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.

Jemima – Crocodile Hunter

Jemima – Crocodile Hunter (Sarah)

Mima has the raggedy bunch which is the canine population of Gran Roques attending nightly training sessions on the beach outside our posada.

When we arrived at the beginning of the week dogs would appear totally at random, doing the usual dog like stuff. Fighting, chasing, a lot of rear end sniffing and other less savoury pursuits.

Since she has been involved in their welfare they now appear on the beach after supper and line up in descending order of height sitting calmly looking into the middle distance awaiting instruction from their leader.

There is even a junior division of puppies that arrive, somewhat unrully granted, but now even they seem happy to be cuddled for an extended period of time, even to forgo the use of their legs for a while. I seem to recollect from my Psychology Degree that this is a technique called habituation….. to repeatedly expose an animal to a new experience until it ceases to be alarmed or even to struggle.

I also applaud the zest with which our eldest has embraced ‘the wild’. Most kids I suppose if sitting on a boat in the middle of an unknown ocean, were the Captain to yell ‘Manta’ and make appropriate flapping movements with his arms, would go and have a peek over the side. Mimes grabs her mask and snorkel at lightening speed and dives in head first to get an up closer sort of experience.

But the piece de resistance has to be the disappearing lizard. I have never ever known anyone provide a safe haven for an animal in need in their own hair, albeit inadvertently. The tiny creature emerged unscathed from the sleeve of Mima’s t’shirt good couple of hours after its mysterious disappearance from Monty’s clutches. It seems it had been living happily at the top of one of her plaits.

Spiders are scrutinised, conches poked, turtles pursued, parrots befriended, pelicans painted, hermit crabs raced….. I’m fully expecting a crocodile to be wrestled before the end of the holiday.

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Finally got some internet her in Caracas so here are a few choice shots of life in Los Roques.

Windsurfing with the family

The lizard

The girls

The teacher and her pupils

Spontaneous swimming in the sea

The kids on Francisqui

Relaxing in the sea

Playing guitar
Girls being creative
The headmaster
Local crab

Caught in the eye of the storm

Freaky Friday (Eliza)

We went to have breakfast and then we played for a little while then our boat came and we got in it in and we went to Norisqui Island and we first played for a little while and then we went to have lunch very hungrily and we had rice and chicken and a bit of bread. It was very delicious.

And then the whole family went snorkelling and we saw lots and lots of blue red big fish. And then Monty got a little cold and so Mummy and Monty went to rest on the island. Jemima hurt her foot on the corals and there was blood. Then me Jemima and Daddy went snorkelling out in the deep bit and we saw two turtles and a humungous fish. And then we went back to tell Mummy and Monty and Mummy and Monty wanted a go and then Monty changed his mind so Mummy and Daddy went to see the turtles and the big fish.

Well then we went to the boat and the man said he would go round the storm which was coming and we went round the storm but suddenly there was loads of thunder and lightning and rain and it was very very very very scary. “Golly goujons!”. And we hadn’t gone round the storm after all. Then we went to an island before our hotel island and there was a man that Daddy talked to while me and Mima and Monty and Mummy saw a very wet parrot. And then we went back onto our boat and we got to our hotel and when we got there another storm started. And then we got changed and we had a shower and then we wrote this blob.

In the eye of the storm (Hugh)

A great morning’s snorkelling (turtles, parrot fish, wrasse), but a rather spicy journey home. Having been driven around by a couple of youngsters the day before yesterday, I think we were fortunate today to have our trusty usual man, of indeterminate age, but with so few teeth we must have seen this kind of stuff a few times. It would have been nice to have the youngters’ boat though – our man drives a bath tub with an engine on the back, which needs a few things doing to it frankly. The front seat had collapsed on the way out as we hit a big wave so this time we were relegated to the back seat.

The boatman welcomed us with the news that we would have to do a big detour to get back to Gran Roque because there was a nasty storm brewing. And so there was. We had only gone a mile or so before we were hit by a downpour of biblical proportions. The rain was seriously painful on the skin, the team huddled under towels, and before you could say “Davy Crockett” you couldn’t see more than 20 yards from the boat. Very eerie to be in the eye of the storm – no wind at all, and lightning striking only 50 yards from the boat. Not ideal, and really quite loud. We took shelter in the lee of an island and stumbled ashore to wait out the storm for 20 minutes or so. Standing around with some other refugees of the storm, we mulled over the situation. None of those present were really sure what happens when lightning strikes a boat. We asked the boatman, who shrugged and laughed, conveying in that rather typical South American way of looking at things, that if your time is up, then that is the way of things and there is no point trying to avoid the inevitable. His only other comment that I could understand was that there were enough bad guys in the world to make it unlikely that this misfortune should happen to him. Fair enough, and he is entitled to his view, but I am more into taking evasive action. On this occasion, there is probably nothing that we could have done other than got out of the boat, which would have been far more dangerous I imagine. A famous Venezuelan baseball star died last year (apparently) when the water near him was struck by lightning and he was mega-zapped.

After the storm had gone, the boatman merrily jumped back in the boat and we followed suit. The journey back was very rough, a few more things seemed to fall off the boat, and we made it back just before the next storm hit. More luck than judgement I would say. Apparently it hasn’t rained here in Los Roques since January so maybe the boatman hasn’t had that much practice after all.

Monty’s day

Monty’s day

We went on a boat to see the turtles and then we went to a beach and then we went back. We went bumpy and it was so big waves and we went jumpetyy jumpetty jump.

This morning we found a lizard and I catched it and I held it on the back of my hand and it was a baby lizard and it was so cute. Then Mima holded it and it went up her back and then we didn’t know where it was but it was actually in her hair. We were having breakfast and Mima said I think it’s in my hair. So we looked in her hair and we couldn’t find it so we finished our breakfast. I saw a little crab with a shell. We played with it and Mummy got snipped and then Mummy got snipped and I was so brave that I could hold it when it was coming out. And I didn’t want it to snip me and it didn’t snip me.

Then after breakfast the lizard came out of Mima’s hair. It went down her neck and popped out her sleeve and I came and told Daddy. Mima said “I said it was in my hair”. And it was, ha ha ha haaaa!!!!!

Cayos de Agua (Hugh)

Today we went to an island that is part of the Los Roques archipelago, Cayo de Agua. No windsurf rental here, so sub-ideal but otherwise pretty much perfect. I get to windsurf again tomorrow.

So, Cayo de Agua – the only permanent aquifer for drinking water on the archipelago and so a bit of a magnet for itinerant injuns back in the dark ages. These fellas came here for the Queen Conches, for which they had a bit of a taste. So much so that one of the islands is entirely made up of discarded Queen Conch shells that the injuns threw away. I guess they were fed up of the only other thing on the menu – fish.

We hung out here all day snorkelling – saw a manta ray, turtles, parrot fish by the dozen, other assorted pescados, a sting ray. A lot of the coral is dead though – according to the local research place this is the fault of global warming – a 0.1 degree rise in sea temperature apparently causes the symbiotic algae to be expelled from the coral polyps so ending the happy relationship that has until that time worked so well. Given the lack of care shown by the boatmen dropping anchor, I doubt whether this is the only explanation. Seasonal storms, or maybe even fishing with a bit of ordnance.

Interestingly, when we visited the turtle sanctuary I was offered a job. These guys wait until turtles hatch and make it to the sea, then catch them and grow them up for a few years before releasing them back into the sea. The idea is that by getting them through the hopelessly small stage, their chances of survival are increased significantly. They don’t just hatch the eggs – allowing the turtles to crawl to the sea apparently sets their compass so that they will return and themselves lay eggs some 30 years later. That’s the theory anyway. They’ve been doing this since 1965 and although marked turtles from here have been found as far away as South Africa, Australia and the like, none have yet returned to lay their own eggs. I pointed out that the first should have been due back almost 10 years ago, so if I were them I would be starting to give up hope a bit, but their own optimism seemed undimmed. Perhaps it was this insightful input, combined with some basic maths, which sparked the researcher’s interest in my joining the program, who knows. There would be worse places to be stationed – I was reminded of an old friend, Taff, from Oxford days who went somewhere similar to study butterflies and is still there some 18 years later. There’d need to be a bit of swell to make this one workable though, and although it would be ideal for kite-surfing and the like, I think I’ll let this opportunity go.

The sun here is mega-strong. Sarah has done a great job kitting out the team in all over body sunsuits and with 50+ sun factor suncream applied liberally almost every hour we have just about survived so far. The problem is that no suncream is entirely waterproof, and the kids are good enough to go and wash the suncream off in the sea following each application. Eliza had an incident following the first day when it emerged that her top had ridden up a little exposing an unprotected sliver of flesh day-long and this was mega-burned and very painful by the looks of it. Sarah has burned her legs a bit snorkelling today, and my nose has gone south as usual. I have been windsurfing in sunglasses, a hat, a long-sleeved rashvest, trousers and shoes, which has turned a few heads. The nice hire lady (Lucille-Lotta – yes, her real name) was a bit surprised when she first set the rig up and I jumped on and surfed off, fully clothed. Not the coolest man in town, but definitely the least sun-burned.

Before we came a lot of people told us that we wouldn’t find the Venezuelans very friendly. I have to say that we haven’t found this to be the case. I guess travelling with a young family does tend to break down barriers. The kids are all very inquisitive and have been out caring for the local wildlife on the local beach – puppies, cats and pet parrots have all been doing pretty well for attention. On occasion their rather eccentric behaviour has also penetrated any Venezuelan reserve that does exist. Eliza caused great amusement yesterday by reading her book while utter chaos reigned around us. We were boating upwind into a big swell and most people were holding on for grim death. Not Eliza – she was completely immersed in her book. The day before, she had caused similar hilarity amongst the boat drivers when, faced with a rather unfortunate position on the boat when returning home, with spray crashing all over the place, she donned full facemask and snorkel for the remained of the journey home and just sat there getting drenched.