The 7th Day: PV -> SJC

One thing I will say about the Caribbean, never having seen it before, is the colors are spectacular. The emeralds and aquamarines and blues are so striking. We'd been living in greyness the past week for the most part. It's really different from on the west coast of the US. Here if you want grey and fog, head to the beach. Especially in June and July. If you want sunshine head inland. Not here, it was the reverse.



Josh climbing up to the treehouse platform. The ladder wasn't bad, but he didn't trust the platform once he got up there.

We ate breakfast at a place that advertised sushi. Not that we were going to have sushi for breakfast. I struggled with ordering something without sugar. I asked if the granola had sugar in it, which came with yogurt and I held that because of the dairy content... and they assured me it did not. No, the granola didn't but I'm pretty sure that the chocolate chips inside the granola had some... Alex and Josh ordered orange juice. Alex swallowed a large mouthful when Josh about spit his out in disgust. It had fermented. And no, these were not screwdrivers, at least they were not supposed to be. We wondered how long the orange juice had sat in the fridge... which lead us to wondering about their sushi. We watched as other patrons ordered orange juice, and watched even closer for a reaction upon consuming. The waiter asked if they'd like to try lemonade or apple juice, but everyone stuck with water pretty much after that.

On the way back from breakfast this guy with long white hair stopped and entertained us, earning a few colones for laughs. He was good. Even showed us a dice trick that is very hard to see, even when you know how it is done. A sort of burly dude walked by and he asked him how it felt to be on the outside. A couple of euro-looking guys with the expensive sunglasses and made-to-look-messy-but-probably-loaded-with-product hair passed by and he promised not to do any homosexual jokes. The one liners kept coming and I wished I had turned on my video recorder. I guess even after three years of owning a camera that shoots video, there are few times I remember to actually use it.
Photo: FaceLevel.com

Here's one for Rory.
Photo: FaceLevel.com

After breakfast we had to check out and get ready to hit the waves. Which meant loading all the boards onto the car again. There had been some damp gear left in the car which was in the sun. It was pretty ripe in there. As we loaded up the car Kevin decided to don some sun protection, giving him a bit of a middle-eastern look.


We surfed at a place called Cocles. The surf was larger than it had been in Dominical, and a lot of guys were on it. They were steep but not too punishing. Alex traded his board for a fish, which was easier to ride. The current was pretty strong and sometimes it was really hard to paddle back out. I got caught inside a lot. After a while the tide changed and the winds got more onshore but all the locals went in. Stayed out for about two hours and did further damage to the sunburn I obtained at Dominical. When I came in I just wanted to lie face up in the sun and relax. But the trip wasn't about getting tan, and soon enough we were off again, unshowered but happy; at least this time it wasn't riverwater.
On the way out of town we decided to get some lunch. This little stand run by an expat made really awesome veggie burritos. They used tofu in ways tofu has never been made before. The children of the owner served us, little towhead boys, very cute.The burritos were so large they were impossible to pick up. I told my favorite racist jokes. I just figure everyone has heard them, but I think different areas of the country grow up with different jokes. The burritos just happened to remind me of one. Why do Mexicans serve burritos for Christmas dinner? It's so the kids have something to unwrap. Bad, I know. The next one was worse, so I will restrain my eagerly typing fingers.

Josh and I are in this one, but you have to look pretty carefully.
Ice cream was served next door. I found a chair in the shade to wait out the temptation. The guys took turns using the chair across from me. It did look good; some lady at the bar area ordered a strawberry shake. I may have been drooling; I know I was almost sleeping. Conversations floated in and out of the air; sounds like the proprietor had been there awhile, and for the third time in PV, Josh was offered something with a bit more kick to start off the afternoon. Conversations with nomads. It would be a good book title.


Afterwards we took a few last beach shots, using my Gorillapod tripod and self timer. Josh started picking up some coconuts, threatening to throw them, and regretted it pretty quickly; the liquid inside had gone bad and the stench was atrocious, not wanting to come off.
So long beach, it was time to head back to San Jose.

Andres wasn't available in Heredia, so we stayed at a hostel in San Jose. Once we found it. We circled near the landmark - a very tall hotel, I forget the brand, looking for our Pangea, where we had reservations. We circled three times I think before finally spotting the tiny sign on a metal door. The roads are one way, narrow, and the street names are elevated, higher than eye level. You'd never know there was a hostel behind the gate. The gate opened and it was like entering a different universe. We pulled into a very small parking lot and entered through what seemed like a side door, down some stairs, around a corner to the main lobby. Showed our IDs and were shown our room. That had stuff in it. Was there a mistake? No, it was a room with four bunk beds, all of whose bottom bunks were occupied, by guys, although there was only one person in there trying to sleep. The hallways of this place were narrow and darkly painted with hallucinogenic jungle murals, but the inside felt like a barracks. No electrical outlets, but there was a window that led to the ... hallway. Arriving after a long drive, unshowered, sleepy, used to being with just us the whole time, I was just a little unnerved at the situation. I decided to go rent a towel (mine was pretty stanky by then) and get cleaned up. Amazing what a shower will do for one's attitude.

By the time I got back I felt better about it, although it wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my last night in Costa Rica, I made an effort to let it go, go with the flow and figure eventually everyone will sleep, and what sleep I didn't get I could make up on the airplane. We went upstairs to seek food, but the bar was closing, the open air rooftop bar, where the wind was blowing, it was just a little cold. We ordered food and they said we could eat it down by the pool... The food was okay, enough to avoid going to bed hungry. Afterwards we found a sitting area where we exchanged images and videos. The guy who had been trying to sleep ended up there. The airline had delayed his luggage and he was waiting for it.

I had a point of panic when I tried to find my cash to pay Josh. I'd hidden it. And I'd forgotten where. I found it in LA at my sister's when I was hunting for Immodium, a result, I think, of the airport food I ate in Atlanta. Or it could have been something I had at my sister's, not sure maybe a combo. But I was relieved to find the cash, glad I hadn't spent it. super glad no one in TSA had found it. Luckily there was an ATM to get out of the country. You have to pay $26 to leave Costa Rica.

Listened to an interesting conversation with a firey Irishman. His travel mate, a kiwi, had overslept and missed the bus out the previous morning.They spoke in rather course language to one another, implying the kiwi was somehow involved with ewes. I was going to have to be the first one up, having a 9am flight. I put my morning clothes next to my pillow and eventually the conversations ended and the lights went out.

At 6:30 I used my flashlight and put a few articles of clothing on in the dark. The nearest bathroom was a pretty good trek down some hallways and I was kind of getting weary of modesty. I turned the light on at 6:45, pulled clothes on from my suitcase while others started getting up, and got dressed and packed. Said my goodbyes to Alex and Kevin and headed out. Upon checkout I had to say about three times that I was not looking for a bus to the airport, that we had a car. Apparently no one who stays there has a car.

The ride to the airport was quick and we did not get lost. I reflected on what an awesome trip it had been, how we all traveled well together and enjoyed each other's humor. Blank spots notwithstanding, it's a trip I would definitely make again.

Puerto Viejo

"It wouldn't be a road trip in Costa Rica unless I got a speeding ticket." - Josh Galt

We drove out towards the coast, over the misty mountain tops and through Limon, which didn't look like a good place to stop. Traffic was heavy, businesses armored. Bumpers served as handles for the occasional bicyclist. Eventually we got out to the coast and everything changed. Even the palm trees.

Curiously enough this place was called "Painted Palms".


Alex, blending in again. (Note his shirt colors. Then note the palm tree colors.)

Someone else tried the same thing on a grove just a little ways up the road, but they used red, yellow and green, rasta colors, but the paint wasn't shiny and it didn't really work.

We decided to get lodging first, and found this hotel a couple blocks off the downtown. Our room was sort of around the back, in a lush setting. It had two twins and one queen bed. Comfortable enough, although wireless access was only in the patio area.




After settling in we got dinner. At least three of us got dinner. Alex got something more resembling a nortemericano diner lunch. (Alex is vegetarian. I don't eat cheese or sugar. Somehow, we managed not to starve.) We tried to find some place Josh recalls that overlooked Salsa Brava, which wasn't breaking, but couldn't find it. The place we ate at was decent; they didn't serve stripes of mustard, ketchup and mayo and call it salsa. It was real food, and although about 4x as much $, worth every cent.



I introduced the gang to TBTL with a broadcast that was meant to give the ever-so-cheesy queen of dripping emotional ooze, Delila, a run for her money. My favorite one was a song dedicated to a gerbil, who died under nebulous circumstances, and they dedicated Michael Bolton's rendition of How Am I Supposed To Live Without You. You can find it under old shows, I think it aired the Wednesday before Thanksgiving '08. I was driving back from a surf outing in Westport and they were recapping the highlights of the previous week's show. It was definitely a highlight.

We decided to go out and listen to some jazz beats that were making their way over to our dwelling. It was an all-white person group, looked like americans, sounded okay, I spent most of the set waiting in line for the bathroom. I talked to one lady who was there doing a border run. Her husband, also an expat, was set up to live in Panama, but she had to do the 3 day visa thing and came up to Costa Rica to do it.

They ended their night and we followed the sounds of another band playing up the street at a disco. But it wasn't disco music it was Jamaican reggae, mon. It was great, so much better than what passes for reggae stateside. We watched from an opening in the side of the building, like where there might normally be a wall, but remember they don't believe in those things in the country. So we had a pretty good view without having to go inside where it was too loud and smokey. There were some characters about, one guy who was pretty lit dancing in the dirt street, tribes of others ducking into the bushes to do.. something.

On the way back we stopped in at a liquor store. I wanted to buy some Guaro but they didn't sell it. The place next door did. So I went next door and they didn't have it on the shelf. It wasn't at the main counter. Way in the back, I had to ask a clerk for it. She reached under some shelf and pulled some out for me. Two, please. They both made it home, one nearly polished off in LA, shared with my sister's household, and the other one is sitting on a shelf waiting for some kind of occasion.

I think I had had some Guaro that night, and there was one beer left, and I couldn't just let it sit there... although no one would help me drink it. Sleep came pretty easy as soon as the neighbors decided to stop chatting, but I woke up way too early again. The kitchen wasn't open til 7 and I had an hour to kill. So I read, then finally gathered up my computer and tea bag and headed outside. Some older guy was hovering around the kitchen and I asked his name. He seemed surprised that I was interested in it, which is kind of sad. He helped me turn on the stove and find a pot to boil water. I set up my computer at the outward facing tables where there was electrical outlet and a view of the gift shop across the street.

Another employee joined me later and sat a the next table. I'm not sure what his role was there but he seemed to do a little of everything. And he'd one a little over everything, naming off the countries he had lived in like someone might name all the people in their family. He became more enthusiastic about talking to me when he realized I spoke some Spanish. He said I looked tense and started massaging my shoulders. I thought this was a little forward but it did feel pretty good. He asked why I was so tense and showed him pictures of what we'd been doing the past week. He had me stand up and seemed to hit every sore spot. I declined the offer to continue it in a bedroom... but everything remained above board. I was kind of sad when the phone started ringing and he had to go. I asked what style he was using and he said Shiatzu. Whatever it was, it was just what I needed.

Turriabla & Pacuare & Puerto Viejo, Day 6

Photo: FaceLevel.com


Check out the "nike" logo. Nothing pirated here, no sirree.


Eclectic storefront.

Since we'd had such a wonderful time on the Pacuare, and it was going to be our last river run in Costa Rica, we decided to try it again. Only this time, the water was a little on the low side, in spite of a downpour in the middle of the night, when some late-arriving neighbors woke me up, and I went for a stroll around the building at 1am. The rain on the roof was deafening, although not deafening enough to drown out whoever was wearing heels on the bare tile. I figured there should be water like the day before, but this was not to be the case.

We weren't in a huge hurry but we did have to check out and load all of our gear into the car, along with having room for our driver, whom we decided would have to find his own way back to Turriabla, because Puerto Viejo was the opposite direction. I was still on a mission to get some Colones from the bank. After breakfast I decided to do just that, having failed the day before as the line was so long I would have held up our departure for about 45 minutes. Kevin joined me in waiting in line for the bank to open. I figured we were about a half hour early, and there were about 10 people in front of us, but Costa Rica time is a curiosity to behold, a reliever of stress, because you cannot really go by deadlines and openings and all that rot we pay so much attention to in America. So, we waited, guessing if this guard standing there or not standing there meant anything.

The doors to the bank were these contraptions like something out of Get Smart. The day before when I'd tried to get money, and gave up at the long line, we had to stand inside the glass box and get scanned, or something, before entering the bank. I guess they were looking for weapons. They got space age technology to stop them bank robbers before they cause any problems. Why don't we do something like that. By the time a metal detector goes off in a US bank, it's too late. Here, the door doesn't open until you've been xrayed. Finally some time after 9 (I've lost track of time frames here) (who's looking at a watch anyway) we were allowed to enter, but we didn't have to stop in the glass box and wait for the door to open. We just walked right through it, and were told to stand on some faint floor markers that were there to control how the line flows. Little black squares did a snaking pattern, like the lines at Disneyland but squared on the ends. In the US the equivalent would be those red velvet ropes on those black stands with the gold tops, the ones that topple over if you even look at them. How much more permanent and maintenance free are the tile patterns.

So I finally got to use some Español, and got some Costa Rican cash at a fair exchange rate (it's basically two dollars per colone.)


You can see just to the left of Kevin, that area was under water yesterday.

It was still a fun run, just a wee bit bonier. Which made it harder. I didn't get caught in any eddies, and the spillover was non-existent. But, the rapids were way bumpier and I kept getting kicked off my craft. I think I swam three rapids; the kayakers and raft guides kept asking about my health. I'M FINE. Only my ego got bruised. By the time I hit the last major rapid I was so far off my board I just went with it. Face up, head first, one outstretched arm hanging onto the hydrospeed, staring at the sky, glad I had a helmet on, thinking I'd rather be nowhere else than right here.

I suppose a better decision might have been to do the Reventazon again, not having to scout so much, but hind sight and all that... I really would have liked to go and rerun the Spurt and filled in some of those blank spots.


Just before our last run.

Next: To Puerto Viejo

Pacuare I: Day 6

There was a rafting trip leaving around 7:30 that we could have linked up with, but our sleepiness prevailed and we made a more realistic goal of an 8:30 departure. Figured we would just go with it, raft or no. Had our usual breakfast and as luck would have it, leapfrogged a rafting company from about half way to the put in. We'd been warned that the water was running low. It would be good to have someone to follow.

Kevin, spiking the water with Nuun. Photo: FaceLevel.com.

Turns out probably every raft company and kayak was running it that day. It was really high! It had rained a lot the night before and was continuing to rain all day. This was going to be awesome. A rafting group, some in euro-style shorts (why do they do this), was getting ready to put in, but we had our alliance with a different group who was already getting down river. One of their guides was a one-legged kayaker. We struggled a bit to catch up but eventually got close.

Yesterday had been my day to learn about holes. Today's lesson: Eddies 101. Eddies are a great thing. You can avoid a potential death trap just by swimming over to the side and getting out of the water. You can scoot back upriver to talk to someone or get a better picture angle. You can rest out of the current. These are all great things. But get just the slightest bit out of line on the Pacuare and she sucks you into it faster than you knew what hit ya. It was useless to fight one that pulled me in after a rapid/drop and swooped back upstream alongside a smooth rock. I let the current take me back to the hole, then used the hole to push me back into the current.

The water seemed really 'grabby', like there were little gremlins beneath the current tugging at my ankles. Perhaps it was because it was a fairly narrow river and a lot of water moving through it. The rapids, although brown, were splendid waves, one that even sort of spouted at the top. There was seemingly little consequence to anything we did, although we still followed the lead of the boats and kayaks. It was pure, simple and beautiful fun.

Photo: Alex Koutzoukis, still from video

There was that one time (there's always that one time) where three of us didn't quite get to the best side of a drop. Josh saw it soon enough and paddled to the right to take the best line through it, and while the rest of us tried, we were already too far over to the left to get out of the magnetic force field sucking us into the vortex. It happened kind of fast and all I remember thinking was "whatever is down there, I guess I'm going to find out" and that thought relaxed me. What we were being drawn over towards was something resembling a concrete spill, smooth fast water angling down at about 30 degrees probably, maybe more - I'm trying to recall what slope degrees feel steep when I snowboard - and a big dark hole at the bottom. I don't remember getting spun too much, but we all went through the rinse cycle and came out unscathed.

Approaching the hole. Should have been more right. Deep breath!

Looking back at the spillway geography.

Detritus.  Photos: Alex K, stills from video.

The most beautiful part of Rio Pacuare is just before a steeply walled canyon with waterfalls coming down into it. The top part has a few quick rapids but a good portion is slow, allowing you to really enjoy the surroundings, which is probably one of the prettiest places I've ever experienced. Unlike the Reventazon, there were a lot of people to wave to on this run.


Photos: FaceLevel.com
The run was fairly long, and we felt like we should stop and get some nourishment. Pulled up on the shore, a fairly rocky with some wet sand, for about 15 minutes. Not five minutes after getting back in the water, we saw a tower, a cable and a bridge...

Right about then I had another date with Eddie. This Eddie was very strong, must have ate his Wheaties that morning, and done weight training. We had to get through a shallow, bumpy rapid, then go to the left to get to the bridge and car area. I couldn't get over to the left. Eddie vacuumed me off and to the right, and drew me towards a dead area that was full of debris. I was thinking, this can't be good. Survive all the rapids and get done in by a log in an eddie. Josh motioned for me to go with the current, swinging around back into the main area. But I was afraid I'd somehow get wedged where the debris was thicker and was determined to fight it. There was a rock face and I was able to pull myself along it and hang onto tiny fingerholds with my fingertips, inching myself closer to the rock. I struggled this way for what seemed like eternity, probably five minutes, and finally got enough of a counter-current next to the rock to kick out and around it.

There was a nice little rapid under the highway bridge leading up to where we met Luis, our driver. Out by the car someone tried to sell us soap stone carvings, little dust collector ugly things (who buys this crap!). We asked if he made it but of course it was a relative who made them. But the nice thing about Tico vendors is that once you tell them you're not interested they bugger off. Some countries the junk sellers must have been taught that no never really means no, in sales, you never hear no, you just work to overcome their objections. Or be enough of a pest so that they will buy something to make you go away.

More day five

I got quite a lump from the hit, and even a couple weeks later there's some swelling or something preventing a comfortable leg bend. And that was on top of this:



I mentioned Patricia in an earlier post. After running the river we had a lot of wet gear that was getting a river funk, and where we stored our gear was also the laundry room in the basement of the Interamericano. The washers and dryers were not coin operated and Josh decided to use the washer, asking forgiveness later if necessary. I thought better of it, hung up my damp gear on the clotheslines so it would still be damp in the morning, and headed upstairs. What I missed afterwards I can only report second-hand, and would have made for some really exciting video coverage. Apparently, Patricia noticed that the washers were in use. Let me preface this by saying that while we were in Domincal, Josh asked each of us what we thought a load of paid laundry would cost. We guessed around two or three bucks. No, it was more like ten. Ten dollars for someone to wash and dry your clothing. Not cheap. She came down to confront Josh about the laundry and was visibly upset and overly emotional about the whole situation. Apparently Josh had crossed some line in her mind that made him an evil person and subject to her wrath.

A bit later Patricia and Josh had a conversation outside of the room. I was there for that one. Josh stressed that is was simply a business issue and she was making it a personal one. He felt that she glared at him when he walked by, something she denied, and that he didn't want there to be any of these vibes going on. He was willing to pay for the service and be done with it. She did listen intently and eventually they agreed he would give her 10 dollars for the laundry ( I don't even think he used the dryer). One thing about Costa Ricans is they are fond of their coins. Paper money doesn't last long; as soon as you buy anything you end up with a pound or two of the thick, heavy Colones in change. Josh took advantage of the opportunity to dump all of his small coins that just mostly take up space...

Change, anyone?
Her reaction was disappointing: neither angry or amused.

Dinner in Turriabla was a little hard to find; I think that it must not be a major dining hour in their culture. Most of the restaurants were either closed or empty. We did find an open and busy establishment across from the town square - which was a city block long and wide park which advertised having internet access... yes, I want to sit out in a public park at night with a $2400 computer out of its bag... - that was busy and served pizza along with other norteamericano style entries. Before we had found the restaurant we paid for some internet access at this large facility that was upstairs with probably 30 or more booths with computers. The high speed there was fantastic and pretty cheap. The ambience was rather severe, but either they didn't understand the value of such things or didn't want people camping out there all day. Although, there was a couch near the table I set up shop at.

The restaurant also had high speed access for free, and we saw some people from the hostel, including Zack Boles, who is a sponsored kayaker. We'd tried to hook up with him to share a ride and a river, but between the miscommunication and stubbornness of the 'oh I quoted you way too low' outfit on the first morning, to other plans that involved hiking and whatnot.


Geeking out at the restaurant. The only grounded electrical outlets were above us.

The food was something else. Pizza was the safest bet, but I don't eat cheese, so that wasn't an option. We shared some mini-tacos; it was easy enough to pluck off the lump of cheese that polluted each shell. Ordered a salad that was heavily salted to the point where I just couldn't choke it down - most of it was consumed by Kevin and Alex... and some spaghetti that was enough to satisfy perhaps a 98 pound girl. The dish ended up upsetting my stomach a little - the only time in Costa Rica I had any of that sort of trouble... I supplemented with some sandwich bread that was quite good. The weirdest thing was what they considered salsa: thin stripes of ketchup, mayo and mustard across your entry. Salsa is sort of a generic term in Costa Rica, its ingredients open to interpretation by anyone who sells it.

Next.. day 6

Day 5, January 20, 2009: Rio Reventazon

The first thing we noticed when we pulled up to the put-in area was a thick trail of leaf-cutter ants.

Suiting up amidst cow pies and ants.

Ant-free avocado. (Does the three second rule apply in a cow pasture?)

Ready to rumble on the Reventazon.

Way back in '92 I'd wanted to raft the Pacuare, but the companies going on the day I could were booked up. But they had space on the Reventazon. We riverboarded the Pascua and Florida sections. Neither of them looked familiar. It was probably the Florida section, but rivers do change over time.

Patricia, an expatriate who worked at the Interamericano and would only say she was from "near a city" in the US, told Josh that the president of the Costa Rica whitewater association (there is such a thing?) was very concerned that we were planning on riverboarding the Reventazon. There had been a death there fairly recently, but the flood stage levels had created whole different set of circumstances. While the woman might be honestly concerned, the way she went about expressing it was less than ideal. She didn't want any guests showing up dead, or something to that effect. Making friends. Yah. It was not our final run-in with Patricia.


Photo: FaceLevel.com

One of the rapids we came to early on we portaged around. There were two flows coming together and one pushed into a huge, undercut rock. It wasn't in the guidebook. But then, nothing was.

We definitely had big water and most of it was deep.




Photos: FaceLevel.com

At the top of one rapid, just after jumping in after a scout, the outer side of my left leg, just at the top of the knee and up the thigh got well acquainted with a rock, the pain being such that I was just hoping I didn't break something. I still had to navigate a couple of drops and had to fight out of a hole afterwards. I made it to the eddy okay and Alex and Kevin ran a slot on a different line. I had to rest a few minutes for the pain to subside. I couldn't put weight on it but I could still kick, albeit with a little pain, but nothing that would stop me.

On another series of drops, I got caught in a hole just before a pretty sizable spillover. While circulating through the cycles, holding onto my craft with one hand, I was unaware of what was coming ahead, mostly because I couldn't see it. After the second dunking, while emerging, I felt as though I could get back up on my board but that process was made infinitely easier by Kevin's hand steadying my board while I slid back on it. I had to dart around rock, and I was not cognizant of the fact that Kevin had pushed me away from the middle of the spillover. It put him in a bad line, just in front of the rock, but he was able to surf the pillow in front of it to get around the other side of it. When we caught up to Alex and Josh, they were clapping. I was not really aware of the situation until hearing the perspectives of the others. Yet I was still not as shaken as I had been on the Spurt.

The hole that ate me, a second before being sucked down. Photo still from GoPro camera video.


A steadying hand. Photo still from GoPro camera video.


Yikes! Where did that come from? Photo still from GoPro camera video.

We scouted every single rapid, since we had no rafts or kayaks to escort us or show us the lines. (For that matter, we saw no other humans on the entire run, until near the end I saw one.) And there were a lot of rapids! Have you ever walked through tide pools, or a cobblestone beach at low tide? Carrying something? With flippers on? and one bad leg? Sometimes we were able to scout from a relatively easy shore walk, but other times it was crawling over boulders or wading through a shallow area with a current tugging at your feet. After awhile I just waited for the guys to give their report, saving my energy for the waves.


I must admit I was never happier to see a bridge and a cable. Was just a wee bit tired by the end of it.

When we got out of the water, we were greeted by several head of cattle. Some had horns. We had to walk about 50 ft through their field then duck a barbed wire fence on a steep slope. Something tells me this isn't where the rafts take out. We got up to the car, which was parked just at a large bridge. Two out of every three vehicles was an 18 wheeler, making it a rather noisy and drafty spot to get changed. Nowhere to really hide, either, and I don't typically mess with a bathing suit under a wet suit. Did the best I could with a towel and a car door. Probably still flashed someone.

One thing I try not to do while in the water is pee in my wetsuit. I've heard that it can be hard on the material, not to mention the odor. I'd been 'holding it' for hours. So we stopped at the grocery on the way back, and I also got ice for my knee. Here is how the bathroom/grocery store works: If you have a backpack or similar item, you ask one of the many employees hanging around the front of the store to use the restroom. They take you to a stack of lockers, put your carry in item in there, and hand you a tag with your locker number on that. I guess they don't want you stuffing your backpack with toilet paper or something. Not that there was any in the restroom anyway...

More day 5 >>

Pejibaye River

Still on Day 4, more pics & continued.

Walking down to the Pejibaye. Still from video. All water photos by FaceLevel.com


Alex, avoiding the caiman. Or was it the cold temps? No, that would have been Josh.


At least the scenery was nice. Pictured here on Alex's Kern board which is built so that you can bring your knees up onto the craft and avoid hitting rocks. We switched back quickly as he wasn't wearing as much protective leg gear.







Alex blends in well.

Luis, our faithful and very cool driver.

After a few mishaps, they did get a system down well before the end of the trip.

Kevin, keeping the boards from flying away.

After the shallows of the Pejibaye, esp. at the end, we were a little hungry for bigger water. We might have hopped the fence and ridden this if it wasn't so shallow on the landing

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