGeek, our luggage, and Yours Truly to the Real Intercontinental Hotel. Somehow, it all worked. I just don't know how, but I'm guessing there was math involved. Or magic.

The trip from the airport was an eye-opener. Poverty is not the right word - but whatever it was, there was way more of it than I had expected. Lots of shack-like buildings with rusted corrugated-steel roofing. Fences and bars protected everything. Those lucky enough to afford it would top off their defenses with razor wire. People went about their lives: waiting for buses, shopping, watching me watching them. It was a place so foreign. The narrow streets turned and dipped at crazy angles as small cars and brave motorbikes zipped through traffic. Eventually, old pavement gave way to newer, faster pavement - and we arrived at the decidedly more upscale environs of the hotel.

The Real turned out to be a standard-class business hotel. Except for the palm trees, Spanish signs, and frenzied drivers, the hotel could be just about anywhere. But this would be our home for the next 2 nights until the tour officially left the starting line. The ABD Golf Shirt Lady let us know that we would be met at the hotel by one of our ABD guides - Frederico. Sadly, there was no Frederico to be found, so we simply checked ourselves in with the expectation that ABD people would find us. The only bump we encountered was that the hotel had our 2 rooms on different floors (we had requested connecting rooms when we booked through ABD). Once we pointed out that the kids' room needed to be close by, they fixed it so that the rooms were separated by only one room. Good enough.

We lounged in our respective rooms for awhile. I floated in that semi-state that always finds me on a travel day. I marvelled that, in the course of 8 hours or so, I had gone from my bed in London, Ontario to a much more comfy bed, in the heart of Costa Rica, where I needed only to move my eyes the tiniest little bit to see palm trees and mountains. Amazing, although this kind of marvelling is, admittedly, far cooler in the Wintertime.

By 4pm, our bodies were sure it was 6pm (London time) and, therefore, ready for dinner. Being the Lonely Planet kind of travellers we are, we headed into the mall right next to the hotel (Multiplaza Escazu). The journey was interesting insofar as cars do not feel obliged to stop or swerve for anything - be it pedesterians, on-coming traffic, or confused baby bunnies. We bought our way across the road by being bigger risk-takers that the locals behind their steering wheels - running quickly with our kids held in outstretched arms all the while shouting. "We are tourists! We have tourist money!". It seemed to work.

We found some familar signs inside and a lot that were not so much. The basic mall-meme was there, however: stores, neon, kiosks, crowds, cinemas, food court, and semi-sit-down restaurants with vaguely Irish names. Since we're always up (or is that down?) for Gibson-esque juxtapositioning, we selected an Italian restaurant in the mall.

With the waiter's broken English and my broken Spanish, I was pretty sure I'd get served the wrong end of an exotic sea creature or end up buying the entire joint their meals. But it all worked out and the food was actually quite good. Of course, I was a tad jet-lagged and had a mild buzz from a couple of Imperials (the local beer). The price: 29,000 Colones or CRC - which is about $60 give or take.

After dinner, we shopped a little bit and made a stop at Cinnabon for a late dessert for the hotel. I made a mental note that the mall cinema was showing Batman with Spanish subtitles. That could be a cool activity - something that David Bowie would write a song about. I elected to keep keep that observation to myself since since I seldom seem to make any sense to my family. Digression!

Arriving back at the hotel, we found ABD 'goody bags' had been placed in our rooms. This was a good sign - they knew we had arrived. By 7:30pm we had eaten our snacks (for better or worse, they tasted like Cinnabon should) and we were all ready to power down. I wrote in my journal a bit while Dee flicked through channels on the TV - a melange of American stations, Spanish versions of American stations, and various local channels. It was dizzying seeing some shows in Spanish, some shows dubbed into Spanish, and some with Spanish subtitles. There's something patently kooky about watching Japanese anime dubbed into Spanish - so many layers of indirection.

Cognitive dissonance aside, it was a pretty good travel day. Tomorrow would be a free day to do as we pleased. We had ideas, but no plans. Our only goal - see something, and hook up with the mysterious and elusive Frederico.

The Path to Pura Vida

As infrequently as I seem to be posting these days, the Theater is going dark for a week. At 6am tomorrow morning, we'll be strapped into our seats out at London Slightly-International Airport for what will be an 8-hour trek to San Jose, Costa Rica.

Call me Bwana if you must. Over the next week we'll hike through rainforests, watch glowing lava ooze down Arenal Volcano against the night sky, try our hand at zip-lining over the jungle canopy, and shoot (mild) rapids down a Costa Rican river. And, it seems, we'll be doing a lot of this in the rain. But no matter - it'll be an adventure.

Due to an unfortunate incident a few weeks back, I'll have no personal Innertube technology this trip and it's unlikely I'll post anything here until I get back. That is, if I get back. The jungle is a dangerous mistress, you know. It's full of monkeys - face-biting monkeys.

Wish me luck.

Laugh, And The World Laughs With You

Every work-a-day morning, for more years than I can remember, I've walked into my building and spotted this box on the lobby wall. It's labeled 'Pre Fire Plan', which has mystified me time and time again. So every work-a-day morning, for more years than I can remember, I've told myself the same little quip.

"Must be filled with oily rags and matches", says I to myself. And then I smile all the way across the lobby, where my coffee will be waiting for me.

Oh sure, I could ask our building maintenance guy, Ray, what the heck that box is all about. And Ray would tell me because we've both been there long enough to be on a first name basis. But then the mystery would be gone, as would my morning smile.

Electrons Roam Freely Now

Last weekend was Week 4 in my forced experiment to see how many consecutive weekends I could traverse Hwy 400 north of Barrie. This weekend, which would have been Week 5, is being spent at home - looking for some normalcy (ya right).

Back to Week 4. It was the final sojourn to Dee's family cottage, with the express purpose of picking up the kids and bringing them home again. I always enjoy these missions of mercy because I know that the kids will be waiting for us on the cottage dock with the ruddy-faced thousand mile stare that says, "I need pizza. I need neon lights. I need a shower without mice for companionship. And I need The Internet".

It's nice to be loved.

The minor goal for the weekend was to help Dee's Dad complete some deck and dock repairs. Even after 20 years as part of Dee's family, I'm still a 'marry-in' and I still feel like I need to be pitching in. The fact that Dee's Dad is shade past 70 years and can out-work me might have something to do with it, too.

With chores done, we left for home on Sunday. Being at the mercy of an available boat driver to take us back to the marina, we inevitably left the cottage a few hours later than I had hoped. While this has been the way of things for two decades, it still puts me in a slightly black mood as I contemplate the drive ahead. As is the custom, our arrival at the marina means that I jump out of the boat, tie off, and head up the hill to bring the van down for loading. Whilst I search for the van, the rest of the crew hauls the luggage from the boat and drags it up the ramp for loading.

This time, there was a hitch. As I brought the van to a stop at the top of the loading ramp, I noticed JediBoy holding on to my embarrassingly old-skool iPod - his arms outstretched with the the unit in one hand and the ear-buds in the other. Odd, I thought. Why would he have my iPod just now? I then noticed Dee's Dad holding my pack with his arm held out in front of him.

In a flash, I knew what had happened. JediBoy had tripped on the ramp and let go of the pack he was carrying. The pack - my pack - landed in the oily marina water. A nearby dock-steward fished it out with a pole, but the pack had been submerged for a solid minute.

The pack - my pack - contained clothes, a book, a magazine, and electronic stuff: my old iPod, my old handheld GPS, and my seriously-needed Palm Tx. In the following few minutes I took whatever measures I could to remove water from everything while projecting an air of calm for all those around me. The clothes would dry, but everything else - books and devices - would not fare so well.

That was a week ago. Today, the book has been replaced (the old one was unreadable) and the iPod seems blissfully unaware that it ever went for a swim. The Palm, however, is battered and near death. I was able to retrieve the important data there (phone numbers, calendar entries, and little notes to myself), but the screen is mostly ruined, the battery charging circuitry is dead, and the wireless support is trashed. As for the GPS - he flickered to life a few times and even worked for a few minutes. Ultimately, he's trash, too.

I've gone through the emotions. Anger gave way to a resolve to fix things. My resolve eventually gave in to acceptance. JediBoy feels terrible about things, of course. So I've had to make a point to let him know he did nothing wrong, and that's sometimes it's okay to be upset about a situation without needing to place blame on anyone.

I've suppressed the need to run out and buy replacements for this stuff. That's all it is - stuff. The GPS was a gift from long ago. The Palm was an impulse eBay purchase. Both were useful while they were alive, but I think I'm going to try going solo for a bit and see what happens.

I feel positively Amish about my new-found freedom - untethered from needing to know exactly where I am, exactly what I should be doing, and exactly where The Internet might be lurking. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a new Disney podcast cued up on my iPod.

Cottage Lit 101

Okay, I'm back. You can tell because I have that healthy tan and hobbled posture that result from spending a week at a cottage doing mostly repair work. The dock needed work, a water pump refused to pump, a deck was losing its stain, a lawnmower sounded like a cat was trapped under its blade - you get the picture. It wasn't a particularly relaxing vacation, but it was a change of scenery and did give my lawn some well-needed time to grow itself beyond reasonable mowing limits.

In amongst the foraging through old coffee cans for decent-looking 5" bolts and swatting at a record-sized squadron of mosquitoes, I did manage to get a few books read.

I finally got around to reading The Yiddish Policeman's Union. I say 'finally' because I'd been avoiding the book on the vague pretense that I might not like it. I don't why I felt that way because I did (mostly) like The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay.

I have to say, I really liked this book. It took a few pages to grok the decidedly-Jewish dialogue style. After that small hurdle, it was a great read. The alternate-history that back-drops this crime mystery is fully imagined. While essential to the story, Chabon does not beat you over the head with clever minutia about his fictional Sitka, Alaska. The book's other strength is in the characters. They, too, are fully imagined and the story left me wanting to see these people again some time - always the mark of a great read for me.

So I guess I'm recommending this one. After all, it did win a Nebula award.



Okay so here's an embarrassing fact: I had never read the entire Watchmen story before last week. It was one of those things I always meant to do and just never did.

What can I say? I loved it - it's a masterpiece! I'm curious to see how it will translate to film in 2009, and I'm avoiding watching the video diaries over on the film's website. How long can I hold out?

Another fact: I lent the book to my 12 year-old JediBoy. I was concerned that some of the content (you know, sex and violence) is beyond his tender years. This was tempered by the assumption that the story might be too complex for his liking. Well, he devoured the thing inside of 2 days. He said he really the book, but - being who he is - he felt compelled to (seriously) point out that Watchmen does contain a lot of gore and sexual content that might be inappropriate for a 12 year-old. That didn't stop him from reading the book, however, and it did allow me to score points by assuring him I felt he was 'ready' for such a book. All in all, a soft-focus, feel-good moment for both of us.

Our final review - Spanish for Dummies. This represents my token effort to prepare for next month's trek through the mountain jungles of Costa Rica. The book - co-developed by the Berlitz people - is surprisingly well-written. However, the structure of the lessons is a little baffling in that I don't get a sense that I'm building my understanding in stages. I guess I just have to trust that someone knows what they're doing and I'll eventually have some kind of Ah-Ha moment.

Alas, I'm only a quarter way through this book and I seriously doubt that (a) I'll finish it before our trip and (b) I'll be anywhere near mastering the Spanish language.

But, dammit, I'm trying to make an effort here.

Gone Fishing

Come 5am Saturday morning I'll be pointing the rusty van towards Orillia to rescue BandGeek from 'band camp'. Assuming she has not gone feral and does not require medical intervention, we'll continue northwards for a week-long sojourn at Dee's family cottage - located in the environs of Parry Sound, Ontario.

This is all to say, I'm going off-grid for a week or so. With my dearth of posts in last few months, this is unlikely to be noticed. But let me leave a little something behind:

We have a neighbour cottager who has been living on the bay year-round. He keeps sane by keeping a blog. And, no, it's not post after post of "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy".

The venerable JediBoy has dipped his toe ever-so-slightly into the land of Machinima. It's a first effort, okay? Okay?

Now for the Ick Factor. Verne Troyer - he of Mini-Me fame - made a sex tape. Inevitably, it has been released into the wild. A bit of Googling will find a clip. OMFG. Just....OMFG. But you know you'll peek, won't you?

So long for now.

How Bill Gates Made Me Smile Warmly

While Kerouac had something else in mind, I'm sure, I recently took an odd little road trip of my own that I'll never forget. Nor will I ever remember it exactly as it happened. Really, all I'll ever remember is the lump in my throat, a surprise discovery at 120kmh, and Bill Gates' handiwork.

The Beginning: My oldest spawn - known 'round these parts as BandGeek - was nominated by her school to attend something called a music leadership camp. She was obviously excited (along with proud Mom and Dad) about the opportunity to spend a week away from home - with other teenaged grownups - getting some professional music instruction. On the other hand, she quickly grew tired of the "last summer at band camp..." jokes that seemed so necessary to me. It's true - we are merciless at our house.

And so it was that last weekend found me driving BandGeek, 3 of her school chums, and their assorted backpacks and instruments some 3.5 hours north to OELC. Up the mighty-yet-boring 401 we went, across the bland 407, merging onto the fearsome 400, veering northeast on 11 past Orillia and, eventually, down a single winding lane that stops at Lake Couchiching. The time flew by for me, listening to these 15 and 16 year-olds making their own fun and even including Old Crazylegs. It is a rare occasion that I get to see BandGeek in her natural setting - not my daughter, but her own secret person - and I loved it.

The Middle: We were met at the camp gates by a teacher/counsellor and given our instructions. First was a stop at the registration tent to be checked-in and given cottage assignments. Next was a visit to a small building where the obligatory camp shirts would be dispensed. After that, the boys in my charge would proceed down one path to settle in while I would escort the girls down a separate path to their own cottages. This would leave the kids an hour to explore the grounds before their first 'camp meeting'.

In all of this, something emerged the ether - I was leaving BandGeek on her own. She'd be gone for a week - a long way from home and without parents or any other family nearby, keeping her safe. This was a 'first time'. I marvelled at that thought for a minute, but I didn't let it bother me. She's a good kid, an independent kid, and she'd be okay.

Ssoon she hugged me good-bye and whispered, "I'm going to miss you, Dad". Then the lump - out of nowhere - was hard in my throat crowding my tongue. I choked it down. I told her I'd see her in a week and assured her (and me) that it would be fun. A moment later, she was off with her friend to explore.

The End: I walked along the shore of Couchiching back to the van, with nothing left to do but go back the way I came. I had no more purpose now, other than to call home and let them know I was coming. A few klicks down highway 400 with the van cruising at a comfortable 120kmh, I slid a newly-burned Peter Gabriel disc I'd ripped from one of my old cassette tapes. The first notes of In Your Eyes played, and there it was - a sound out of step. It was a 'wrong' sound, but a familiar trill that I couldn't quite place even though I knew it shouldn't be there.

Gabriel rasped through the chorus and then the sound was there again. A trill, followed by another trill, and soon several more. Then it was clear to me. It was the 'MSN sound'. It was that little warbly trilly sound when someone you're chatting with on MSN says something while you're chatting with someone else. It was BandGeek. I remembered she was using my PC to chat with friends while the PC was also recording the Peter Gabriel cassette. I'd messed up the process and somehow recorded all the sounds on the PC - not just the cassette. While I was reasoning this out, there was an explosion of trills. BandGeek must have in fine form that night - jungle drums and party lines for the Internet Age. I laughed out loud.

I suddenly felt better, less anxious. BandGeek was there with me when I least expected it and sorely needed it. I resolved to bug her a little less about wasting hours on MSN. And I resolved to hug her tight when 6 days would bring me back to Couchiching.

'V' is for.....Ventilation?

I hate buying clothes. Strike that. I hate having to buy clothes - going out deliberately to shop for an article of clothing. With the possible exceptions of underwear and jeans, wandering around stores looking for something to wear generally feels like a criminal waste of time that invariably ends with bad feelings all round. I chalk it up to the fact I spent my formative years (far) East of Adelaide where genuine Levi's were for fancy boys with real money.

So, of course, I was shopping for clothes last weekend. In a little less than 2 months we'll be traipsing through a Central American rainforest and, according to Dee, I'm woefully under-clothed for the expedition. I've seen National Geographic and I know the lack of modesty shown by the locals down there, but Dee has seen too many Tilley Endurables adverts to let me off the hook.

Out I went - and I think I did pretty good, too. I got myself a lovely pair of overpriced NASA-designed jungle pants that can turn into shorts. They're made of space-age materials that block the Sun's evil rays and, apparently, never get wet. One of the dozen or so tags on the pants uses the phrases 'wicking action' and 'extreme punishment' quite a bit, so I'm pretty stoked to see the kinds of adventures I'll be having when I wear these pants. I'm thinking: Kathleen Turner (the '80's version) and golden idols or something.

I also picked up a couple of shirts put together by the same Nobel-winning scientists. They're even separate colours - pretty unusual by guy standards. But here's my beef: I can't find V-neck t-shirts anywhere. I like V-necks. They ventilate well, they don't feel constrictive, and they afford an oppotunity to display a bit of chest hair when the need arises. But these space-age polymer shirts are, like, crew-neck or something. When I wear them I spend all my time pulling the front of the neck opening like some kind of lame Rodney Dangerfield impersonator.

Perhaps they'll keep jungle spiders from falling down my neck. Oh, the sacrifices I make for eco-tourism...

Something For Everyone As World's Collide

I don't know what to make of this actual headline:

Daughter of George Lucas in Auckland fight

Somewhere, I imagine, the gods are laughing at us.

Because You're Never Alone

My Innertube friend, Kid Dork, had a Very Bad Day recently - so this post is for him. The rest of you can chat amongst yourselves for a bit. This will only take a minute.

KD, you obviously had a karmic meltdown on Monday. So here's your silver lining: you made me feel much better about my own Monday. You see, I spent Monday in jury duty. Just a whole day of sitting around, really. Normally, I'd appreciate a day away from the Evil Megacorp who pay me to implement their evil designs. But this was actually a day off that was inconvenient because I have a billion deadlines that would drive me to work a bit in the evening.

Not cool.

To make matters worse, the courthouse air conditioning was busted. Even the fans we're offline, so there was absolutely no movement of air - save the occasional fanning of legal pads from listless legal types. The high points: lots of free ice water and I was not selected for a trial jury on this, my second trip to jury duty.

Still - there was no spilling of Tim's liquid energy and no one rammed my ancient minivan. So thanks, KD. You've given me perspective.

And for that, here's a little pick-me-up I'd been saving for a special occasion. I hope you don't already have one. Enjoy!

I Am In Freakin' Awe

There are Star Wars fans and then there is Michael Kaminski. Out of pure love for fandom, he's written The Secret History of Star Wars. It's free, it's 500+ pages, and it's pretty damn good stuff. I wish had that kind of motivation, but here I sit working up the energy to wash the dishes.

Super Happy Fun Seizures

In a recent post, Mr. Dork opined on the joys of perusing magazine racks. I'd normally supply a link, but I'm lazy and Mr. Dork has too many posts to sort through in order to find something so specific - although he's certainly not on the same level of blogpost-proliferation as a certain Mr. Goodness. The latter is a subject on which Mr. Dork has also seen fit to make comment and I'm sure that if anyone Out There is interested they could just point-and-click their way through his blog on that count, too.

So, magazines! They're fun to find and the next best thing to finding them is having them find you. And so it is that 4 times a year my cherished Make magazine finds me - or, rather, my mailbox. I've probably blogged this subject, too, so you have free rein here to look it up.

Anyways, a few issues back Make included plans to construct a device called The Brain Machine. This gizmo is based on the premise that targeted frequencies of light pulses and sound can produce altered states of consciousness. The science (or lack of it) contends that the brain's alpha, beta, delta, and theta wave-states are consistent with varying levels of relaxation and concentration. While an EEG can certainly measure these brain responses, the Brainwave movement contends that these states can be induced through light and sound.

So it was that JediBoy asked if we could take on this project. It only sucked up a few hours of our time to build and probably set us back a mere $35 in parts. Jediboy got to learn a bit about soldering little pieces of wire to a circuit board and manipulating software on a chip. The results (seen above) have a certain geekiness that just screams for some background Theramin music.

The software that runs our Brain Machine is more-or-less a script that generates blink rates for the LEDs in the eye lenses and binaural sound frequencies through the headphones. All this blinking and humming is generated at different rates for varying durations to take a Guinea Pig through different stages of relaxation and concentration. Out-of-the-box, the software runs through a 14-minute cycle of brain-scrambling, but this is all customizable to whatever effect you might want.

The real questions on your minds are, "Did you make contact with a higher consciousness? Was L. Ron Hubbard right all along?". Alas, the effect of the Brain Machine is quite unexpected and not entirely clear altered-consciousness-wise. Something does happen, but I'm not sure what it means.

Consider the effect on your vision when you close your eyes and then rub them vigorously with the balls of your hands. For many people, this produces vivid black-and-white geometric patterns. Imagine this in Technicolor with 3D effects and a strong sensation of motion (the good kind, not the bed-spin kind). The Brain Machine is kind of like that. And when the script changes from one brain wave state to another, your sensory experience changes immediately, with new colours, new motion, and new patterns.

It's a fun experience, and we may experiment some more with the software and see what other effects we can produce. But I can't say that the experience leaves me with even the most fleeting ability to operate on a Vulcan's brain. But I'll keep trying. I assume I'll recognize Xenu when I see him.