Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 56 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
Sherrill, Poas Volcano, Costa Rica "I hope we see the volcano erupt," Sherrill told me, as we flew into San Jose, Costa Rica.
"Which volcano?"
"Any volcano—the big one."
Since Costa Rica was crowded with volcanoes, around 100 of them, at least seven active in 2001, there was a chance that she'd get her wish.
Sherrill had always been fascinated by volcanoes. Years before, on one of our trips to visit her mother in Hawaii, we'd stayed at the lodge on top of Kilauea, next to the huge caldera and had watched grenades of steam shoot from the red-rimmed, half-hardened lava as it cracked, bubbled, and shook, but no eruption broke through the shell around the crater.
"I'm never here at the right time," she'd mourned.
"Which volcano?"
"Any volcano—the big one."
Since Costa Rica was crowded with volcanoes, around 100 of them, at least seven active in 2001, there was a chance that she'd get her wish.
Sherrill had always been fascinated by volcanoes. Years before, on one of our trips to visit her mother in Hawaii, we'd stayed at the lodge on top of Kilauea, next to the huge caldera and had watched grenades of steam shoot from the red-rimmed, half-hardened lava as it cracked, bubbled, and shook, but no eruption broke through the shell around the crater.
"I'm never here at the right time," she'd mourned.
I remember now how she enjoyed gazing down into the mile-wide steaming caldera of Costa Rica's Poas Volcano, but we saw no lava flow from that crater either, although the bubbling noises and stink of sulphurous vapors were impressive. As I write this, Kilauea in Hawaii is pushing red hot molten rivers through forests and farms. Volcanoes are uncontrollable and often destructive, but eventually they leave the dark rich soil that, with the help of rain and tropical sunshine, makes possible rainforests, plantations, and farms in places such as Hawaii and Costa Rica—soil that we learned was ideal for growing Costa Rican coffee.
Several days before gazing into the volcano, we flew into San Jose, the country's capitol and largest city. Trapped in a valley encircled by volcanic mountains, the city presented a colorful, sometimes bizarre, jumble of old and new: from colonial-era homes to faceless office buildings and high-rise hotels, from eighteenth century neoclassic buildings to recently constructed factories and shops, from quite nice public parks to gaudy neon lights and intrusive billboards.
Several days before gazing into the volcano, we flew into San Jose, the country's capitol and largest city. Trapped in a valley encircled by volcanic mountains, the city presented a colorful, sometimes bizarre, jumble of old and new: from colonial-era homes to faceless office buildings and high-rise hotels, from eighteenth century neoclassic buildings to recently constructed factories and shops, from quite nice public parks to gaudy neon lights and intrusive billboards.
Six friends ready for adventures Sherrill and I often made new friends while traveling, but from time to time we traveled with old friends, usually on short trips to places such as Yosemite or Oregon. However, this time, we joined four people we'd known for many years to explore Costa Rica and Panama. We'd already traveled to Alaska with Cathy and Larry and had shared many good times with sisters Alice and Marion, as well. This trip was more structured than many we'd taken, but we enjoyed it because the area was beautiful and unique and we were sharing it with such good friends. The six of us together, I think, probably had a richer experience than any one of us might have had alone.
Teatro Nacional, San Jose, Costa Rica We didn't know whether to applaud or to giggle when a local guide took us through the thousand seat Teatro Nacional in San Jose. Its over-the-top fresco-covered ceilings, lavish gold trim, velvet draperies, ornate sculptures, stupendous chandeliers, and grand staircases might have been a parody of what people often think of as Victorian decor, but the city obviously was proud of this monster theater. After all, it had been paid for by nineteenth century coffee barons. Just as dazzling in its own way was the Gold Museum, especially the exhibits of pre-Columbian artifacts. The craftsmanship of the miniature jaguars, eagles, crocodiles, and other pieces impressed us as much as the gold from which they were made.
A trip to a mountainside coffee plantation and mill gave us an idea of how those coffee barons ade their fortunes. We followed the process from the planting of the seedlings to growing the coffee plants, then harvesting, sorting, peeling, fermenting, and drying the "coffee cherries" to produce the beans. It didn't take long before we felt high just from the rich coffee aromas—and, of course, our hosts were hoping we'd buy and take home quantities of their product.
A trip to a mountainside coffee plantation and mill gave us an idea of how those coffee barons ade their fortunes. We followed the process from the planting of the seedlings to growing the coffee plants, then harvesting, sorting, peeling, fermenting, and drying the "coffee cherries" to produce the beans. It didn't take long before we felt high just from the rich coffee aromas—and, of course, our hosts were hoping we'd buy and take home quantities of their product.
Aerial tram, Braulio Carrillo National Park, Costa Rica This all was very entertaining, but we also were eager to see the flora and fauna for which Costa Rica was famous. More than a quarter of the country's land was dedicated to national parks. The next day, we plunged into the tropical rain forest of Braulio Carrillo National Park, gliding at varying heights in the open gondolas of an aerial tram, sometimes skimming along just above the river, other times just under the variegated shade of the tree canopy.
"Those are houseplants!" Sherrill exclaimed, pointing to giant philodendrons with leaves as big as a small car. "Don't they know that?"
Monster elephant ears and gigantic ferns growing below and around us dwarfed the ones that she grew in our Berkeley garden and the lush quantities of orchids and bromeliads put to shame her own formidable collection. Moss and lichen coated tree trunks and branches with a scabrous greenish skin and the shameless blossoms of unfamiliar flowers played hide-and-seek through the shadowy green foliage. Above our heads, low clouds flirted with the whispering tree tops. Mist briefly turned into a drizzle, but we soon left it behind.
"Those are houseplants!" Sherrill exclaimed, pointing to giant philodendrons with leaves as big as a small car. "Don't they know that?"
Monster elephant ears and gigantic ferns growing below and around us dwarfed the ones that she grew in our Berkeley garden and the lush quantities of orchids and bromeliads put to shame her own formidable collection. Moss and lichen coated tree trunks and branches with a scabrous greenish skin and the shameless blossoms of unfamiliar flowers played hide-and-seek through the shadowy green foliage. Above our heads, low clouds flirted with the whispering tree tops. Mist briefly turned into a drizzle, but we soon left it behind.
Another day in paradise: Sherrill & friends From time to time, we glimpsed a living creature, sometimes debating what it was that we actually saw. Was that a tapir? That noisy one definitely was a howler monkey, but wasn't that a sloth lounging in the tree over there? The huge-billed toucan was hard to miss and somebody thought that another bird fit the description of a quetzal, but we couldn't be sure. Sherrill was excited to see an unusual variety of hummingbird, just for a second, of course. We were overgrown kids playing a wonderful game with no winners or losers—and this was only the first of several national parks that we'd be visiting.
The next afternoon, we boarded the 138 passenger Yorktown Clipper at Puerto Caldera on the Pacific coast and sailed south, during the night arriving in Curu, gateway to the Curu Wildlife Refuge. After breakfast, we shuttled on Zodiac landing craft to the shore, where we had the day to explore the refuge's beaches, mangrove swamps, and forests. Sherrill's love of birding had grown during recent years, so she was determined to find at least a few of the more than one hundred species said to live in the refuge—most of them birds unknown to me.
"Don't worry," she told me. "You don't need to stay with me. I know you'd be bored."
She was right. I didn't have the patience to stare through binoculars into trembling leaves, trying to focus on a bit of color that might turn out to be certain type of woodpecker or hawk, so instead I hiked along jungle trails and actually glimpsed an armadillo, a white-faced capuchin monkey, and a raccoon. The fact that I had been annoyed many times by raccoons in my own backyard didn't spoil the fun of catching sight of one in the wild. At least, this one wasn't going to tip over my garbage can. Meanwhile, Sherrill added several exotic birds to her ever-growing list, but when she told me their names I was no wiser than before.
"Don't worry," she told me. "You don't need to stay with me. I know you'd be bored."
She was right. I didn't have the patience to stare through binoculars into trembling leaves, trying to focus on a bit of color that might turn out to be certain type of woodpecker or hawk, so instead I hiked along jungle trails and actually glimpsed an armadillo, a white-faced capuchin monkey, and a raccoon. The fact that I had been annoyed many times by raccoons in my own backyard didn't spoil the fun of catching sight of one in the wild. At least, this one wasn't going to tip over my garbage can. Meanwhile, Sherrill added several exotic birds to her ever-growing list, but when she told me their names I was no wiser than before.
Sherrill & Bruce on Yorktown Clipper One of the best things about being on a tour is that it keeps you moving. It's harder to say to yourself, "I don't feel like doing anything, now. I'll just have a leisurely lunch and sit here in the sun." When there's a lot happening and other people are doing it, you don't want to be left out and miss some wonderful experience. The Marenco Biological Station on Costa Rica's Osa Peninsula the next day promised us more than 500 kinds of trees, 140 types of mammals, and—drum roll, please—400 bird species.
"Marenco has been so well protected," the ship's naturalist told us, "that it's home to many species that are rare or have totally vanished anywhere else in Central America. It was a battle, but the scientists and conservationists managed to defeat the lumbermen who wanted to destroy our rainforest. And don't forget that it's visitors like you who help pay for these parks and preserves."
A very effective sales pitch, we agreed.
"Marenco has been so well protected," the ship's naturalist told us, "that it's home to many species that are rare or have totally vanished anywhere else in Central America. It was a battle, but the scientists and conservationists managed to defeat the lumbermen who wanted to destroy our rainforest. And don't forget that it's visitors like you who help pay for these parks and preserves."
A very effective sales pitch, we agreed.
Once on shore, we went our separate directions, whether hunting for emerald green parrots and other rare birds, moseying along the beach, or hiking into the forest with a local guide, hoping to meet an anteater or python—an exciting, sometimes physically challenging day, but rewarding. After the hike through the forest, where I saw plenty of interesting sights, but no anteater or python, I walked down to the beach, where an astonishing vision appeared in the water off shore: a large white yacht with multiple white sails rising in several snowy tiers.
What, I wondered, would it be like to cruise around in a boat like that? Then I noticed a woman in an expensive-looking beach outfit a few yards away, also looking out to sea.
What, I wondered, would it be like to cruise around in a boat like that? Then I noticed a woman in an expensive-looking beach outfit a few yards away, also looking out to sea.
Choco indigenous people, Darien jungle, Panama "A beautiful ship," I said.
"I'm on it," she replied. "A passenger." She stepped closer. "Believe me, you don't want to be on it. You never met such boring people." I must've looked surprised, because she added, "They don't give a damn about any of this." She gestured broadly at the beach and the rainforest behind us. "Too busy trying to impress each other with how important they are. They came on the cruise just because it was expensive." She turned sharply toward me. "Are you on that little boat I saw earlier?" I admitted that I was. "I'd rather be on that. I'm sure you're seeing more than we are. And are with nicer people." Then she started to walk away, but glanced back briefly. "I don't want to miss cocktail hour—the highlight of our day."
The next day, when we were at sea on the way to Panama, gave us an opportunity to hear lectures from the guest speakers on board, including a very informative one about Panama's Darien Jungle, where we'd soon arrive, and to enjoy the sea breezes on deck while looking out for seabirds and whales—maybe even a school of dolphins, if we were lucky. Who needed all those fancy sails?
"I'm on it," she replied. "A passenger." She stepped closer. "Believe me, you don't want to be on it. You never met such boring people." I must've looked surprised, because she added, "They don't give a damn about any of this." She gestured broadly at the beach and the rainforest behind us. "Too busy trying to impress each other with how important they are. They came on the cruise just because it was expensive." She turned sharply toward me. "Are you on that little boat I saw earlier?" I admitted that I was. "I'd rather be on that. I'm sure you're seeing more than we are. And are with nicer people." Then she started to walk away, but glanced back briefly. "I don't want to miss cocktail hour—the highlight of our day."
The next day, when we were at sea on the way to Panama, gave us an opportunity to hear lectures from the guest speakers on board, including a very informative one about Panama's Darien Jungle, where we'd soon arrive, and to enjoy the sea breezes on deck while looking out for seabirds and whales—maybe even a school of dolphins, if we were lucky. Who needed all those fancy sails?
Cathy & Larry, Choco Village, Panama Some of us had mixed feelings about our visit to the Choco indigenous tribe in the Darien jungle. We were told that the Choco were living as they always had in their open-sided thatch-roofed huts built on stilts, still decorated their skin with the black juice of a certain native plant, and still got around in a kind of canoe called a cayuco, traditionally carved from a tree trunk. To start with, the "cayucos" in which they took us up river to their village were much larger than the traditional ones, were not made from a tree trunk, and were motorized.
Sizing each other up: Bruce & Choco boy The ride up the Samu River did give us a chance for a closer view of the rainforest and to hear various bird species along the way, maybe even a wild animal or two, but despite their native dress the Choco seemed quite sophisticated as they displayed and sold us their baskets and carvings. For that matter, their "authentic" village had a bit of a Disneyland feel to it. At the same time, they managed to be rather charming during these exchanges, even if they were adept at marketing their wares and making change.
Larry & Cathy, Panama Canal That evening, the Yorktown Clipper began its journey toward the Panama Canal, for many passengers the much anticipated highlight of the trip. Following dinner, we watched the NOVA documentary, A Man, a Plan, a Canal—Panama. Early the next morning, we took on board an official pilot, passed Panama City and then under the Bridge of the Americas, soaring 384 feet above us, and left the Pacific Ocean to begin our journey through the great canal. The achievement of actually designing and building this canal that took us across the Isthmus of Panama and through three sets of locks that raised the ship 85 feet at the Continental Divide and then lowered her again to sea level before reaching the Caribbean, was almost beyond our comprehension. The grinding sounds and thumpthumpthump of engines and machinery rose with us we began our ascent on the stair-step Miraflores Locks that lifted us to Miraflores Lake.
Eventually, after more locks and slowly moving through the Gaillard Cut—eight-miles tortuously carved through rock and shale—we reached man-made Gatun Lake, where we sailed around several islands and peninsulas. Our ship felt very small and vulnerable as we passed between the mountains towering on both sides. For a while, we stopped in the lake while several passengers descended down the side of the ship for a swim, so they could say that they'd swum in the Panama Canal.
Panama Canal Lock
One of the most dangerous, high crime cities in the world: that was what we'd heard about Colon, where the cruise ended, but we didn't have a chance to discover this for ourselves. We were whisked to the airport, where we were hustled onto a plane to Panama City for our flights back home—protected whether we wanted to be, or not. Sherrill and I would have to come back if we wanted the adventure of being mugged in the tropics.
To be continued....
To be continued....
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