The day at the zoo / 194 motorbikes (Sarah)

The fastest Mantis in Central America

My football coach & cycling guide waiting to start training

Girls on cows - check out the road biking dude looking on! Haslemere bikers please note

The lemon tree

One enormous lizard

Jaco beach - black volcanic sand

Dr Goodfellow doing the surf dude mooch

Our Day at the Volcano / Zoo

Breakfast shenenegans

Husband absent – otherwise engaged in necessary white water experience.
Three kids up dressed brushed taken to smart restaurant for breakfast ( yup it’s a killer, several knives dropped, drinks spilt etc. but at least some semblance of charm…. Ola and gracias abundant) plasters and cream applied over injuries, bacon and eggs pancakes hot chocolate etc go down a treat, if a little slowly the car is due in fiftenn minutes. Think I managed some melon between questioning, those kids are like the Spanish inquisition.

Oscar and the bus

Eight o’clock a very calm Oscar arrives with bus at the ready for volcano trip. I still in cagoul / hat / sun tan lotion / minibeast repellent finding panic. Run on to bus to discover, oh joy 1.5 hour trip before volcano extravaganza. Encourage kids to start counting motor bikes. At 20 bikes stop for cash.

Coffee, cows and the lemon tree

At 77 bikes visit coffee plantation. Oscar very kind and wise on subject of coffee but largely lost on kids who pick coffee beans than find a lemon tree and start hurling lemons at each other. Girls get a ride on cows which can only be a good thing, am stung for gifts heavily at the gift shop. Enormous bottles of Sprite all round.

Up and up and up - 108 motorbikes, forty pees

Sprite not good for junior bladder control, scenery breathtaking, lots of motorbikes still which is good but now added variable of five minute pee stops.


Cloud forest being well named

Finally one and three quarter hours, one very patient guide, two cows, 47 road bikers, 124 motorbikes and seven pees get to end of road and park up. Its very very damp i.e. you are in a cloud. I.e. that’s why cloud forest is so named but I am obviously naïve – had expected to be able to see something other than own two hands and some Japanese types wearing Ponchos.


Humming bird

Oh yes did see most beautiful humming bird on the walk up to the crater but Oscar unimpressed by its normaillity and urges us on into the cotton wool fug

Throwing the lemon into the volcano

Monty’s highlight. What do you do if you have discovered a lemon tree half way up a volcano. Obviously hang on to your lemon, don’t tell a soul then hurl it as hard as you can past the Japanese tourists into the crater which you can just glimpse through the swirling cloud. That’ll fox the vulcanologists.

Down down down –strawberries and two currency brain ache Dollars & Colones

Didn’t hang about too much actually although we did bring home some verrrrrrry amazing volcanic rocks, yes we can delight and regail you with them at a later date. Oscar was top geology person. Now kids also hungry so strawberries and crisps from the local shop should do the trick…. Stop on the way back down at about 170 motor bikes. Pay in dollars, get change in two currencies. Oh my goodness even A level maths and an accounting qualification didn’t prepare me for this gig.

Back to base Mantis

Return in one piece to the hotel to find we have a praying mantis living on our verandah. How cool. Tell kids how female manti mate then devour the males… kids look at me in a slightly alarmed manner. Wonder internally if I was somewhat over enthusiastic on the subject and they fear for their father.

Zoo with Jason –more wet animals

Fifteen minute turn around then picked up by Jason the best taxi driver in the world and dropped at San Jose zoo. Am getting accustomed to seeing bedraggled animals its really raining again.


The jaguar - a Staffordshire bull terrier of the cat world?

Oh and jaguars are just like Staffordshire bull terriers with big fat cat heads, they even trot around in a staffy off to get some supper sort of a way. They look more Top Cat than top predator.


Crocodiles tapirs iguanas and crocodiles again

We have two hours to spend at the zoo in the pouring rain. Although the animals were very accommodating, the local population of San Jose appeared to have abandoned ship. We pretty much have the place to ourselves which on the one hand is v. cool on the other hand a bit like being a character in a Steven King novel. If you let your imagination run wild its not too difficult to imagine being forgotten and left overnight in the rain in the dark in the zoo with a very suspicious looking wet lion, three wet iguanas and ten wet crocodiles.

Unfortunately no food at the zoo on Sundays so as four o’clock approaches the kids start to verge on the hypoglycaemic. I manage to find half a packet of peanuts and three boiled sweets in my ruck sack which the girls eschew but Monty bolts down merrily. Survival of the least-pernickety I guess.

On the third circuit of the zoo the animals are starting to look decidedly peckish, Although in retrospect maybe it was bravado, they were probably worried we were going to eat them.

Luckily the best taxi driver in the world had predicts our mood and is there twenty minutes early to pick us up before we and the animals come to blows.


Back to base, Macdonalds: Poya and Papas

The best taxi driver in the world takes us home via the Macdonalds drive through. Oh joy, rice and beans is all very well but when you have three kids with nothing in their stomachs but fizzy florescent coloured drinks from the zoo the sight of those golden arches warm the cockles of your heart.

Much hilarity ensues all round when we discover that chips in Costa Rica are known as ‘Papas’ , the kid’s pet name for Hugh’s dad. The best taxi driver in the world loses it giggling and I fear he may crash. Watch out Granny, think they might have a new name for you………. ‘chicken and chips’…here is ….Pollo (Poyo) and Pappa.

Mantis movement

We get back at about five happy and full to find that the mantis has moved about three inches. That is some slow moving dude. Can Preying mantis fly? Anybody out there know? This one certainly isn’t racing towards its next meal.

The Great White rafter arrives some time later and we all go swimming.

Socks in the minibar

And yes, why were there socks in the minibar? That’s were Monty keeps them of course.

Eliza 'Golly Goujons' (Sarah)

Eliza Goodfellow is developing her own inimitable travel-chic.

Today she is wearing red polkadot ’Jackie O’ shades, a sky blue embroidered Indian cotton puff ball shirt, pink flowery leggings, puce green crocs, three necklaces, two crafted from indigenous seeds, the third sporting a genuine sharks tooth (useful for warding off little brothers). Plus no less than six multi-coloured friendship bracelets, three on each wrist. If it weren’t for my unwelcome advances with the pink plastic ‘dog brush’ she would definitely also have dreadlocks by now. If she had a shaggy Afghan coat she’d be fit for the Front Cover of Vogue. Might be a tad on the sweaty side though..

Eliza is a kid of extremes – one, ‘the kid who cries wolf’ makes such ear splitting shrieks when a sardine waltzes past her mask while snorkelling - you would imagine that a great white had just made off with one of her limbs.

On the other hand Eliza ‘the Dude’ turns heads and cause much nudging and grinning with her quite extraordinary fortitude.

In the wake of a storm in a boat travelling at a Gazillion miles an hour with grown adults chundering left and right our Eliza will be determinedly sat at the prow reading her Enid Blyton novel. If things get really bad, and I mean realllllly bad, she will put on a mask and snorkel to facilitate the reading process (?) and let the bow waves just wash over her.

Yesterday no crying despite a gaping head wound (Monty’s surf board tip) on the beach. The Cuban doctors who fantastically stitched her forehead with meticulous care, were impressed by the dudiness. I imagine they’ve seen quite a lot of dudiness whilst medical training in Cuba.



The next day extreme zip wiring… not a problem…………having a raging attack of the squits today also, not a problem. No wingeing just the occasional comment on likelihood that an ablution event is about to happen and how much tummy is currently hurting. As mentioned previously she’s even managed to throw up repeatedly into Hugh’s lap top case on a plane full of passengers and not spoil anyone’s fun.



As I write this she just presented me with a tooth that’s just fallen out – not a problem.

Best quote to date, having almost been killed by a bolt of lightening in a thunderstorm the middle of the ocean……. “Golly Goujons it’s a bit wet”

Roll on Eliza the teenager – Glastonbury here she comes!

Zip wires (Monty)

We went in our car and we drived to the zip wire place and we went on a lift up and up and up through the rain forest and then we went down on the zip wire and there was ten of them. Some were short some were long. We went on really really long ones like as long as really really long like you could count to 40 or 41. We saw snakes and toucans and lizards and the snakes were in glass tubs. There was loads of lizards and one lizard was like a dinosaur lizard which ran on its back legs. Than we went back and we went to a restaurant and we had a drink and I drank it really really fast because I was really really thirsty. We went to the shops and we got food and we got here in time and then I went surfing before it came and I went swimming before it came and I did other stuff and now we are cooking mummy and daddy’s supper, it was a thunder storm it came thunder stormy and I thought it wasn’t going to be any thunder I thought it would be just cloudy.

Mummy is not nervous at all

Eliza has some help on a long one.

No problems for Mima

I help one of the big boys who is a bit scared

Another strong man photo

Driving in Costa Rica

Sunday (Hugh)

We arrived in Costa Rica late afternoon Saturday, got the kids into bed and then de-stressed by demolishing a bottle of wine, in the meantime chatting to our new friend Herbert the barman (a native Costa Rican – odd name given that).

The next day we split up, Sarah taking the kids off to a volcano then San Jose zoo, and me disappearing early doors (0530) to go rafting on the Pacuare River for the day. Managed to hook up with some yanks, got a front seat in the boat and had a terrific day running the Pacuare’s grade III and IV rapids. Quite a trek – going anywhere in Costa Rica takes a while it seems, but well worth the trip. Returned to the hotel in time to go swimming in the rain with the team (much to the Costa Ricans’ bewilderment), dinner then bed.

Monday (Hugh)

Today our mission was to drive to Jaco, a town 2 hours away on the coast surrounded by decent surf beaches. We hired a car, against the advice of some, but hell, how can it be worse than driving in Italy?

Having now driven 150kms or so, I can assure you that it is far worse than driving in Italy. For those who wrestle with matters philosophical, witnessing Costa Ricans driving is as close as you’ll ever come to concrete proof that a higher being is watching over things, or at least watching over Costa Ricans driving. These guys are nuts and make the taxi drivers on the Bourg St. Maurice – Val D’Isere road look conservative. They will overtake at any opportunity, on blind corners, hidden summits, absolutely anywhere. I thought I was doing quite well joining in as the drive progressed, had the team gasping a few times, but lost all enthusiasm for this when overtaken by a fully laden coach, the driver gesticulating wildly at me, presumably for not taking the obvious opportunity to overtake that he had spotted. Quite fun, but not for the faint hearted.

Stopped short of Jaco to look at crocodiles. Big fellas these.



Monty likes the lorries.



And we are now ensconced in something called a condominium at the far end of Jaco beach. Great place, super set-up, nice waves, have already hired a board, and to boot good response times from the local ambulance. Here I think we have everything that we need for the next two days or so.

Eliza cracks her head open - Blood in the Water (Monty & Jemima)

While we were in the pool, Daddy went surfing so we thought we should go and join Daddy. We got the first few waves – a good start of course. As Monty didn’t have a surfboard he borrowed Daddy’s big surfboard (J).

And I can stand up and lie down on no waves (M).

While Monty was practising his standing up on the surfboard with little waves, Eliza got a wave and shot right into Monty’s surfboard at the end on her eyebrow. Initially we thought that Eliza just shot past so we ignored her, but then as she started crying she let go of her eye with her hand and then we saw masses of blood dripping down Eliza’s face (J).

We didn’t know it was a cut and then we saw it was so we went to the hotel (M).

As Mummy had her flighty dress on, she took it off and put it on Eliza’s face to soak up the blood (I’m sure it won’t be a blue flighty dress anymore (J).

A ambulance came flashing its lights and it took Eliza to the hospital with Mummy and we took some photos. Here are some of them.

She just came back and she has 5 stitches (M).
Mummy and Liza in the ambliance.

The ambliance.

Eliza with her brave girl sticker

Impressions of Venezuela (Hugh)

A great country, and one well worth visiting if you fancy a bit of an adventure. We met no other English people, and probably only a couple of people with kids and these all Venezuelan. Other than Peter and Diego who helped with airport transfers, a couple of the guides in Canaima and the barman at the Posada in Los Roques, no one at all spoke English. We got away with my O level Spanish and a book I had bought at the airport – “Spanish in 15 minutes” which has quite a good dictionary in the back. As a result, we were able to ask for laundry to be done, the lightbulb on the left of the bed to be changed, and to organise windsurfing and boat trips. The barman told me that it would be easier to find someone who speaks Chinese than English in Venezuela, and while this can’t be true, it conveys the correct impression, that to come here with no Spanish at all would be a challenge.

Safety-wise, I am pleased that we avoided the centre of Caracas. When we originally arrived at Caracas airport, we couldn’t find the tour rep for a while, and that was quite a hassly experience. Everyone is trying to offer you taxis and black market Bolivars, and we must have looked like easy prey. Anyone you ask tells you that Caracas itself is a nightmare. Of course there are no-go areas and safe areas as in any city, but I think the no-go areas here are probably ones from which you would not emerge a happy camper. You pick up stories as you go along, and I heard a few from people who had got into airport taxis and not been taken where they had wanted to go. Watches stolen at gun point, all that kind of thing. The police are completely corrupt, so the serious criminals pretty much do as they please. We even met a couple of Venezuelans who were back here on holiday (Los Roques) having emigrated to Europe because of the situation. Apparently it is getting worse all the time (although they must have been saying that since time immemorial). One guy implied that even Los Roques is not safe any more - pirates have been known to attack yachts and so now flotillas stick together and take security with them. I have to say that we encountered no obvious signs of danger (at least not from criminal activity) and at both our destinations felt extremely safe and well looked after.

They have a very different outlook on life, the Venezuelans, and perhaps this is a South American thing. We haven’t travelled widely enough to know, but the South American novelists I have read like Garcia Marquez and Allende give the same impression. Our experience in the storm in the boat was illustrative of this, in that our boatman was not greatly troubled by what was a very dangerous situation, given that there was nothing that he could do about it. What will be, will be. If my time has come, then so be it, and such things are controlled by a higher being. You see the same with motorcyclists in Caracas – all carrying helmets somewhere on the bike in case the cops stop them – but certainly not on their heads. These will be on their elbows, strapped to the back of the bike, on the handlebars or whatever. The attitude is presumably that if their time has come, then a helmet will be of no use to them. They are fully aware that there is no helicopter evacuation here if they crash. The right doctor may not even be on duty, he could be on holiday, off-duty, whatever. He rides his bike in this fashion simply because when he sets out on his journey, some greater power will already have decided whether he will reach his destination safely.

And of course, the Venezuelans get up to different things than do the Brits, either because hobbies and personal time are a luxury they can’t afford, or because it does not occur to them to do the sort of things that the Brits like to do. In the respect, it occurred to me that if the Brits lived in Los Roques, it would be a very different place. It’s not unlike the Isles of Scilly as a natural phenomenon, although in a rather warmer place. We visited the Scillys in May, when the water temperature was 9 degrees and the air temperature not much higher. The locals amuse themselves by racing 19th century pilot rowing boats between islands dressed only in a pair of shorts then going and drinking 10 pints in the local pub. I think this would mystify the Los Roques inhabitants. These guys relax by driving huge overpowered boats up and down the “drag”, lazing around on the beach, playing basketball etc. Vive la difference.

Fun at the airport (2)(Hugh)

Why leave 3 hours to check in, when you could never need so long, even if that it what the airline advises? This time (the Caracas to San Jose leg), we were the very last to check in, and also the last onto the plane. The most stressful airport fun yet, and not something I would like to repeat.

We started the morning early in Los Roques – the 0630 plane out, singing “Do you know the way to San Jose, la lala laa la la lala lala”, and finished the day in a dribbling mess of stress, misery and exhaustion.

To get onto any flight from Caracas to San Jose you need four things, a passport, a ticket, proof that you have paid the necessary taxes, and, finally, a certificate of immunisation against yellow fever. The immunisation certificates were the problem - I had mine (of course, I hear you say), but the rest of the team had left theirs in Haslemere. Without them, there was simply no way that we were getting onto the plane to San Jose and we only had 40 minutes until they closed check-in.

But anything is possible in Caracas airport, it seems. We found a guy who knew a guy who could generate these things to order. At a price, of course. Calls were made, lunches interrupted, as the carriers of the various components of the certificates converged on Caracas airport. One guy takes photocopies of our passports, so we can at least get that bit of the check-in done. We are last to check in, so have seats distributed evenly throughout the plane. We frantically fill out exit visa forms, pay yet more taxes. Jemima takes Monty for a wee. As the clock strikes its last, the new certificates arrive, and we are through hurdle one.

Cue the next hurdle. We are seriously late by now, but still have to get through security. We enter the security room, and it looks like a football crowd has arrived before us. This part takes 30 minutes, and there is no way at all that we are jumping the queue. A couple of attempts to do so appear to irk the men in green mightily and so we give that one up. As throughout our experiences in Venezuela, in the midst of a bureaucratic nightmare, we meet some lovely Venezuelans in the queue – this time, more emigrants now living in Madrid.

Finally through security, and one more surprise is waiting. As we stand waiting to board, I am called out by the men in green, asked to put on a florescent orange jacket á la Guantanamo, and frog-marched away. Sarah and the kids wait, knowing nothing about what is going on. I am taken down steps, along corridors, round corners and finally arrive in the belly of the airport, with luggage all around. I spy our two North Face bags – oh no, it’s going to be a Midnight Express experience – someone has spiked our bags. I stand in front of some nasty looking teenager in green, who indeed turns out to be a nasty and humourless piece of work. He makes me take everything out of both cases, one piece at a time, and really slowly (in case I pull a knife, really?). We looked inside cameras, he took the linings out of the all the shoes, about 30 tampons were investigated, the contents of shampoo and suncream bottles tested. The only things he didn’t look in were our two medical kits, both of which contain all kinds of exciting things, including clean hypodermic needles, prescription only medicines and all sorts. What a plonker, but thank goodness anyway. By this time we are 30 minutes past the plane’s scheduled leaving time, so I am little edgy, but chilled enough given that there is nothing that I can do. How James Bond gets himself out of these situations so easily defeats me. Then finally I have to sign something (the guy in green can barely write out the form), then I am frog-marched back to the departure gate where I find a rather stressed looking Goodfellow team. The flight has been held for me, we board, and the hostess even finds us seats together.

I spend the plane trip examining the new certificates, which are surprisingly good given the short time taken to generate them. They won’t pass a proper examination, given that some of the details are wrong (Monty is a girl, Eliza is a boy – maybe we could pull this one off with a change of clothes I wonder??), and the date of re-immunisation (stamped by a Venezuelan doctor) is before our Venezuelan arrival stamps in our passports. I construct various scenarios at the Costa Rican border in my head and try and devise credible stories for these inconsistencies. As it happens, when we arrive, the certificates are never looked at, so we get in OK. We felt a bit like the chaps who escape to Switzerland in the boat in The Great Escape. Never again please. This one is worse than the time Jemima’s passport was out of date at Gatwick.

Now we have 3 weeks until we have to go through this potential nightmare again, this time through Mexico and into the US. Couldn’t be a problem can it? If anyone reading this thinks we will need yellow fever certificates to get into the US, proof of below average IQ, homemade cookies or whatever, maybe they could let us know so we can take the necessary action in advance.