650 colonies buys a ticket south from Cahuita to the more well known, tourist town of Puerto Viejo. Along the way, as our bus pulls into intermediate villages, the second day of Independence celebrations are appearent as small precessions of children march up and down the streets with drumsticks in hand beating out festive rhythms. This is the way of the Ticos; good living, pure life, pura vida.

The rain waits until we are five minutes from our destination, then it begins, hard and fast. In the time it takes Jess and I to exit the coach, grab our backpacks from its under-trunk, and make it to a tin-roofed awning two meters away, we are completely soaked. Across the road, through the onslaught of torrential downpour, I can see a sign which reads, “The Rocking J. 600 meters”, a place the guide book dubs “the backpackers’ mecca”. I heave off my pack for Jess to watch, throw on my over priced poncho from Monteverde, and take off in the direction of the sign’s south pointing arrow.

It’s a muddy road, with as many pot holes as there are souvenir shops bordering its edge. The rain comes down as if I am being followed by a perpetual bucket of pouring water. It is here that I realize my American view of the “meter” is slightly diminutive. I am let down each time I inquire at one of the roadside gift shops as to how close the Rocking J is from my current position; the answers always seem to be in “hundreds” of meters.

Finally, I round a bend in the liquidy road and see the brightly colored welcome sign hanging over the Rocking J’s front entrance. I walk straight in, over-priced poncho cascading neat water trails all the way up to the front desk. $6 rents a two-man dome tent in the crowded, tin roofed middle of the property. I pay the tab, hail a cab, and ride back to the small bus shelter where I had left Jess. We return to our tent and set up home for the night. It is dingy and damp, and not wanting to be inside any longer than we have to, we head over to the hammock hut to write in our journals and take a nap.

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Our ride to the Carribean coast slows just kilometers outside of San Jose, where a traffic jam has brought hundreds of cars to a stand-still. All up and down the two lane thoroughfare, impatient motorists are honking their horns as if the sound will magically part the impending blockade and allow the noisiest drivers to pass on their way. Road side merchants who have capitalized on this inconvenience make their way from car to car and from bus to bus selling everything from bottles of water and little bags of home fried papas to maps of the country and even small Independence Day flags.

A young man in a pressed, yellow shirt boards our bus and begins to orate in a manor which would impress the finest of fairground salesmen. As he recites his obviously well rehearsed monologue, he walks the length of the coach handing to each of its passengers a small orange and blue booklet. I open mine to a photograph of a woman giving herself a breast examination. Printed a few pages before the interesting image is a list of the many medicinal uses of peji valle; a small, starchy fruit often eaten steamed and with a good amount of mayonnaise. I sit and concentrate on his Spanish words, listening for any I might understand. I decide that he is giving excerpts from this heath manual as examples for why one would want to purchase a copy. With his speech finished, he walks the bus again, collecting either colonies or the books from disinterested patrons.

I turn my attention to the world outside my opened window, and past the parade of calling merchants. In the ditch and on the steep slope leading up the valley wall, adjacent to the bus, the entire spectrum of color is represented in the weedy flora. Blood-red hibiscus complement lush, green ferns and ripe, yellow bananas set off the small blue creeper flowers which rest their vines over all the vegetation. I see beautiful poison frogs in the leaf litter near our tires and on the same shrub two butterflies, a Blue Morpho and a Doris Longwing, sit unmolested in the cool, valley air.

Our bus begins to move and we are soon traveling down the narrow road at top speed, which is still slow. With the mountains fading behind us the bus approaches Puerto Limon. Each side of the road is lined with chain link fences and razor-wire which mark the property boundaries of warehouses owned by some of the biggest fruit companies; Chiquita, Del Monte, Dole – they are all there. Some lesser known brands are also present, with out lack of proper security. Out side the well guarded fruit fortresses, rows of semi-trucks, each of which sporting a trailer with its company’s logo emblazed on its side and an exhaust pipe puffing out thick, black clouds of diesel smoke, sit patiently, waiting to back their empty containers up to the dock where they can be filled for export.

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The boat to La Fortuna cuts its engine and pulls onto the beach of Laguna Arenal. Jess and I hand our bags to the driver, cross the make-shift launch, and take our seats. A group of travelers from New Zealand are also taking the boat and, as the driver prepares to depart, we discuss our travels.

The boat is slapping the waves at high speed as it cruses along the length of the lake. The shores on either side of us look almost archaic, as if time forgot to pass by this way. Giant Cecropia trees and strangler figs push their tops through the canopy and vultures soar the thermal lifts created by the peaks which surround Laguna Arenal. In front of us the volcano, from which the lake derives its name, creates a razor sharp silhouette against a celestial blue sky. Our ride ends near the dam, which supplies most of the electricity for the country, at the other side of the lake. Another van is waiting.

As we drive past the resorts and hotels leading into La Fortuna it is apparent that this higher priced area was created with the wealthy tourist in mind. The Spanish word Fortuna literally means "fortunate". When the volcano awoke from its dormant state in the 1960's, many people were injured or killed. However, after the explosion the area was left with many hot springs, and even a hot river, due to the thermal activity. The locals now consider themselves not only fortunate for surviving the volcano's blasts, but also for the wealth which has been brought to the area by tourists interested in experiencing these natural wonders.

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