Desperation, then Sunshine & Relaxation

Thursday began on a positive note. The replacement car, a Chevy Tracker circa 2001, was delivered to our sleepy selves. And after transferring our bag, the leftover pizza and giant Coke to the new vehicle, they waved us off.

"What, no paper work?"
"Nada."

We had a decision to make: Where to go. Back to Tilaran and hope there was a hotel, or continue toward La Fortuna, which we knew was touristy?

Revived from our quick nap and food sustenance, we opted for the latter option. Knowing full well the time of morning/night that it was, we figured we'd arrive by 2am and sleep for hours in a hotel near the volcano; a delightful plan.

We continued on the beautifully paved road, a little wary as we passed a certain spot on a certain straightaway about 10 km from the gas station. No animals, no rain, no cars--just wide, open Costa Rican road. We talked for a while, and then I was lulled back into my Dramamine/sleep-deprived stupor. Eventually, Kyle began shutting down. When it took him five minutes to answer a simple question like, "Are you awake?", I knew we needed to stop.

Looking for hotels on the road was as difficult as trying to find anything else in Costa Rica. Though this was the pathway to the tourist area surrounding the Volcano, most of it was framed by tropical jungle.
We found a sign for a hotel a few kilometers from the road, causing us to give up the smooth pavement for the typical boulder-strewn, chuck-holed chaos. It was painful, especially coming off of the day/night we just had, but obviously at this point sleep was so much more important than our temporary discomfort. Fifteen minutes of driving brought us to a very beautiful, expensive-looking resorty-type-deal that was completely devoid of life; no reception attendant, no late-night partiers, nothing. Apparently, most people in Costa Rica like to sleep at two in the morning.

After that 30-minute detour, we were reticent to try another multi-kilometer trek off the paved path. But as 2:30 passed and we approached 3am, I watched the blinking of Kyle's eyes take longer and longer breaks on the downward motion.

"We have to stop." I was definitive.
"I know, but where?"
I had no answer.

Suddenly, we arrived in La Fortuna. Hotel after hotel was closed. No reception area was open. As we should have learned earlier, and we reluctantly learned again now, everything shuts down in Costa Rica around 9:30pm.

Near tears and yet devoid of a plan, I was thrown off when Kyle whipped the car into a hotel parking lot, backed into a spot, threw the car into park, killed the engine, and laid his seat down in one swift motion.
"What're you doing?!" Desperately, I looked at him, praying he did not intend to do what his actions clearly indicated.
"Lay your seat down and go to sleep. We have to sleep here."

Appalled, but desperate for some rest, I began muttering. I was completely out of my mind and my contacts were grittily stuck to my eyes, my teeth gungy, my face greasy, my clothes foul. I plucked my poor contacts out and, with grimy fingers, placed them in solution. Flinging myself away from the driver's side of the car, I spat, "I want to go home."
"Yeah, we'll be at our hotel tomorrow night, babe."

But that's not what I meant. Indiana, Upland even, was looking and sounding like a retreat. A bed. A shower. Food. A bathroom. Water to drink. Clean clothes. A known world. My car. My house.

By 3:30am, we dropped into a fitful, frightful sleep. I woke with tiny ants crawling all over me, not to mention the mosquitoes that plagued my ears while I tried to sleep. Throughout the night, monkeys and other jungle creatures kept up a constant conversation.
The sun rises in Costa Rica around 5:30, so we didn't have a chance of sleeping for long. By 4:45, traffic had picked up on the road and I was done sleeping. Terrified that the owner or a worker from the hotel would spot us in our car and call the cops, I was desperate to leave. But we had no where to go.

Our plans were completely foiled. Wednesday was supposed to be filled with hot springs and relaxing at a hotel (not sleeping in its parking lot), and Thursday was our day to fly through the jungle on zip lines. The breakdown had thoroughly demolished the plan, but how do you pick up those pieces? Do you try to do it all? What do you leave out?

Squinting through my dirty, old-prescription glasses, I tried to figure out where we were as the sun rose. A land form was looming before us, perfectly framed in the windshield, but my glasses are so bad, I couldn't make out any definite shapes in the rosy dawn.

Unlike a bad dream where discomfort and haunting thoughts disappear upon awaking, when I regained full cognizant ability, I realized that I was filthier than ever, and that my body now hurt from the tenseness of the night's events as well as sleeping on Tracker car seats.

Suddenly, as the sun broke the horizon, it hit me. The looming landform was Volcan Arenal. We made it! I pushed Kyle's shoulder, "Wake up! You're not going to believe this..." I was so excited; something good had actually happened on this inland excursion. The typical Wilson Wake-Up involves gasping, sitting bolt upright, and saying something akin to, "What, what happened? What's going on?" I tried to show him the volcano, but I'm pretty sure his eyes were still plastered shut and, to be honest, he looked like death.

With the sun up, it was time to leave our cozy parking spot. But we encountered the same problem we'd had the night before. Nothing was open. But this time it was too early. We drove aimlessly for an hour until one hotel restaurant opened a breakfast buffet. After washing faces, brushing teeth, and cleaning contacts and putting them in, we felt better. Food revived us even more and we began to see the unfathomable beauty of Costa Rica.

Flowers of infinite color and variety splayed out in every direction. The sun shone brilliantly that morning, glinting off of the dew covering every shade of green imaginable. The volcano itself faced us with varying shades of earth and grass, a lovely site to behold in all it's smoking glory.
When I returned to my seat, Kyle had a small rose for me (I think someone gave it to him, or he picked it from the hotel's beautiful landscaping).

Post-breakfast we were more than ready to shower, but lacked a place to do it. Problem solver that he is, Kyle's answer was perfect: Hot Springs! Through a rather roundabout way, we found ourselves three miles off the beaten path, halfway up a mountain that directly faced the beautiful, luscious side of Volcan Arenal. The resort whose hot springs were cheapest (only $25 per person for two days of access), happened to be the newest one on the market. Only two months old, this resort had been under construction for six years, and encompasses the entire side of a mountain. They have over ten varied-temperature springs and pools spread out across their grounds. They have villas that seemed carved from beautiful solid wood. Everything was spotless, smelled like a mixture of jungle air and the pure freshness that only comes with being newly minted. More elaborate and beautiful than any hotel or resort I've ever seen, this place must be worth billions of dollars; and the construction is still underway.

When the rain started while we were in the outdoor hot springs, the contrast of cool rain in our hair and on our faces to the warmth of the springs made the experience that much more surreal and memorable.

My descriptions of this resort (The Springs at Arenal) will never do it justice. I could spend hours constructing sentences in an effort to give you the look, feel, taste, and splendor of this place. But, alas, I lack the ability to create such beauty in word pictures. Which is why I give you the link above so you can peruse it through professional marketing photography. Anyone who desires to go to Costa Rica, must, in the very least, go explore this place. I don't know anyone who could afford to stay there when the introductory prices and deals disappear. However, the springs will always be cheaper than staying in a room and their spa was state-of-the-art--so there are options for getting access.

After bathing in the springs for a few hours (and shamelessly photographing everything in sight while exploring the grounds), we retired to the gendered shower areas to clean our dirtied, yet rejuvenated selves. We were, essentially, the only people there. I spotted one other guest, a very hairy middle-aged man, during our entire visit. We each had an entire locker-room area to ourselves. Reluctantly, we departed the pampering and beauty of this place to head back down the mountain. We had a date with a masseuse at yet another resort (we were bargain-shopping for everything, you see. And the spa prices here at The Springs were far more than the tiny resort back in La Fortuna).

An hour and a half later, nearly comatose, we emerged into a sunshiny, very humid afternoon. Our muscles, which had been hard as granite from the previous day's traversing, had become putty in the hands of these masseuses. We'd both slept and emerged fully relaxed.

"No more adventures," I said, "I want to go home."

Kyle agreed and we sank into the car, whose seats had been such an appalling bed-space only 12 hours before, and now seemed to cradle us like a mother's arms to her baby.

On our five-hour journey back to the beach, we recounted stories from the day before, interjecting, "Was that just last night? Surely not. It seems like ages ago," and other like-minded comments. We were, and continue to be, so grateful for God's provision during the craziness, for his peace while we were stranded and nervous, and for angels wearing jeans, like the Tico box truck driver and the guy who brought us pizza.