Chaos is not the word that comes to mind when one thinks of Costa Rica but we had our share of it yesterday after we finally left Bahia Salinas. Outside Liberia we bought some delicious refreshing rambutans. Breakfast of champions.
They look odd but they taste fresh and delicious.
We drove to Liberia the biggest town in northern Costa Rica and you will be delighted to know they have Walmart and Price Smart (a Central American membership warehouse chain also present in Colombia for future reference). We went to Walmart out of habit and Layne came back out looking pale and perturbed. “$123!” she said. Prices apparently are worse than the US and not just on imported items. She said she stopped looking at prices when the modest block of Costa Rican cheddar she wanted cost $10. Costa Rica is known to be expensive and that’s all there is to it. Bollocks. Let’s move on.
The road deteriorated as we went deep into the countryside. I drive slowly as I’m not keen on breaking anything under GANNET2 or aboard my little home so I pull over frequently to let traffic by. But there were enough potholes the others cars were swerving pretty much all the time to avoid them too.
Then things got really weird. The road split into two muddy dirt tracks and I had no idea which way to go. The car behind me had stopped so I went to ask her what to do. She said there was a river to ford or you pay ten dollars to go over a bridge. Well, obviously we had to pay the ten bucks. So we turned right.
We paid out ten bucks at the booth even as a string of foreigners on all terrain vehicles waited for us to get our receipt. Then off we went with absolutely no clue where we were going or why. We got lost of course and surprised some workmen mixing cement. Back it up! It was some kind of gated community offering tours and homes in the woods.
We tonked around for a bit feeling like idiots, mostly because we were. We saw other cars zipping by but we couldn’t catch them up to follow them as GANNET2 bless her heart handled more like a lame hippo than a sprightly gazelle on these absurd privately owned trails.
We did cross a rickety wooden planked bridge and then found a workshop on the woods. One of the youths there took our receipt as though we might have snuck in tiptoeing past the guards like a Disney elephant in a pink tutu and then he let us out.
For a brief moment we felt relief to be released back on the highway as we watched a truck grind up the hill from the river dripping water as it went. We’d probably have drowned had we tried to be frontiersmen.
Then we settled down to navigate Highway 911 to the beach town of Flamingo. Just our luck I said to Layne if we had a 911 emergency on Highway 911.
The road was narrow and winding and unmarked with signs or paint and travelers fling themselves at it at full throttle. It seemed inevitable something would go wrong.
I hugged the right hand side and tried to let the speed demons pass but confronted with large trucks which had no intention of yielding or slowing I just hugged the shrubbery and hoped for the best.
The idea is to explore the coast and Flamingo was said to be a nice beach town so we were indeed exploring. On Highway 911.
Google Maps estimated our speed would be about ten miles per hour and they weren’t wrong.
We got there intact but Flamingo looked like a pit to us. I’m sure surfers would like the waves but it wasn’t swimmable or pretty or anything too appealing to us.
We drive on through.
We arrived at the water and found ourselves at a day use beach with boats on moorings looking lovely.
I never expected the end of the Highway would land us in Croatia but that was what the marina looked like from a distance! A castle on a hill but I think it was just another hotel or something.
Then, when I once again pulled over to let a car by this one stopped alongside me and rolled down his window. “Are you a citizen of the Conch Republic?” He asked grinning and leaving me at a loss for words. Yes. Yes I am actually.
I suppose this wild camper spot made us feel at home in that way. People came to the beach to watch the sun set. Not unlike Mallory Square at home.
Eventually they left and we slept not in Key West but in Costa Rica. Pura Vida!
