Going Solo in Monteverde
There he goes again.
It’s 4:30 in the morning, and a howler monkey has been, well, howling outside my window for the last half hour. It was kind of cool for the first ten minutes. Now, I’d like to respectfully ask him to stop so I can get a couple more hours in. I’m at a small family-owned hotel that’s quite literally tucked into the rainforest of Monteverde in Costa Rica.
24 hours earlier, I was waking up at an unholy hour (around this time, actually) to board a plane in Raleigh, NC for this trip. I will level with you: I was anxious then and still am a bit now about this trip. It’s my first solo trip to a new country in nearly a decade. When my previous relationship of many years reached an amicable, mutual conclusion, I also lost my travel partner. It was time to get back in the saddle and relearn how to do it by myself again. I’m the Spartan Wanderer, damn it. It’s time to go for another wander and prove to myself I’m still a “good traveler”.
Would it work? Would I still have fun alone? The fact that I had to ask these questions about something I thought I loved and defined my self-image scared me. Combined with the sleep deprivation and physical exhaustion of travel, the sudden revelation that I’m also in the middle of a very loud rainforest at night was downright trippy. Eventually, I just have to laugh as the howler monkey continues to howl. My mind eases somewhat, and I drift off for another couple of hours.
Managing to get just enough sleep to feel human again, I brush my teeth on the balcony, staring at the lush jungle a few feet in front of me. A cool breeze rustles the prehistoric ferns. As I get into a positive headspace, I interpret this as the rainforest waving a morning greeting to me. Sunshine and rainbows and all that. Appropriately, the sun is shining, which is pretty uncharacteristic for this area at the height of the rainy season. Time to capitalize on that.
La Casa de la Montaña appeared to be designed with one idea in mind: to blend seamlessly with the environment around it. The windows in the rooms and hallways are tall and wide, and the main building is green and adorned with murals of the rainforest. A large outdoor patio and the swinging hammocks below it encourage guests to spend their downtime in nature.
“Eventually, I just have to laugh as the howler monkey continues to howl.”
For breakfast, the owner’s wife prepared gallo pinto, a typical hardy Costa Rican breakfast of rice, beans, eggs, and fried plantain, preceded by fresh fruit, orange juice, and coffee. It’s an incredibly substantial and nutritious meal to receive free every morning.
“You hear the howler monkey this morning?” Leslie, the owner, asks me. “He comes and goes every two weeks. When he’s here, he’s like my alarm clock,” he laughs.
I book transport to my first excursion tomorrow to the Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserve through Leslie after we make some small talk getting to know each other. He would prove to be an absolutely indispensable part of my trip to Monteverde. If you want to do something, you ask Leslie, and he sets it up. It’s just that simple. I have a few things on my list for this beautiful mountain region of Costa Rica. At the top, hike the rainforest, tour a coffee farm, and join a guided nighttime wildlife walk.
Today is a scouting day, however. I want to get my bearings, feel out the town, and learn the distances between things. The Internet can only tell you so much about a place. You have to hit the streets for practical knowledge about good eats, safety, and efficiently getting around. Santa Elena is the base of operations for most excursions around Monteverde. Three main roads converge to form a triangle at the core of the small mountain town. Casa Montaña is about a mile and a half removed from the bustle. It’s peaceful, but you pay for it in hilly miles.
The street heading into town from the hotel is more of a bumpy dirt path. Sporadic minibusses whisking tourists back and forth kick up small clouds of dust as the drivers dodge muddy potholes. On one side of the road is a weathered circular building with walls formed by a haphazard patchwork of green corrugated tin panels. This building seemed to have a story. After asking about it later, I learned it was previously a bullfighting arena. Once the town ended the tradition, it converted the arena into a co-op garden and built a public playground outside.
The white panels painted with red crosses out back started to make a lot more sense.
“The driving here is what I would define as confidently aggressive, but not as hostile as I experienced in China.”
Before heading into the town proper, I hang a right and walk in the opposite direction to an overlook my driver told me about yesterday. I’m glad I stopped. My first Monteverde vista unrolls in front of me, the namesake green mountains clearly defined with only thin whisps of mist hovering above them. The region is known for its cloud forests, a delicate ecosystem formed by warm, humid sea air that condenses at the canopy. It’s unseasonably clear, and I’m starting to feel the high UVs common so near the equator.
I pull on my sun hoody and retrace my steps toward town with a critical mission in mind: my first cup of Costa Rican coffee.
National Route 620 - I learn the names of roads that kick my ass - plummets abruptly down into Santa Elena over a few hundred meters. The little green empanada shop and a burnt-out, graffitied restaurant became either my markers to ready my shins or beacons of mercy on the uphill journey back. Other tourists join the path from various side roads, each with varied expressions of physical exhaustion and exasperation. We all eventually converge at the bustling little triad that forms the town center.
I find a break in the semi-chaotic buzz of 4WD vehicles, minibusses, large tour coaches, motorbikes, and ATVs. The driving here is what I would define as confidently aggressive but not as hostile as I experienced in China. I cross over to a modern rustic-chic cafe with a façade of natural wooden panels punctuated by the vibrant teal and crimson signage of a resplendent quetzal carrying a coffee branch. Café Monteverde is one of many coffee farms and cafés that offer tours in the area. For now, I’m just interested in the finished product.
"¡Buenos días! Quiero un capuchino por favor," I ask as I exhaust 90% of my Spanish knowledge in one go.
The barista entertains my attempt and asks if I want it for here or to-go, which I only know because I stood there and went “uhh” until she politely and fluently switched to English. It had only been a day and a half, but every single Costa Rican I’d met so far had been able to communicate with me despite my less than elementary Spanish.
“My cynical thoughts are interrupted by a cup of transformative, music-plays-in-your-head life-changing cappuccino.”
I sit down and listen to the ambient chatter in English, Spanish, German, and Dutch fade in and out, some originating from inside the café, some droning in from groups of tourists outside. The town definitely screamed "tourist staging area" with its massive billboards advertising zipline adventures through the forest canopy and guided nature tours.
My cynical thoughts are interrupted by a cup of transformative, music-plays-in-your-head life-changing cappuccino. It just had so much depth of flavor that’s usually lost in a normal espresso roast. You can taste the silky nutty and chocolatey notes that you would find in a really good medium roast brewed in a French press but compressed into an espresso drink. God, I’m going to love it here.
After my life-altering coffee experience, I complete some Day 1 tasks. I hit the ATM, grab some local snacks and beer from the supermarket, and duck out of my first spontaneous rainstorm that rolled down from the mountains with sudden fury. It slows to a drizzle, and I commence what I have been dreading since a few hours ago: walking back up that hill. If only Kate Bush were here to help me. I eventually make it to the top and make a deal with God for some chicken empanadas from that little shop I passed earlier. I had the idea to take these back and munch on them as I watch wildlife from my balcony.
I certainly got a show. Just after I return, the sky opens up in a way I didn’t think possible. I watch in awe, mouth full of empanada, as the torrential rain cascades violently off the ferns and turns the little path below my balcony into a strong stream. Water poured off the tin roof like a freaking waterfall. I thought I had seen rain before. I now reevaluate everything I thought I knew about rain while glancing around the property for signs of flash flooding and taking a calming sip of Imperial for good measure.
The rain recedes somewhat, so I scarf down my 4,000 calories worth of deep-fried corn and chicken before walking downstairs to explore the hotel a bit. I hear a lot of commotion on the balcony - people talking, laughing, and sounds of general merriment - and head straight for it. If you know me at all, this goes against all my basic instincts as an introvert. I’m also no travel newbie and realize taking risks and breaching comfort zones is exactly what you need to do to unlock those magical moments that make it worthwhile.
“Hey, you want a beer?”
“I don’t know you, but I think we’re going to get along,” I reply, taking the Imperial.
The beer-giver is Leslie’s son. The family was celebrating his young daughter’s birthday. I don’t know these people at all beyond the brief exchange I had with Leslie this morning, but here they are inviting me to grab a seat at a family event. When you’re in a new country experiencing a new culture, moments like these are worth more than gold.
Conversation flows, and I feel any remaining anxiety over throwing myself back out into the world recede like the rainclouds above. What was I worried about? After all these years of travel, one thing hasn’t changed about me: I’m curious. It took just one day on this fairly spontaneous trip to remind myself that as long as I have that curiosity and the motivation to follow it, I’ll be fine when the wheels touch the ground. I’ve broken the ice. Time to see what Monteverde has to offer! ◉
Written by Seth Barham
