Costa Rica Crushes Ohio and Pennsylvania

Not long after Coban selected his classes for the first semester of high school, we had a conversation about college. I’d always assumed once he graduated, he’d move far away and I wouldn’t see him much. (Obviously college was the perfect opportunity for him to move out west to a mountain town I knew I’d love to visit.)

He had other ideas. Ohio and Pennsylvania seem pretty cool, he told me, with all the confidence of an eighth-grader.

And this, my friends, is why we went to Costa Rica. I’ll be damned if my kid is going to leave high school thinking Ohio and Pennsylvania are the best the world has to offer.

Waking up to a view of a real-life volcano went a long way toward proving my point.

Our adventure started immediately. On the very long drive from the airport in San Jose to our hotel just outside of La Fortuna, we stopped on the side of a windy mountain road to let Michele stick her cute little face in the largest leaf I’ve ever seen.

We also pulled over to ogle this huge group of coatis like the tourists that we were. And right across the road from those were two toucans talking to each other from the branches of a very tall tree!

The next day we did a hike in Arenal Volcano National Park. The hike was definitely more of a stroll, but we saw some amazing plants and creatures along the way.

The crush of tourists we encountered where the trail ended (you can’t climb the volcano, sadly) reminded me of the band of coatis, so I photographed them too.

Next up was La Fortuna Waterfall, which, despite being overrun with people, was well worth the trip.

Behind the falls was a huge rock face covered in ferns, with long dangly vines reaching for the water. It wasn’t nearly as hot as I expected there, but we got in the water anyway. Because, Costa Rica!

I wasn’t sure about stepping right into a bunch of fish that I could clearly see. But, they kindly swam away so we could enjoy an amazingly refreshing dip before climbing the 520 steps back to the top. (Dad counted.)

And this is where our adventures with our Tour Guide really began. He told us before we arrived that we would lunch at the restaurant near the waterfall. Dad told him that we preferred to eat somewhere local. When he got no where, Coban took a shot. The answer to his direct request was also a subtle but discernible no.

And so we ate the food for tourists and then returned promptly to our hotel to hang out without our guide. The bar by the pool served both drinks and food, and by the time we left, several of us were following Bartender Luis on Instagram.

There was plenty to see just on the grounds. The toucans were there too, as well as this perky fellow. And monkeys swinging from tree to tree! I literally stood staring up at them with my mouth hanging open.

Meanwhile, everywhere you look, the plants are huge and dramatic. I had a camera that is great with close-ups, and I could not stop. If you’re not into plant photos, just keep on scrolling.

The next day we took a safari float on the Peñas Blancas River, which was low key but amazing. We saw monkeys, huge iguanas, toucans, and two caymans. And ate the freshest pineapple I’ve ever tasted.

Maybe the most remarkable thing we did was a night walk through the rain forest on an organic farm. Huber, the owner, had an uncanny ability to spot animals in the dark, even if they were 30 feet up in a very leafy tree. We saw a sloth, a baby ant-eater, several kinds of frogs, and the deadliest snake in the whole country, the fer-de-lance. This made my snake-hunting dad very happy.

After several days of feeling pushed around by our ever-talkative tour guide, we ditched him on our last day and took an Uber into town. He found us, though. As soon as we saw him, dad tucked into a shoe store, and Michele, Coban and I jumped into a clothing shop. I squatted down to hide when I saw his van go by, in a very Seinfeld-like moment.

After he passed, the four of us fast-walked down the street, taking quick turns down alleys to try to lose him. Not a half hour later, he pulled up across the street from where Michele and I stood waiting on a sidewalk, and offered to give us a ride. (We did not give in.)

Our shared irritation led to a lot of discussion and so many laughs. We were a united family front against an opportunistic earner.

Color has always made me happy, and it was everywhere you turned.

Even the trash pile of fruit peals behind the hotel looked beautiful to me.

And who knew a blooming banana could take so many forms?

Our drive back to the airport took us through a different mountain pass. We saw steep hillsides carved into truly impressive angular terraces, filled with coffee plants, grazing cattle, and even soon-to-be Christmas trees.

We stopped briefly in a tiny town whose square was filled with large, sometimes comical, topiary.

The doors to the Catholic Church stood open, so anyone could wonder in. I loved the colors on this elementary school—which made even the wrought-iron fence look inviting.

Our trip was short, but filled with jokes and laughter. And I felt so calm when I got home. The world is large, and I’m so grateful for the chance to go out and see it.

Warm Boots, Cold Snow

I set out on a loose photo-taking mission on Sunday and ended up in Point Marion, Pennsylvania. Really, I just followed the smoke from the power plant. (Steam? It might be steam.) There's something about the drama of that smoke (steam): the ugly reality of modern civilization writ large.

Point Marion is a tired little town that I first discovered in college when we used to buy kegs of Yuengling from the loading dock of a distributor (back in the day when I thought Yuengling was good beer and you could only buy it in PA). The town's real claim to fame, and the reason you might and should go there today, is Apple Annie's. Hands down the best apple dumpling I've ever had. And a literal buffet of towering homemade cakes to choose from. Sadly, not open on Sundays. I'll go back and return with pictures of those cakes another time.

The other somewhat surprising thing to see in Point Marion is the Albert Gallatin House (officially, the Friendship Hill National Historic Site). There's parking at the entrance, and apparently a nature trail of some sort to explore, but it was cold. Very cold. Luckily, I had my new boots. (Rated to -25. Thank you Sorel.) I took a few shots before my hands went numb. (I'm pretty sure I could not actually survive in Canada. Unless there are super secret magical gloves that prevent numbness. My new ones are inadequate.)

I'm not much of a history buff, but I was curious and drove up to the actual house. To my surprise it was open on a Sunday, and you're allowed to tour around inside. The lady who gave me the cliff notes story of Albert Gallatin was impressed I even knew who he was. The only reason is that he made his way to Montana at some point and both the Gallatin River and a mountain range near Bozeman where I used to live are named after him.

I like the texture on this sculpture.

The house was rather modest inside, though with pretty marble fireplaces and this rather dramatic winding staircase. 

This is the view from behind the house. It's still set back in the woods all alone, but the smoke brings you back to reality.

Asheville vs. Morgantown: Why the difference?

In case it wasn't clear from the last post, there are three stand-out reasons to go to Asheville (in any season, really): the food, the beer, and the art. Thanks to the clean water flowing down from the mountains, there are two dozen breweries located there now, from local places with fairly small operations to the new east coast facility that Sierra Nevada just opened outside of town. Their tap room was packed at 3:30 on a Friday. We wondered who exactly this crowd was. Locals? Tourists? Despite being huge and obviously commercial, the space was nicely done, with a large stage out back for music. 

Everywhere we went, there was evidence of artistic influence--clearly there are many, many creative types there. Above is a letterpress shop owned by a former Bostonian in the River Arts District, where lots of artists working in various media make and sell their wares.  A painter we met told us artists began relocating there several years back when rent got too high in other parts of the city.

I loved the illustrations on the posters  below, as well as the lovely stick art surrounding the door of the shop above.

Downtown Asheville has its own art scene, such as the art gallery located in the old Woolworth's building, known as  Woolworth Walk. To be featured there, artists must live within a certain geographic area (I think 25 miles from the city?) and are selected by jury.

I went on this trip with the idea that I would try to discern what it is that this town has that others don't (ahem, Morgantown). In the back of my mind was the question--can we do it too? Is there some recipe we can follow to create our own version of Asheville? By the time we got to West Asheville, I began to think no. I'd already seen so much, and this part of town only had more. Murals, organic ice cream shops, cute boutiques. A honey shop, for heaven's sake.

If ever a place made me want to own my own food establishment, it was Biscuit Head. I love biscuits in a huge way, and theirs are huge, delicious, flaky--divine really.

And what did they do to top off with these perfect biscuits the size of a cat's head? They made their own inventive jams and butters. There must have been at least 30 spreads to choose from, from classics like raspberry jam to unique blends like amaretto peach. Seriously. Heaven.

The level of creativity, of entrepreneurship--it so vastly exceeds what we have going on in Morgantown right now, that I'm not sure it's possible to create that type of scene here any time soon. 

Having made my way through Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, and Steel this month, I'm sensitive to how geography and both environmental and economic resources influence what happens in a place. Both Morgantown and Asheville are located in the mountains, have rivers running through and a fairly hilly topography, and are surrounded by relatively poor, rural areas. And of course the natural question is, why there and not here? What about that town allows artists and small independently-owned businesses to flourish while only a few seem to do really well here?

In addition to a larger population, one thing that Asheville has had both historically and in recent years is a serious influx of cash from investors and entrepreneurs. This is something that West Virginia has historically lacked, and that continues to this day. While there is quite a bit of growth and development happening in Morgantown right now, it doesn't have the same artistic flavor. Personally I think there's a real lack of appreciation for aesthetics in this town, and while we have more local restaurants and businesses than a lot of other West Virginia towns, only a few seem to genuinely thrive. And so in addition to a relative lack of resources, I think there may not be the interest here in creating such a place--at least not in the numbers needed to really make it happen.

Asheville's newspaper has done a series of articles about how the city has changed over the years. One interesting point they made is that while Asheville has experienced tremendous growth and is now a national tourist destination, it's become difficult for those holding the service jobs that cater to tourists to actually afford to live there. Or to make a real living on the wages they're paid. This is the kind of fact that brings me back to reality. Yes, that town looks amazing and inspiring and is so much fun to visit. But the homes are pricey and out of reach for many (not to mention we were told most good ones get swiped up before they even hit the market).

And with this, the lesson I've learned many times before rears its head again: every place has its positives and negatives. Not to mention the corresponding gem: Wherever you are, there you will be. (I try to keep this one in mind when I get off track thinking if only I lived __, my life would be so much more exciting!) As my friend said to me on our run this weekend, sometimes it seems really good to live in a place where everything isn't already perfect--because there your efforts can really make a difference. What do you think? Are we justifying here or speaking truth?