Hmm. Perhaps travel writers really do go to hell ... because that's far from the reality. Yes, the country is about 10 degrees on the sweltering side. There are a fair amount of gringos in the usual tourist traps. And, yes, there are a disconcerting number of barbed wire fences in the cities that would suggest that either Costa Rica has a large domestic market for barbed wire or that not everyone respects the rights of ownership.
But even on a short two-week jaunt it was easy to see that there was so much more to the place. I spent a few days in the very untouristed towns of Heredia and Alaquela, where English speakers were far and few, and the shady town squares, anchored by a Catholic church, offered a welcome respite from tropical sun. A solo trip to one of the nearby rainforests, up a 30-degree-grade dirt road, offered complete solitude. (An old man and young boy added some local flavor to the adventure when they tried to charge me for parking right outside the park. I most politely burned out of there as quickly as I could over the rutted road.)
The volcanoes were perhaps my favorite part. Belching a constant stream of smoke, Arenal is impressive (below), though the gaudy resorts clustering around its flanks like so many weeds were disconcerting.
Even more impressive, and with few tourists, was the crater at Irazu (below), located just north of San Jose and reached by a nice (for a change) paved road that only requires a suicide drive across the edge of the city.
My expectation had been that Costa Rica would be one of those countries to check off the life list of destinations: "been there, done that." Instead, I find myself wondering where I'll go next time. I'll just leave the guidebook at home.
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