India

Part 6: Village Tour around Jodhpur

The “village tour” is a popular tourist attraction in many places throughout the world. The idea being that the tour operator helps you escape from the modernity, rush, and grime of the city and takes you “off the beaten path” to small villages where the locals really live as they have for centuries. I had been on a few in various parts of the world previously and was a bit wary of them, but I thought I’d give this one a try.

On the way, we witnessed our only elephant spotting in India. The head and front were all painted but we only had time to grab our cameras and take a picture of the hindquarters as we passed.



Our first stop was the site of the Khejarli massacre where 278 years ago the local maharaja started cutting down trees for a new palace in a neighborhood of Bishnoi people. Bishnois are a separate religious sect characterized by their reverence for nature. To a westerner, the Bishnoi appear to be Hindu, though their religion is significant because of its origins as a dissenter to the Hindu faith. In any event, the Bishnoi decided to start the tree hugger movement by literally hugging trees and getting their head cut off by the Maharaja’s soldiers.



A nearby village housed a community of potters. We were able to squat beside them and be instructed on how to spin the wheel, form clay and set the pots out to dry. The village looks like a Civil War memorial battlefield with its drying pots resembling piles of cannonballs.

UNICEF works on a myriad of projects for children the world over. In this village, they’ve organized a small school.

It seems one of the items of instruction at this school is the knowledge that all foreigners possess pens in bountiful and free flowing quantities. Thus, we received a never ending stream of requests. I was also unaware that elementary photography was taught, alongside the alphabet and names of animals, at the UNICEF school. As proof, here are pictures taken by children after they grabbed our cameras.

And yes, those are my glasses on his face.
Another stop to a small house where an elderly lady was taking care of a cosmeticked baby (that means the baby had makeup on him for some reason).

Each village is composed of a single ethnic/religious group. The diversity of beliefs between groups was quite interesting. The potters village was Muslim, we then visited an Untouchables village, then a Bishnoi village.
Here we are in the Untouchable village.

I asked my friend Jaideep about the caste system while in Bombay. He laughed: “C’mon man, all that Untouchable stuff was gone after Gandhi; nobody cares about that anymore.” Most likely true in Bombay. Positively and completely untrue in the villages of Rajasthan. The lowest caste in Hindu tradition, the Untouchables, or Dalits, have definite restrictions. After visiting the Untouchables we went to the home of this slightly higher caste family for lunch.

When an Untouchable approaches the home, he is not permitted to pass beyond the gate, the homeowners may not touch him, and if the Untouchable eats with them, he must use a separate set of dishes which must then be washed with sand.
Interestingly enough, when we stopped for lunch, we were led to a room and asked to wait and eat our meal there, as our entrance to the kitchen area would make it ceremonially unclean. The status of a Westerner, as one outside the caste system, tends to vary depending with whom you’re speaking. Some say Westerners have no restrictions and are free to interact with any caste, some simply tolerate us, and some find us polluting.

In the Untouchable village, we witnessed some traditional weaving.

In a communal courtyard, villagers dry out cakes of lentils which is eaten as an accompaniment to meals.


Can an Untouchable rise out of their position and become a doctor, engineer, teacher, etc? Absolutely, but to do so they must almost certainly leave their village. In their community, they are constantly under the stigma of who they are and are not permitted to rise above. Moving to a larger city can shed that label, though their surname will betray them if anybody cares. However, it’s often a matter of getting there as Untouchables are almost certainly poor. What is most disheartening however is asking these typse of questions to rural Untouchables. Most simply convey a lack of desire to do anything of that nature, claiming that this is just who they are. It’s a thought repulsive to me as an American, where our culture encourages anybody from any background to rise to the fullness of their potential through ingenuity and hard work.

Over lunch, I spoke with the tour operator and owner, Deepak. I had to commend him for the best village tour I’ve ever taken. Most of these tours tend to whore out the culture of those you would like to see. Take for instance the Karen and Akha tribe tour near Chiang Mai, Thailand where women elongate their neck and limbs with iron coils. The cultural reasons that once prompted these people to follow this practice have now vanished. Now young girls’ lives are hijacked and the aspiration of their next 50 years becomes sitting with a forced smile inside a hut while westerners come and gawk at the sideshow, exclaiming what a “beautiful culture” these people have. This is an extreme example, but the oddity of the culture of some indigenous people has the effect of turning them into beggars as the rich Westerner comes trouncing through. They have little more to do than sit and wait for the next tour to show up as their original diligence and industry vanish.

Deepak ensures that, in exchange for allowing us to visit these people, he provides them with medical treatment and school supplies and does as little as possible otherwise to disrupt their lifestyle. I would highly recommend that if you’re going to Jodhpur, check out Bishnoivillagesafari.com and contact Deepak directly instead of booking through a hotel, which takes a commission. In case you’re wondering, I do not receive any compensation for my endorsement.

To round out our trip, we visited Roop Raj the durrymaker in his village of Salawas. Roop Raj resembles many of the other villagers we saw along our way but when he starts to speak you know he means business, literally. He has gone from being a local weaver to hobnobbing with international clientele and being splashed around on CNN, BBC, and newspapers throughout Asia and Europe. I like people to mistake my house for their local Pier 1 Imports showroom so naturally I picked up one of his fabulous durries. Here is Roop Raj smilingly modeling a durry crafted by his own hand in his village.

Lastly, we visited a traditional opium ceremony. Opium is illegal in India but the locals have special rights preserved for them to continue with their traditional practices much like peyote with American Indians or marijuana with Willie Nelson.

When I return, you’ll be treated to a tour through the fantasyland of Jaisalmer!

India

Part 5: Jodhpur

I researched quite a bit about Rajasthan before leaving. The mass of aspiring travel writers whose blogs I sifted through abused words like: enchanting, mystical, magical, fairytale-like. If there are any places that merit those words, they are Jodhpur and Jaisalmer.

The history of India is replete with leaders attempting to unite the varied peoples and geographical areas: Akbar, Aurengzeb, the British Raj, Gandhi, etc. The Rajput clans of Rajasthan constantly battled against this assimilation, preferring instead to continuously attempt to wrest power and land from each other. Their palaces and fortresses are relics of this continual struggle: protecting them while ostentatiously declaring their preeminence and wealth. As a result, walking through these structures feels like a tour through an unfake version of Disneyland.

Wealthy merchants in those days kept ornate residences, called havelis. They vary in their opulence according to region and the status of the merchant, but most have carvings and paintings adorning their walls and courtyards. Families pass them down through generations and the homes have become a popular place for travelers to stay. Here is Steve at Singhvi’s Haveli in Jodhpur, a lovely little family run joint in the heart of Jodhpur.

Please join us in the fantastic view of the Jodhpur fortress from our dining balcony at Singhvi’s Haveli.

Jodhpur is known as the blue city. Blue is traditionally the color of the Brahmins, the priestly class in Hindu society. That’s not to say that everyone in Jodhpur is a Brahmin, but it is to say that Jodhpurians tend to spread the blues despite their class. Having most buildings light blue gives the feeling that you are in perpetual twilight, either dawn or dusk. This is accentuated when you actually take a walk at dawn or dusk, as we did.

Cows are holy in India. When I asked Jaideep why this is, he told me because they provide milk and it would be stupid to kill something that sustains you, so they became holy. Jaideep is an engineer and I thought his answer exceptionally pragmatic, but it turns out that he’s essentially correct. Cows are revered as motherly and nurturing as they provide milk. Their sanctity is well represented throughout Hindu holy books. Another idea is that Shiva, one of the Hindu trinity, has a vahana (his ride) that is Nandi, the bull. Whatever the reason, holy cows are everywhere in India. Readers of my Elephanta post will recall my lack of faith in holy animals. The sacred struggle is accentuated when these blessed bovines amass and loiter on the crowded streets and walkways of a town like Jodhpur like a gang of toughs.

Take this demon cow for instance.

On more than one occasion we beat a hasty retreat as a cow transformed a walkway into a bullfighting arena. Cow dung is used to thatch roofs and seal walls, to burn as fuel and mosquito repellent, and to remind foreigners that watching the walkway in front of them is likely more important than whatever oddity they’re gawking at. Additionally, cows are great entertainment. Here I am cheering on what I childishly refer to as a cow fight.

Anyway, back to Jodhpur, the fortress at Jodhpur is reserved as a museum.

While there I met with some of my relatives

(think about it….got it? If you’re still puzzling, it means you don’t personally know me, in which case I must commend you for having the excellent taste to read my blog. For your benefit, it would be helpful to know that I am asked on daily basis how I am related to Britney).

While in Jodhpur we also embarked upon an eye-opening village tour which is soon to be recounted. Check back again now.

India

Part 4: Jaipur to Jodhpur

Bombay had been a blast but we couldn’t stay. The draw of ancient fortresses, vast deserts, nuclear-backed border tensions, and cities named after colors pulled us to Rajasthan: the westernmost state in India. First stop: Jodhpur, the blue city. Then to Jaisalmer, the golden city. On to Jaipur, the pink city, with no time unfortunately to stop in the white city of Udaipur.

We started by flying Deccan Air to Jaipur and then immediately caught a train to Jodhpur. Immediate is perhaps too strong of a word when referring to a train station in India. Indian Railways spans the country and is generally quite reliable when you can obtain a ticket. Being in India over December and January is not the time to easily obtain a ticket as Indians love to travel and can be found all over their fair country. A few years ago, the Rail Authority began holding back a block of tickets to be sold the day of travel. These tickets can be found at a special counter labeled “Foreign Tourists and Freedom Fighters”.

I never recognize myself as a foreigner, being that I seamlessly assimilate to any culture I enter. However, as an American, I am the living embodiment of freedom, and following the admonition of my buddy George to “take the fight to them”, I proudly approached the ticket line to lay claim to my ticket. We were told that all such tickets were unavailable, but that we might find a ticket at counter 16, just a vague gesture away. Following the indistinct direction, we searched, couldn’t find the counter, asked a conductor, were led to the foreigners counter, explained we’d already been there, left again, asked another conductor, were led wordlessly back to the foreigners counter, left again, asked another conductor, left him as he started walking back to the foreigners counter, and finally had a guard guide us across the station to counter 16, about half an hour later.

I assumed my place in line and waited. I found the line to be an excellent place to view the futility of a line. A steady stream of ticket buyers would walk immediately to the front and pass their forms to the ticket seller directly in front of the person at the front of the line, thus, in effect creating a separate line for the line cutters. Finally the guard, seeing my dilemma, pulled me to the front of the line, barked at the queued mass to let me through, and had me give my form as they glared balefully. After correcting the form twice after being told it was inadmissibly incorrect, I was instructed to stand in another line to pay my fee and then, incredibly, to come back and wait in the same line to have him put a stamp on it.

An hour an a half later we finally boarded the train to Jaisalmer. Ominously enough, this guy was staring at us as we left, as if to say “Your train trip has and will suck more”.

We sat down in a comfortable seat and found a secure place for our bags. “Not bad”, we said. Ten minutes later, we were escorted out of that car to the “bad” section. Seems that we had our seat number correct, but the wrong Indian word beside it. It seems we also didn’t know what class we bought. We found a family sitting in our seats with whom we made friends by not kicking them out. Here we are being friends.

These teenagers then proceeded for the next few hours to inform us which of us was cuter, funnier, nicer, and most serious. This last honor was won handily by Brian.

See? Dude just doesn’t smile.

Jodhpur however, was worth all the travail. A destination which is to be described in the next post.

India

Part 3: Elephanta Island

A great little day trip from Bombay is found in Elephanta Island, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We hopped a ferry directly in front of the Gateway to India and an hour later we were on the long, sunbaked walkway from the dock to Elephanta Island.

A quarter mile staircase, leading past a couple dozen trinket booths, finally crested near the entrance to the Elephanta Caves. It appears that about 1000 years ago (between 9^th and 13^th centuries) the Silhara Kings wanted to build an appropriate home for Shiva (one of the Hindu trinity) and so hollowed out several caves and carved pillars and statues out of the bare rock. These are just some of the fantastic carvings that result:

This one, the Trimurti Sadasiva statue, is about 20 feet high, depicting three faces of Shiva.

As I’ve mentioned before, monkeys are holy because Hanuman the monkey god helped Rama (an incarnation of Vishnu, one of the Hindu trinity) rescue Sita in the Ramayana, a Hindu holy book. I have always been a bit perplexed by the contrast of blatant sexuality in Hindu theology with the extreme conservatism of Hindu practice. Many gods are popularly depicted in a sexual pose

and Shiva’s lingam, a clearly phallic symbol, is widely worshipped. Most Hindus, however, are very conservative in dress and sexual openness. There seems to be a clear distinction about what is sexually allowed for the gods versus the mortals. The monkeys on Elephanta clearly wish to remind us of their divine status:

In all places where monkeys are holy (generally in and around temples), these hallowed hominids tend to run rampant. Here is a picture of two monkeys.

The small one is looking to steal the banana from the big one which is clearly, childishly, withholding the banana he just freaking bought 2 minutes before.

What is not pictured is how, later, a rogue monkey literally climbed up me like a tree to get the banana I held aloft in my hand. The monkey became increasingly agitated after I bodily threw him off me. After landing a good five feet away, he immediately bared his teeth and began charges and feints. Being a big fan of bananas that I freaking bought for a reason, I decided to not let him have the banana. Thus began a kind of holy war between the sacred monkey and the guy who wouldn’t let this celestial primate thieve his meal. I don’t really know how offensive it is to physically fight an incarnation of divine deity but the onlookers didn’t seem so amused. In the end though, I kept my banana and the monkey ran off. I then promptly gave it to a beggar woman, I don’t need that bad karma following me…

Soon to come, Jodhpur and Jaisalmer, the jewels of Rajasthan!

India

Part two: Mumbai

One of the joys of severe jetlag, besides 6PM bedtimes, are 4AM awakenings. As a result, we saw much of Mumbai before and during sunrise. No constant horn bleeps, no incessant flow of beetle-black fiats,

and nobody trying to sell you 5 foot diameter balloons (yes, I have NO idea why I look like I need one).

Approximately 15 million live in Bombay (Mumbai). It’s set to overtake Tokyo as the world’s most populous city in 2020. Unfortunately, an early morning walk in Bombay illuminates the plight of many of the working class. Streets were lined with figures sleeping in a row beneath blankets; sometimes at stretches 40-50 long. At first I assumed they were all jobless but as we continued our walk we saw them arise, wash up, get dressed and head off to work. Contrary to what I’m used to in the US, it seems that many of India’s homeless are employed.

There are plenty of beggars but they aren’t the middle to older aged men you see in the US; most of them are children or mothers with children. They are characterized by a much more aggressive begging style, tending to follow you for several blocks while tugging at your hand, shirt, and heartstrings. I can’t say I enjoyed seeing that.

Above are some shots of the buildings in Bombay, many of them blatantly English.

The Victoria Terminus has the distinction of attempting to incorporate every major architectural style in the last 3000 years into one building.

At the end of our walk, we were stopped by a talent scout. “Yea right” we laughed and brushed by, but this fella was insistent (not that any of them aren’t). It looked like he was looking for a couple pale faces to be extras in his latest Bollywood film. Finally, a chance to be a real Bollywood film star; an opportunity I had been seeking ever since I began mocking Indian movies (it’s been a while). I think I’ll do it right now.

If anybody hasn’t seen a proper Bollywood movie, I would not urge you rush out and see one. Knowing one plotline is enough since they are 97% similar. A poor boy one day sees a rich girl, he thinks she’s perfect in every respect but she doesn’t know he exists. Suddenly, they’re both seductively dancing together, a gyrating force 500 dancers strong whirling behind them in brilliant colors, fountains of water bursting from every corner. “Oh wow, it looks like they hit it off really quickly”. Nope, as soon as the gyrations stop, he’s poor again and she still has never met him. About an hour later they’ll lean in for the kiss, at which point the fourth or fifth music video comes back on, more gyrating dancers, water, wet saris, etc. Two and a half mind-numbing hours later, after she falls in love with him, it turns out that he’s really a rich prince. They dance again. The end.

Despite my love for Bollywood films, we declined the invitation.

We viewed a Bollywood film in an old fashioned theater, Eros, in downtown Bombay. After about 15 minutes I looked around to see 70% of our party asleep. Nope, not joking. Not even a good dance number could wake them. Fortunately, the intermission let us exit without disturbing the packed house. At least the tickets were only $0.50.

India
Part one: Bombay

I have several Indian friends; I mean I’m an engineer after all. They don’t seem so terribly different than me; we share many of the same tastes and enjoy the same activities. Hanging out with them is little different than being with my American or Canadian friends. Therefore, it’s hard to believe that they came from a place…like…India.

India is an assault on the senses. I have never visited a place that is such a bewildering juxtaposition of rich and poor, excess and extreme want. Wary acceptance between religions does not translate to acceptance within the religion, especially concerning the caste system; the beauty of their religions and culture are marred by the prejudices embedded in those practices.

I have never had such difficulty getting myself between destinations, nor of trusting those that I hire to get me there. However, despite everything India is one of the most thrilling destinations on earth, with some of the most throat-catching sights these two eyes have beheld, a people industrious and motivated, and a veritable Willy-Wonka-factory-like romp through culinary delights.

I was accompanied by my good friends Brian and Steve. Our adventure began before we even landed. We flew from Bahrain into Mumbai (Bombay) on Gulf Air. With us on the plane were a great number of devotees returning from the Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca. Some large families, but mainly men with a wife on each side, most of whom were entirely covered. An interesting thing to note about our fellow travelers is that they seemed to harbor an impressive lack of respect for airline personnel. Gulf Air employs “Sky Nannies” who provide resources for mother and child and ensure that the entire family can sit together. This necessitates asking people to move. Brian and I quickly put away our books as we realized that the entertainment value provided from this endeavor was far more satisfying. After moving a husband and wife to a seat, the husband would generally stand up and walk to another empty seat that the Sky Nanny was trying to clear, the wife would then move to another seat nearby. When asked to move, the wife would not answer and simply gesture or look to her husband sitting nearby, the husband, when questioned, would ignore the Sky Nanny.

The best part of the show was when we landed. Immediately upon touchdown, large groups of people unbuckled, stood up, and began getting their bags. An announcement: “please stay in your seat with the seatbelt fastened” did absolutely nothing. The flight attendant then unbuckled, ran to the unpacking group to yell at them to take their seat. About 10 of the 12 would, with the other two kind of warily squatting over their seat. As soon as the flight attendant returned to his seat, 14 people would stand up and reach for their bags again. Another announcement, another run back to the group and the same result. Three times he got up to to yell in about 3 minutes. Finally, “SIT DOWN!!!” was screamed over the PA to which approximately half the group listened. I was very pleased that we were not charged extra for the show.

Here we are at the baggage carrousel. Brian and I received our bag, then 45 minutes later Steve received his. In the meantime, we watched large groups of pilgrims gathering jugs of holy water brought from Mecca.

We were met at the airport by our good friend Jaideep and his mother. For the next hour, we waded through Bombay morning traffic in an effort to get to our hotel. Countless thanks go out to jaideep, his mom, and Jaideep’s fiancée Shelu for assisting us in every respect while in Bombay.

Breakfast that morning was served up in the Radio Club that Jaideep haunts in Colaba. Thus began my love affair of Indian food in India. A sweet affair that ended bitterly 2 weeks later in Delhi with food poisoning induced vomit and diarrhea. But oh, while it lasted, mmmmm.

Our first real experience with India was, appropriately, at the Gateway to India where the British made their final exit from Bombay after Indian independence.

It’s under construction.

After a delightful lunch at Gaylord’s we enjoyed paan: an after meal digestive. Paan tastes like India smells. Seriously, take all the spice smells like cardamom and anise, mixed with the rosy scent of the temples, combined with wafts of coconut and incense, the sickening sweetness of all Indian candy, and a healthy dose of the cowpies that are on every road and path and you’ll get the taste of paan. Here is Steve enjoying paan.

It’s made with approximately 20 ingredients mixed together with the bare finger of some dude sitting on a street corner.

Mmmm

Crawford Market is a huge, exciting market that specializes in everything, but has an especially commendable section of flowers for use in the many hindu temples.

At least they’re honest

While there, we visited a temple to Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god. As I’ve said before, I love visiting temples and India is a temple-visitors dream. Jaideep and his mom were kind enough to show us the meaning of all the rituals and offerings. I’m constantly impressed by such devotion, and India’s devotees are among the most fervent I’ve seen. Throngs attend the more popular temples such at the Mahalakshmi temple where stern faced guards are employed with whistles and batons to ensure that attendees stay in the proper line, don’t linger too long at the front of the shrine, and make a timely exit to keep the incessant stream moving.

That evening, we attended the arati at the local temple in Colaba, which is when the gods in the temple are put to bed. It is a LOUD affair. The bell is rung continuously, horns are blown, and songs are chanted for about half an hour as the priest prepares the gods for bed. With 5 kids, it actually wasn’t too different than bedtime growing up in the Spears household. Afterward we were given a dot (bindi) on our forehead and a fragrant flower necklace. It was like arriving in Hawaii…with a dot on your forehead.

More to come, don’t worry!

Costa Rica
Parte Dos: Monteverde & Arenal Volcano

If you’re just joining my Costa Rican adventure, you should check out the first part first: Costa Rica, Parte Uno: Arrival and Corcovado National Park.

With Corcovado in our rearview mirror, we set our sights for the beaches on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. We luckily had found a charming lady to wash most of our clothes the night before. Those were clean, but we still had 4 pairs of putrid boots and a few articles of unwashed clothing in the back of the RAV4. Therefore we enlisted the help of one Tommy Hilfiger.

Yes, this Tommy air freshener so overpoweringly covered up the stench of days of trekking that finally its tricolored scent, coupled with the winding roads, became so nauseating that we buried it in the glove box.

We first stopped in a little surfer town, Dominical, to grab some lunch. I feasted on a perfectly amiable piece of snapper. Here I am after my feast. Note, once again, women’s clothing courtesy of Marvelous Mexicana Airlines.

A couple hours later I felt a bit queasy. Thus began my epic, two day losing battle with diarrhea. There aren’t many pictures of Quepos, nor the fabled town of Jaco where we spent a full hour. We had to be sure to factor in enough time between my bathroom sprints to make it to the airport before Marvelous Mexicana closed for the night and I was out of a bag.

At long last, I was reunited with my bag. I stroked the handle and teased the zipper lovingly. Bag was shy and didn’t respond much. That’s okay, luggage love is tough love.

The Marvelous Mexicana rep was unapologetic at best. Maybe he would have shown more sympathy if he wasn’t busy texting on his cell phone the whole time he was finding my bag. He encouraged me to contact his manager for compensation which I did several times. She was, if possible, less helpful than my original Marvelous Mexicana friend. Finally, I followed up the situation via email back here in the US. After steadfast denials of wrongdoing and several emails from me, Marvelous Mexicana Airlines finally compensated me $100 for 5 days of delayed luggage and a total of 11 hours spent driving to get my bag. Clearly then, marvelous cannot be used too frequently to describe them.

That evening we spent the night in San Juan, just north of San Jose at a charming little hotel. Here we are being charmed during breakfast.

Lovely Interior as well.

You'll notice that it's sometimes difficult to arrange the text beside the pictures I want. Especially considering the fact that people view this blog on various monitor resolutions. Please bear with charity the large tracts of blank space or captions to pictures the aren't nearby. Thanks.

We continued on the next day to Zarcero with its fantastic gardens. Please view:

By early afternoon we reached our destination: La Fortuna, which sits at the base of the Arenal Volcano. Arenal Volcano is an active volcano which regularly gives an amazing show of smoke, lava, shooting rocks, and smoldering glows—when it’s not hiding behind clouds. Luckily it wasn’t when we were there. Here is our view from our cabina:

The other main draw of this area is the hot springs. Our intention was the hit up the grand daddy: Tabacon. Our 3 trusty guide books gave the price as $29 per person, an amount I could barely scrape together from my meager engineering salary. When we arrived, what to our wondering eyes should appear but a $52 per person fee to enter Tabacon. Incensed, we checked a few others and finally decided on the next best thing: Baldi Hot Springs. Certainly the most Disneyesque of the others we checked out, with a swim up bar and something like 12 pools of varying temperature, along with bountiful waterfalls, music, gardens and European nonagenarians.

I dipped my leg in one Baldi pool only to have my skin bubble and melt off in chunks. Gazing in sorrow as my flesh floated away, I overheard a German man dunking himself in the same pool while laughing to his friend, “Ze Americans cannot handle ze hot!!!”

Unable to see anything of the volcano other than the red outline I drew on the cloud wall in that picture above, we left La Fortuna and headed around picturesque Lake Arenal.

After a few hours of kidney rattling roads we arrived in Monteverde/Santa Elena. Monteverde was founded by World War I era Quakers who left the US as conscientious objectors and started a new life here in the mountains of Costa Rica. The Quakers introduced new methods of cattle grazing and conservationism that allowed more natural forest to remain unscathed. The forests here are commonly referred to as cloud forests because of the altitude and the, uh, clouds. Here I am, chilling above the cloudline.

Once I die, I would like someone to posthumously post this as my primary facebook photo. Then everyone would say: “Oh look, Brian’s in heaven!” That would be funny.

Monteverde means “green mountain”. It is. Check it out.

Immediately upon arrival in Monteverde we hit up the ziplines, or canopy tours as they are called here. We had researched the various canopy tour companies and made some preliminary decisions before we learned of the newest addition: Monteverde Extremo Canopy with longer lines, a rappel, and a tarzan swing. Well we went for it. Here’s Andrew the Canadian geared up for Extremo battle:

Extremo has something like 18 lines, one of which is 750m; yes, a half mile long zip line. It was pretty incredible. Here is a shot:

If you’re not affected by heights, the rappel was tame at best. We did, however, hear one elongated scream as a frightened girl was lowered to the ground. The tarzan swing was the most thrilling. Shuffle up to the edge of an 80 ft high platform, bend your knees, and get pushed off. You freefall for a bit before the harness roughly catches you and sends you swinging out into the treetops. It was interesting watching the 15 or so people in our group go over the edge. It typically sounds something like this: “wooohooooo---UGH, *grunt, gasp, slight strangled moan*, YEEEAAAA!! “

After swinging like a spider on silk strand a few times you’re caught by a couple of the workers with a rubber inner tube standing on a nearby platform.

Natasa had the incredible foresight to ask what happens if you’re not caught. She really didn’t need to ask because she was able to find out firsthand! After being uncaught by the inner tube, she swung and dangled a few more times until the workers threw her a rope with a carabiner attached to the end. Even as the rope was sailing through the air toward her I could tell that this technique would yield undesired consequences. After catching the rope some 6 feet below the carabiner, the remaining rope spun about her like a tetherball around a pole with the end result being that the carabiner whipped about and kissed her smack on the lip.

Here she is after that passionate encounter.

It saddens me to think that something this cool probably just couldn’t exist in the good ol’ USA. The risk of injury, trauma, or suppressed carabiner fetish development would prove far too much fodder for our beloved trial lawyers (John Edwards for President!). It doesn’t matter how many waivers and disclaimers you sign, stupid greedy people will still sue. And any company that wants to protect themselves will have to hire lawyers and pay court costs. That’s far too much overhead for any company that presents risk to their consumers, no matter how well it’s spelled out. Thank you, once again, trial lawyers for making it worse for everyone else except you.

The next day we headed to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve. The warm, humid, incoming winds from the Caribbean side of Costa Rica blow up the green mountains here, condensing and cooling. The forests sport different types of ecosystems, complete with a whole new set of trees and animals. However, as I said before, the wildlife was nowhere near the level of Corcovado. A few coatis (Central American version of raccoons) and several birds and insects showed their face during the day.

Upon the recommendation of our Reserve guide, we headed to Sky Walk in Monteverde (run by Costa Rica Sky Adventures) to view the canopy. From the ground, there’s only so much you can see, but the Sky Walk bridges take you right into the canopy where most of the life exists. A steady, misty drizzle was falling half the time and so we were done up in our slickers.

We were desperately seeking the resplendent quetzal, the national bird of Guatemala. The fantastic plumage of the quetzal (especially the male) makes it akin to a large, flying emerald, especially in the mating season when it turns iridescent. Alas, however, our jewel spotting skills suck and we were left quetzal-less. However, we did take some pictures of our reaction to spotting a resplendent quetzal, if we ever were to see one. So please don’t read the preceding paragraph and simply share in our quetzal-spotting joy through these pictures at Sky Walk. Sorry, no pictures of the actual quetzal.

That evening we hit up a twilight hike in Bosque Nuboso Eterno de Los Ninos (Children’s Eternal Cloud Forest). Twilight is when all those nocturnals come out to play, being very hungry. One of the feistiest guys we saw was this two-toed sloth

We stood about five minutes underneath him, enough time to see him move his arm about a foot and reposition in the tree. Two-toed sloths are reportedly shier than their three-toed relatives and so this one never showed its face.

Having visited with the black tarantula in Corcavado, we now were pleased to see his cousin, the orange tarantula in Monteverde.

And tons of sleeping birds, puffed into fluffy balls to keep out the chill.

A living leaf

And frogs.

So we’re cheaters and fakers, the frogs were actually seen at the frog pond or Rainarium there in Monteverde/Santa Elena.

We finished out our Monteverde/Santa Elena experience Sunday morning with a hike up to the local waterfall. Waterfalls are ubiquitous here, they seriously flow like water. Here we are enjoying the flow.

After 10 marvelous days in the Venice of Central America, we hopped aboard Marvelous Mexicana and flew home. Impressions of Costa Rica? Well I had a lot of time to think of it, standing and waiting for my bag in Dallas.

Which.

Never.

Came.

Yes, amazingly, Marvelous Mexicana Airlines managed to lose my bag again before customs in Dallas. In fact, I was the only person forlornly staring at an empty baggage carrousel in Dallas. Thank you again, Marvelous Mexicana Airlines, for the astonishing precision with which you were able to lose the one bag capable of fomenting the most irrational rage to your most dissatisfied customer.

So, impressions of Costa Rica? There’s more to do there than we could have done in 2-3 months. We left so much out that it pains me to write it now. We never touched the Caribbean coast with its laid back vibe and amazing food. Tortuguero, on the northern Caribbean, from all accounts is amazing. Manuel Antonio, the Nicoya Peninsula, Guanacaste, Puerto Viejo: all places that I would have loved to visit if we had the time. Needless to say, I will be back.

The Costa Ricans have a saying: pura vida, or pure life. They use it as a greeting, a farewell, a statement of affirmation, and especially to describe something cool or outstanding. In a country where over a third of their land is preserved, enjoying the highest standard of living in Central America, needing no standing army, and welcoming about 2 million tourists every year, there’s a lot of occasion to use it.

Pura Vida.

Stay tuned for India, Nepal, and Bahrain, heading there tomorrow!