Results tagged “Central America” from Intelligent Travel Blog

Today five Central American nations--Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua--celebrate 188 years of independence. On this day in 1821, Central American notables accepted a plan drafted by Mexican caudillo Agustín de Iturbide that declared the five nations free from Spain. Today in Central America most people celebrate their independence much as we in the U.S. do on July 4th: a day off from school and work, full of parades, picnics, parties, and patriotism.

Here in the U.S., today also marks the start of National Hispanic Heritage Month during which communities around the U.S. celebrate the diverse and dynamic Hispanic culture. Here in D.C., some of my favorite activities related to Hispanic Heritage Month include the National Zoo's Fiesta Musical this Sunday, September 20th, from 11-5 p.m. Admission is free, so you can enjoy lots of Latin music and dance at the zoo's band shell, buy some authentic Latin cuisine, and browse the colorful arts and crafts for sale.

Rainer Jenss and his family are currently on an around-the-world journey, and they're blogging about their experiences for us at Intelligent Travel. Keep up with the Jensses by bookmarking their posts, and follow the boys' Global Bros blog at National Geographic Kids.

When our TACA flight from Lima finally touched down in the capital city of Costa Rica, it marked just the first time on this entire world tour that we arrived in a new country without any game plan whatsoever. Admittedly, we aren't exactly backpacking it around the planet, so this was new territory for our family. This was also intentional because we wanted to add a twist to the final month of the trip so we wouldn't get too caught up in counting down the days until we had to go home. The only arrangements we had made were to spend a day in San Jose with a Lonely Planet guide to get our bearings and devise a strategy for the next two weeks.

The first of many spontaneous decisions was made before we even checked into the hotel. Driving from the airport, I noticed several street vendors selling Costa Rican soccer jerseys. The taxi driver explained that the U.S. was in town for a World Cup Qualifier match that very night, and the stadium was only 10 minutes from where we were staying. Never one to pass up an opportunity to attend a major sporting event, I scalped myself a ticket and jumped right into the local culture by watching Costa Rica embarrass the U.S. 3-1 in front of a jubilant sold-out crowd.

To my surprise, there were more than a handful of Americans in attendance, a precursor of sorts to the large number of U.S. tourists and expats we would encounter throughout our stay. I subsequently found out that a sizable contingent of Americans have come down here in recent years to retire, start up businesses, or relocate to a tropical paradise. Their large presence also served as a reminder that we were not too far from home anymore, a thought that didn't actually excite us. For this reason, we made a conscious decision to try to avoid the more commercialized and developed areas of the country and stick to the more natural, unspoiled terrain.  

The Costa Rican tourism business seems to cater to three distinct groups of travelers: eco-friendly, wildlife enthusiasts; adventure seekers; and sea, surf and sand lovers. The latter has certainly contributed to the increased number of tourists and resident expats from the States. It's also blamed for transforming several of the country's laid-back beach communities into Miami Beach-style resort towns.  Although many people like ourselves could easily fall into two or more of these categories, we opted to pursue the exotic wildlife and natural beauty that put Costa Rica on the tourist map in the first place, while sprinkling in a little adventure and surf every now and then for good measure.    

Hunter Braithwaite finds more that great surf along the Costa Rican coastline.

Costa Rican roads are a cruel joke played on Americans, I thought, teary-eyed, as I clutched my forehead, which had just bounced off the windshield of our rented SUV. Why did this happen? What did we swerve to miss? Oh, the usual - a parade of stray dogs, barefoot children on dirt bikes, a rooster lazily strutting like a Caribbean dictator. I suppose parade implies motion, and dead pigs don't move, but the parade also featured a dead pig. Considering the pain, it's not remarkable that this is my chief memory from a week in Costa Rica.

A few days prior, I met a group of high school friends in Nosara for one last week of surfing before the anchors of career confined each to our own harbor of adulthood. The days that followed consisted of little more than fish tacos and sunburns. After almost a week of this, I convinced the group that there is a beautiful and varied country beyond Playa Guiones, and it would be regrettable to spend the rest of the vacation surfing. (Full disclosure: I hate surfing, it's boring and too hard.) So we did.  

Around noon we bought some sandwiches and rented a Toyota Prado for the day ($96 and a valid passport). With little more than a rough approximation of where we wanted to go (south) we took the 116 to Samara. Samara is the type of place where the locals only talk to you if attempting to sell you pot. They'll saunter up, chat about the waves or about Obama, and just when you think you've made a new friend, whisper into your ear: "You want the weed?" Here we ate empanadas and smoothies at a rancid-smelling soda shop. Despite the maddening heat, it was one of the best meals of the trip. In Costa Rican tourist towns, there is a negative correlation between cleanliness and food quality.    

The road south from Samara turns quickly from bad to worse. Drivers are required to ford several rivers. Luckily, this was the peak of the dry season, so a river is nothing more than a bone-dry ditch. If we had come three months later, the Prado would never have made it. It barely did as is. In front of an audience of old Costa Rican women and cows, we spent 10 minutes trying to get out of a sandpit. You could hear it rustling from the palm trees, "muy estúpido."  

Camaronal is a black beach. As we drove up to it, the sun was setting and the wind was kicking up a lot of sand. It looked like smoke as it hung in the air. Very intense. Down by the water a single person stood watching baby turtles walking into the sea.