Following the apparent Costa Rican theme of ‘Gouge the Gringo’, the ATV/Canopy tour turned out to be very expensive. In booking the tour, I paid the hotel approximately 480,000,000 colones in exchange for the opportunity to risk my life for an entire afternoon in the name of fun. At the appointed hour, Christian, our tour guide, showed up in his racing van, and continued the theme of ‘Tico driver insanity’ by passing every single thing in sight.

Costa Rica Route One – The Pan-American Highway

The roads in Costa Rica are all two lane affairs, even the mighty Pan-American Highway. Put an obstacle in front of a Tico driver on these small roads, and they instantly see the red mist. They will get in front of that obstacle, no matter the risk or cost. Pass a semi around a blind corner on a mountain road? ¡No Problemo! (Mountain road passes are explained more fully on Day Four) Not enough room to pass? Drive in the dirt on the inside! The only rule of the road is – Whatever it takes – GET IN THE FRONT! Something more interesting could be happening up there, you never know.

Though Christian did his best to kill us all, we arrived at the ATV lot in one piece, and after a brief orientation speech (literally, “Press this thing to go, grab these things to stop.”) we were on our way. Yes, we were on our way all right, right down the main road we drove in on! I thought to myself this can’t possibly be legal, considering Christian’s ATV was the only one with a license plate on it. That was about the only thought I had time for, as our tour leader was already about a half mile out in front. We struggled valiantly to keep up.

Our little ATV caravan drove through the small town of Brasilito, and we noticed the temporary bull ring that had been constructed in a vacant lot. Providing we survived the day’s activities, there was no way we were going to miss out on that kind of fun.

Christian swerved off the main road onto a dirt path. We followed as best we could, which was easy, considering the plume of fine dust kicked up from his machine. When I used to think of Costa Rica, I imagined a land of lush, tropical green rain forests. We couldn’t have been further from something like that, bumping down a dry and dusty trail, covered in a fine coating of sweat and mud. What fun!

About forty minutes later, we arrived at the Canopy Tour building. How convenient, they hide the rain forests well off the main roads! Like almost everything else so far, my idea of a canopy tour and the Costa Rican equivalent are as different as can be. My thought was we’d get into some kind of gondola, and travel along the tops of the rain forest trees, marveling at the monkeys, toucans, tree frogs, and other assorted wildlife from the safety and security of an enclosed mechanical device. The Costa Rican idea of a canopy tour is to strap on a tight harness, clip a clumsy looking pulley-like thing to that harness, clip your pulley-like thing to a thin wire suspended hundreds of miles above the ground, and then throw yourself off a perfectly good treehouse platform and shoot yourself across the gap on that nearly invisible wire to another platform.

Being the gentleman that I am, I let Fiona go first. That way, if it turned out to be not-so-safe, I wouldn’t have to go. Chivalry at its finest, I know. Fiona, being the complete nutter that she is, immediately clipped in and without even thinking ZIIIIIIPPPPPEDDDDD off to her death.

Oh dear God, how am I going to break the news to her parents? It’s all my fault. My moment of sadness ended when the whoops I heard from the other end told me she was still alive! That moment of sadness returned when I realized I would have to go next.

Believe me, it’s hard to fully appreciate a ‘canopy tour’ suspended three hundred miles above the ground by a dubious pulley system attached to a nearly invisible clothes line, with a too-tight harness cutting off all the blood flow to your lower extremities and mashing your balls into hamburger, jumping off a perfectly safe platform and hurtling out of control towards God-knows-what at eighty miles an hour, screaming in terror like a little girl with your eyes tightly closed. Or at least I imagine that’s how it would be for the less brave among us.

I release my stranglehold on the treehouse platform, and with my life flashing before my eyes, I rocket off into the great green beyond. WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOO!! Somehow I survived my first flight, and had just ten more opportunities to die spectacularly before this portion of the tour ended. We flew through the trees like the man on the trapeze, and had the time of our lives. It did get better, until the guides decided they were bored, and started bouncing the zip line while I was on it. ¡Gracias amigos! It really wasn’t that bad, now that I am safely on the ground, still alive and writing this.

After cheating the Grim Reaper eleven straight times in a row, and all but exhausting my daily supply of adrenaline, I removed the ball-mangling harness and returned to our waiting ATV’s. Christian was standing by, just waiting to race us back to the ATV lot. Before we left, he asked us, “Did you see the monkeys?”

Monkeys? No! Of course my eyes had been closed for the better part of the past hour, but Fiona hadn’t seen any monkeys either. Christian pointed to a nearby tree, where a woman was taking pictures. In that tree was a family of wild howler monkeys, the Dad Howler eyeing us warily as we took pictures.

The woman, pointing frantically at the Daddy monkey exclaimed, “My God! Will you look at the set of balls on that one!”

After snapping the requisite pictures of wild monkeys and their big balls, we left, adding another layer to our dust coating, racing though the dirt on our way back to civilization. Somewhere past Brasilito, back on the main road, we ran into trouble. No, not an ATV wreck, something much worse.

The police.

Standing in the middle of the road, palm facing us in the universal sign to stop was a very angry looking oficial de la ley. We parked our all-terrain vehicles on the shoulder, and waited. The cop walked up to our guide first, gesturing to Christian’s license plate, and a rapid fire argument in Spanish began. Thanks to my many minutes of study with Rosetta Stone, I couldn’t follow a word of it, but I knew it wasn’t good. At one point during their discussion, I thought about adding “Hey, Your hat is blue!” but since his helmet was actually white, it probably wouldn’t have helped things much.

In a way it was kind of exciting though. Stopped by the cops in a foreign country. I figured we’d probably have to pay a small bribe to be set free, and was looking forward to telling the story of how we faced down the police at the pool bar later that night.

After a while of back-and-forth arguing, the officer grabbed a toolkit and removed Christian’s license plate. He tucked the plate in his boot, wrote about five tickets, handed them to our guide and just left. We were free to go, but poor Christian had racked up over $100 in fines. Turned out he had no license at all, the ATV had a plate but was not registered, and evidently, driving ATVs on public road is in fact against the law.

We took a rocky off road path the rest of the way back to the lot. The licenseless Christian didn’t want to tempt fate again, so he called someone else to return us to the hotel.

Was it worth it? Absolutely!

There’s no better way to wash off a hard earned coating of dust than a pool bar, and it’s also not a bad way to meet interesting people. As soon as we sat down for a cocktail, a bald man swam up. Before I could launch into our story about breaking the law, he said,“Excuse me. Have you been in Costa Rica long?” He introduced himself as Rolf. Rolf’s thick German accent made him difficult to understand, but we did our best. He got right to his point. “Do you know what the drunk driving laws are here? For example, in Jamaica it’s OK to drive around with a drink in hand. You see, Jamaicans know what’s good for tourists and tourism, and I need to know if Costa Rica feels the same way.” Note to self, if Rolf tries to pass on the road, don’t let him.

We excused ourself from Rolf, and got ready for the nights entertainment, the Lucha del Toros.

Pre bull riding dinner music was provided by ‘Conchita’, a homemade marimba, and her three able-bodied marimbists. These three hammered out traditional Costa Rican music as well as old wedding band favorites, and were great fun to watch. Dinner was once again chicken with rice, a very simple but tasty local favorite.

Admission to the bullring stands was $6 a person. Most Ticos had arrived early, and grabbed the best seats, the free seats, all along the top of the wooden fence that made up the ring. There was no way to know the entertainment value of the ¢3000 entrance fee. It turned out to be well worth it.

Yes, it’s true. I live a fairly sheltered life. I’ve never been to an actual rodeo, but I’ve seen enough on TV to have an idea of what they are like. A cowboy (or bull rider, or more commonly – idiot) grabs a rope around a gigantic and angry bull’s neck, and just at the gate is opened, another rope tied around the back of the bull smashes the bulls balls together, and the cowboy (idiot?) tries to hang on while the bull tries to throw the guy off and kill him. The guy that rides the longest wins. When the rider is either thrown off or dismounts, rodeo clowns distract the angry bull while the idiot (bull rider?) runs for his life. Pure entertainment, with the added benefit of possibly lots of carnage! Why, up until now, I have never been to one of these really fun seeming events, I don’t know.

But Fiona and I were at one now. Sheltered life over! The loudspeaker blares incomprehensible Spanish and tinny music. Excitement grows as the time for the first bull ride of the evening draws ever closer. The cast of knuckleheads that are going to jeopardize their lives by trying to hang on to a half ton of bucking steak for our entertainment line up, to the wild cheers of the crowd. Everything is set, then suddenly, half of the audience, the half sitting on the top of the fence, loses their collective mind. Before the first bull is released, about thirty spectators JUMP DOWN INTO THE BULL RING!

Fiona and I sit there, astonished, waiting for them to call off the first contest. No such thing happens. The first bull is released, and he ain’t exactly happy. He kicks and bucks and thrashes, and before long the first rider is down. Mind you, there are still about forty spectators standing along the edges of the bull ring, with a very angry bull in the middle. Six people run over to the fallen rider, scoop him up and shove him through a glory hole in the fence. The rest of the fans start taunting the bull, testing their bravery by running in front of it. The bull snorts and paws at the ground, then charges after a few spectators until two cowboys on horses come out and lasso the bull.

Now I ask you, where in the United States could you get this much for your entertainment dollar?

The second ride goes much as the first, with fans running all around the bull after it pitches the rider off into a crumpled heap. Fiona, a nurse who cares for sick and injured people all day at work, is mildly disturbed that the riders are getting thrown around and not getting up on their own. Me, being the cold hearted and emotionally unavailable cretin that I am, what can I say? I love it!

The third rider has a bad time of it. His bull knows the drill, and also knows how to get the annoying lump on his back off quickly and efficiently. He further knows that once the rider is down, if he gores the guy with his horns then tramples on his chest, the crowd will go wild, which is exactly what happens. I can’t contain my excitement at this most excellent of contests, whooping it up and hollering for the bull. Fiona is horrified. Bloodlust takes over as I wish the next act was releasing lions into the ring to eat up all the remaining Ticos. Six guys run out and scoop up the quivering form of the ex-bullrider and stuff him through the glory hole in the fence. Some of the crowd rush over to peer over the fence where the damaged rider was, while I only wish we’d sat closer to it so we could enjoy the destruction better.

We watch the rest of the contest, and it all goes pretty much the same way. Bull riding in Brasilito is popular for the same reason that NASCAR is. You watch for the wrecks, especially the spectacular ones. Every rider is damaged to one degree or another, but none worse than rider number three. Before leaving, we circle around to see what was inside the glory hole where they stuffed all the bruised and bloodied competitors.

Once again, Fiona was horrified.

Our second day in Costa Rica was the best by far, but even more excitement was on the horizon; for tomorrow, we plan to once again take our lives into our hands with a little road trip to the Arenal area to see some active volcanoes.

The next installment of the Costa Rica Adventure can be found here.

Author: frenchy