If you ever want to see every glorious, curious, frightening, authentic thing about a country, rent a car. My trip through Costa Rica began with a harrowing drive from San Jose straight north to La Fortuna, a sweet little town at the base of the Arenal Volcano. Though it was a main route between the cities, the road I was on was a terrifying, two-lane corkscrew through mountains that was full of trucks, motorbikes, and people walking. And when I say two lanes, what I really mean is 1.5 lanes in US road terms, with no shoulder and a death plunge waiting if you let two tires go over the edge of the pavement.
Buses and trucks cannot manage the narrow, winding roads, so they take the liberty of a couple tires over the centerline, which led to hours of what felt like near-death experiences. Also, Costa Rica does not believe in two-lane bridges, so every one of them was a teeth-gritting test of cahones trying to assert that it was your turn to cross. It was through some incredibly beautiful scenery – at least I think so – but if I’d taken an eye off of the road, I’m quite certain I would have died. So that was fun. I know a couple of race car drivers who would have probably loved it, but I’m probably going to have to replace the seat of my rental vehicle from peeing on it.
My lodging turned out to be a bungalow far nicer that the website let on, backed up to the edge of the rainforest. Greeted with a cool glass of guanava juice -a local favorite – and the sounds of a rushing river hidden in the jungle behind my cabin, I began my first day of discovering just exactly what “Pura vida” means.
