Tag: # Costa Rica

Howler Monkey Club, Slothfulness and O Canada!

There were 17 travelling companions – 12 Canadians, three from the USA, one tour guide and one driver.   We were on a one week safari followed by one week at La Costa Resort in Costa Rica.

Off the plane in San Jose and there is our Tika Tour guide, the beautiful Patricia, our driver Manuel and our bus.  We are not staying in San Jose so luggage stored, we are on our way to our first safari stop Manuel Antonio Park then to our lodge the Costa Verde.  We stop at Biologica Carara Park for snacks and are surrounded by these squawking, extremely loud monkeys.  Patricia tells us these are howler monkeys and they are found all over Costa Rica, can be quite mischievous and will spit at you.  They emit a loud, grunting cacophony.

A group swings near and I grunt back trying to ape their sound.   Our group follows suit and hence was born the Howler Monkey Club.  For the next 14 days we started the day with a howl, ended it with a howl and howled  at every howler monkey we saw.

Costa Rica abounds with exotic wildlife, enumerable birds unbelievable flora and fauna.   It is all there and accessible.  You will get a front row seat, or choose a back row, to observe mammoth crocodiles, huge iguanas, beautiful hummingbirds, toucans, macaws, armadillos, snakes and more snakes and more.

Our driver stops abruptly and points up into a tree.  Ah!  There is a sloth!  Here is the confirmation that slothfulness is in truth a deadly sin.  The sloth was going from one limb to another a distance of maybe two feet. Manuel parked so we could watch it.  We watched, and watched,  and watched.  We howled at it.  No change just s l o w as molasses movement, almost undetectable.  The sloth had moved maybe ten inches after 20 minutes.  He had not rested.   Watching its slow progress was painful and awesome.

Every day of the safari was memorable.  Every day the Howler Monkey Club got friendlier and more connected.  Every day we perfected our howl and soon Patricia was sending word ahead that she had the greatest group of mostly Canadian tourists who had become Howler Monkeys.  We were not shy going into the next lodge or inn and howling to all and sundry.  It was obvious that we were a happy bunch and that happiness spread.  Soon everyone was talking about the group of happy Canadians who were Howlers.

Then the group split with tears and laughter and hugs and promises to keep in touch as The Howler Monkey Club.  Addresses exchanged,  I was given the complete list as First President.  Our three single ladies were spending the next week at a bird watching sanctuary, others were on safari only and eight of us Canadians were on to La Costa Resort. We howled our farewells.

Patricia had called ahead to let our tour representative at La Costa know the ‘Club’ was on the way.  We were greeted with a banner: “Welcome to the Howler Monkey Club.”  We needed no encouragement.  We did our howling with gusto to the delight and no doubt the horror of some guests. We had the usual introductory talk and bought tour tickets.

The resort was wonderful and at dinner we declared that this was the kind of camping we liked.  We had had an incredible experience roughing it on safari and would not forget the amazing sights but were ready for a bit of sybaritic vacation living.

After a long day of boat riding and barbecue we were eating pizza and having beer.  Our guide told us the next stop would be at the Pirates Cove a new restaurant and inn.  The owners greeted us and we discovered they were Canadians and the business was opened only two days.   Our tour guide had added this stop knowing we were all Canadians.  Instead of howling, I started to sing O Canada and all the Howlers joined in.  The owners cried as they and their two young children sang along. They were from Vancouver, had visited Costa Rica, fell in love with the country and sold everything they owned to buy the bar and inn.

We wished them luck.  Hugs were in abundance.  Next stop Cocos Bar, and then back to La Costa where we closed out the disco.

The Meander:  Travelling is freeing and full of surprises.  The Howler Monkey Club existed for about five years.  We are still in touch with the young honeymooners.  Some years ago I read the obituary of one member and sent a card to his wife.  She wrote back a lovely letter reminiscing about our Howler Monkey Club.  We travel for moments like these.

 

Turtles are Moms too

Turtles are moms too – Costa Rica

It is as if a large tractor trailer has passed over the beach.  But no.  That cannot be.  Your guide points and you turn toward the sea to see a very large oval sprouting appendages climb laboriously from the water over the beach and upward above the high tide line into the soft sand.  A prehistoric creature, silent, quiet, its head slowly pivots from side to side in time with the huge flippers and legs and the stumpy tail. It looks awkward as it crawls aiming upward to choose a place. It is a slow process.

The creature, a leatherback turtle weighing upwards of 1000 pounds finds a spot and begins to dig.  It is the epitome of patience.  You want to help. But you have been warned, be as quiet as possible, observe but do not touch, absolutely no photographs, give them space and marvel at a wonder of nature.

One hundred or more eggs are laid in the large hole. She makes no sound. Just a slight movement as each egg is expelled into the large nest she has built. Her eyes leak tears which run in rivulets down her cheeks to fall in the sand.  Then tail twitching and flippers working the eggs are completely covered with the fine sand. The women hold hands, the mothers relate in an instinctive manner, bonding in the ritual of giving birth.

Job done, she turns and lumbers back to the sea.  There is a joyous flip, almost a jump as she reaches the surf and rides a wave back to the ocean. She rises and falls, now graceful and balletic in movement as the ocean welcomes her again.

We see eight more turtles come to lay their eggs on Tortuguero in Costa Rica.  We wait as we cross paths with one, yielding to her,  giving her space to make her journey above the tide line to build her nest, to lay her eggs, to do what nature says she must.

Her tears are natural.  The weeping is continuous to clear the sand from the turtle’s eyes as she digs and covers up the nest. To every woman they look like the tears, the pain of childbirth.

Moving, touching, incredible sight, UNFORGETTABLE.

The Meander:  When the eggs hatch only about ten percent make it to sea.  By law, indigenous populations are allowed to harvest a portion of the eggs and there are the poachers too. Then as the hatchlings try to get to the sea many are eaten by birds. It is just so.