I wake from my sleep in the small town of Samara, situated on the central coast of the Peninsula de Nicoya, to the waves of the Pacific crashing just outside my window. It had been a rough night due to the myriad of insects which had feasted on my girlfriend and I; a few Excedrines are necessary to prepare for the headache which I know is close at hand.

We decide to take off from the coast and head into the interior of Costa Rica. A look in the Lonely Planet guide book steers our thoughts back to Monteverde, the town where we had originally wanted to begin our adventure. Leah and Laura tell us that they want to continue north along the Nicoya coast to Playa Tamarindo, so we exchange email addresses and say our goodbyes. We had traveled the last 5 days as a group and now, as we sit at different bus stops it is hard not to feel a little disconnected.

A violent burst of thunder, followed by a quick fall of rain precludes our bus´ arrival. It is an old, blue, Laidlaw school bus and contains only half of its original seats. We pay our fare, climb aboard, and try to find a seat that is bolted down to the floor. The ride is rough, and every minute or so the bus stops to pick up passengers who are standing in the pouring rain.

An hour later we pull into the bus terminal in Nicoya. It is a bustling center of activity full of travelers, merchants, and cab drivers. There are men selling newspapers and women selling fried pastries. Beside the station is a rather large market area, the obvious destination of most of the now soaked, road side passengers.

I wonder around the terminal, inquiring, in broken Spanish, as to the whereabouts of the bus to Monteverde which I know must be near. A man who speaks a little English explains to me that there is no bus directly to Monteverde and that I will have to instead take the bus to San Jose and find a connecting route. I grumble, knowing this will take an entire day of hot, rough traveling. Jess and I find a small soda, or lunch counter, order some breakfast, and discuss hiring one of the countless cabs to take us straight to Monteverde.

After stuffing myself on torta and Fresca, I seek out the cabby with the most friendly face and ask him the price to our destination.

“One hundred fifty dollars”, He says.

So, I look for another cabby.

[More:]

A minute later, a man a black and white checkered shirt walks up to me and tells me that he will take the job for $120. Not having much choice other than wasting an entire day riding back to the capital, we accept, throw our bags in the trunk of his typical red Hyundai cab, and head northeast to the cloud forests of Monteverde.

He introduces himself as Orlando and tells us that he loves America. It’s a reassuring thought. Orlando proves to be as good a tour guide as he is at darting past other drivers on curvy, uphill roads. He points out various trees and plants, and even manages to spot a sloth sleeping high in a tree.

As we cross the Puente La Amistad, a narrow portion of the Golfo de Nicoya, we can see the approaching mountains leading into the cloud forests ahead. Mist hangs like white fingers tickling the thick, green peaks. The temperature outside the cab is noticeably cooler and drops of moisture begin to fall on the windshield.

“Lluvia”, Says Orlando.

“Yea. Rain”, I say. “Lots of it.”

During the hardest storm we have seen yet in Costa Rica, we arrive in the center of Monteverde. A small town, it seems to exist only as a response to the growing number of eco-tourists coming to see old growth rain forests. Every window in this one-street town contains signs boasting the best prices on waterfall trips, suspension bridge walks, night hikes, and - for the brave tourist – forest zip lines. Before Orlando´s Red Hyundai is out of site we are whisked into the Camino Monteverde information desk by a charismatic, young Tico who offers us a room for eight bucks a night. Besides accommodations at the hotel located upstairs, the information desk sets us up with 3 days worth of eco-attractions ending with a ride to the Volcano Arenal in La Fortuna for $160 – this is turning out to be an expensive day. Our first adventure, a night hike though an old growth forest, begins in an hour and a half and we have just enough time to grab a bite to eat.

After a salad and a slice at Kako´s Pizzeria, we head back to the room to get our rain jackets. 15 minutes of tearing though my backpack looking for the jacket I had been wearing that morning makes me realize that I left it in Orlando´s red Hyundai.

“S*&%!” I say in a breath of despair, and hurry down to the gift shop to buy an overpriced, plastic trash bag that says, “One Deluxe Poncho” on the label.

We make it down stairs just as a small minivan that reads “Tourismo” on the side pulls up next to us in the street. We get in, introduce ourselves to the rest of the people inside, and make the ride up to the forest.

Esteban, a short, round Tico with a huge smile and terrific English is waiting for us as we enter the park. He passes around flashlights and inquires whether any of us would like to where a poncho. I take one, opting for maximum protection from the cold downfall. Everyone else declines as they zip up their rain jackets.

The hike is fairly uneventful, save for a sleeping toucan and a very large leaf-cutting ant mound, due to the rain. However, it is the first time in over a year that I have been in the forests of Costa Rica and I am very excited to look under every leaf with my LED flash light in hopes of discovering a strange insect or spider hiding from the falling drops.

We are quite worn out as we return back to the hostel and, knowing that the same bus will be back in the morning to take us on another tour of the forest, we head straight to bed.

I am in a deep, relaxed sleep when, all of a sudden, Jess’ thrashing limbs bring me to consciousness. Then I hear it.

“Buzzzzzzzzzz Buzzzzzzzzzzz”

The sound feels like it is coming from inside my head, or at least inside my ears.

“Oh my god, they’re every”, Jess says, waving her arms in the dark and hitting me in the forehead.

I jump out of bed, stumble over our belongings which are scattered all over the floor, and flip on the light. On the wall, just above where our heads had been dreaming minutes before, fifty or more mosquitoes sit, honing in on our carbon monoxide exhales and resting with full bellies.

The swatting begins, each one resulting in a small, red, blood splat on the cream colored wall. I clean the mess and, with the luckier vampires still buzzing about the room, pull out the bug net which I am now very glad I decided to bring along.

After a nice breakfast at the hostel’s restaurant – Restaurante Maravilla – we meet with the van and one more time make the trip up into the forest. We are pleased to find that Esteban will be our tour guide again.

As with our hike the previous night, the rain has caused most of the wild life to take cover and we see very little. But the color of the forest in the early morning light is breathtaking, and I spend some time photographing a beautiful waterfall.

We return back to the hostel, eat lunch, and its time for another bus to whisk us away. This time we are taken to a different park, which is higher in elevation and full of suspension bridges spanning the most scenic areas of the reserve. On clear days, we are told, animals can be seen much more easily from these vantage points – I tighten my poncho’s hood and use my imagination.

The rainy season is in full swing at Monteverde, and because of this, most of our education is concentrated in the abundant flora; which seems to grow in all shapes and sizes, in all colors, and from every direction. Last year, during similar hikes in the southern regions of the country, I had become interested in particular type of Ficus, the Strangler Fig. These unusual plants deposit they’re seeds high in the crooks and limbs of already mature trees in an attempt to avoid the competition for light and nutrients far below on the forest floor. Starting out as small vines running down the length of the host tree, these Ficuses can grow to huge proportions, eventually “strangling” the host tree, which rots away leaving only the hollow fig in its place. Examples of this interesting, natural process can be seen all over the park in different stages. Some are simply small vines which are hard to distinguish from other species. Others display sections of the host tree beneath the beautiful banyans which reach all the way up, past the canopy, and into the sunlight above.

The trail ends at the root structure of the largest strangler fig I have seen yet. It is enormous, with an estimated diameter of 8 or 9 meters. The host tree has long been decomposed and the hollow inside is quite spacious. I stand under to gigantic plant looking up into the canopy, admiring the perfect, hand-sized holes where the vines have not fully grown together. A downtown gym’s rock climbing wall could not possess a better design.

“Are you ready?” asks Esteban with an ear to ear smile.

“For what?” I reply.

“Climb!” he shouts and points the suspension bridge jetting out of the Ficus about 7 meters up.

This is exactly what I had wanted to do since I saw my first strangler fig over a year ago. I pull my deluxe poncho off, find the best starting hole, and begin to scale the inside of this impressive tree. I emerge a few minutes later onto the platform which connects the fig to the suspension bridge. Esteban is waiting, having taken the less adventurous route. I look down and retrace my trek with my eyes. It is a good end to a great hike, and I am feeling on top of the world.

From the end of the bridge we walk back to the lodge positioned at the front of the park and prepare for our final tour of the day – 16 zip lines though the canopy of the forest. Though not suited for serious nature viewing, the rapid rides from one tree to another offer they’re own version of memorable excitement over rivers and gullys, ending with a 400 meter high line that stretches for almost a 5th of a mile.

With the adrenaline high from the zip lines still keeping me wide-eyed, we return back to the hostel, eat a casado con pollo, and prepare to leave in the morning.

By 7 am the next morning we are cruising down the road to La Fortuna, which sits just beneath the Volcan Arenal, one of Costa Rica’s most beautiful and active volcanos. We pass vast fields of coffee, and I want to reach out and grab a bean or two to pep me up. As we leave the cloud forests the terrain begins to become barren. The beautiful, green hillsides become yellow pasture lands absent of any trees and resulting in an increase of wind.

Our van stops at the edge of the Luguna de Arenal, Costa Rica’s largest manmade lake. I get out, camera hung off my shoulder, and stroll down to the water’s edge. I find seeds I saw made into necklaces back on the Peninsula de Nicoya and I think to myself “What an amazing land”. Across the water I can see the impressive cone of the volcano for which the lake derives its name. I can see a small boat slowly making its way to the beach on which I’m standing . Soon I will be on that boat headed for that volcano. I change my lens, and grab my bag. I’m ready for a boat ride.