The Honeymooners

I married Denise Vega on November 7, 1998. This is the story of our misadventures over the days following our “I do’s”

After our nuptials and a rather long reception, which the in-laws are probably still paying for, we limped home for some late night final packing. The alarms were set to wake up to catch a red eye from Tampa to San Jose, Costa Rica. We were so tired we did not get a chance to consummate the marriage. Although on any given night I would trade sleep for sex, it was not happening that night.

Upon arriving in arguably the most beautiful country in the world, we checked into the historical Gran Hotel Costa Rica.

I quickly learned that my new bride’s idea of a vacation was not to miss anything that was happening within a five mile radius of our hotel. Soon as the tip hit the bellhop’s hand, she was on her way down stairs to meet the concierge. She drilled him in her native Cuban tongue for info on what we must see while in San Jose. She came back up to the room armed with a dozen “turista” brochures.

I was ready for a little R&R. Relax & Romance. She reminded me we had the rest of the week and the rest of our lives for that stuff, as she grabbed my hand and led me on a walking race throughout the streets of the city.

When we got home she jumped in the shower. Their shower was one of those one person jobbies so I flipped through the TV stations looking for something in English. I settled for a rerun of Cheer’s in Spanish.

When Denise strutted out with in a super sexy little black thing, I ran to the showers for a quick clean up. I was considering just washing the important parts and running out in the buff doing the helicopter move, but thought better of that. I finished up and walked into the bedroom to find my wife snoring up a storm. She looked so peaceful; I figure I could wait another day for the big moment.

Another early wake up call and our adventure would begin. We take a cab to a little aeropuerto outside of the city. A Buddy Holly plane was waiting for us to board. It was already running and billowing dark smoke from its old loud engine. Instead of the traditional direction for take off, the pilot wanted to taxi to the far end of the runway and lift off against the prevailing winds. We “shaked, rattled and rolled…”

We passed several mountain ranges where king vultures floated by us. We had to take a sharp bank near a side of a peak and a rather uncomfortable decent to land in the middle of a banana plantation in the lower valley. We waited for our transfer from air to land at an even smaller airport in Palmar Sur.

The Newlyweds

From here we rode an old VW van with its top cut off. This home made convertible could barely stop going down hills and did not have enough power to go up them, either. When the driver started aggressively pumping the breaks and yelling “ay Dios mio," Denise and I were “Hail Marryin” in the back seat. After about an hour ride through the coolest little villages, we hooked up with our transfer from land to sea on the Rio Sierpe.

This is a shot back up the Rio Sierpe. Mountains in the background, mangroves in the foreground.

We loaded up a small boat and joined a fifty year old drunk surfer dude, originally from Texas. He was appropriately named, Scotch, and seemed happy to converse with somebody in English. He asked a bunch of questions about his homeland and was very interested in our answers. He was catching a ride to his shanty on the beach he had called home for over ten years. His carry on consisted of a rusty hand saw, a bag of misc fasteners, a couple of bottles of Cacique Guaro and of course his surf board.

We later found out that Cacique Guaro was the local street people’s adult beverage of choice. I guess because of is potency and cost (about $2.50 per liter).

I told the wife, when we returned to San Jose, I wanted to get a bottle of that stuff to try. The liquor store man said, “If you have someone you don’t care for back home that comes over and drinks all your good stuff, then give him this. It will knock him out quickly and you can save the good stuff for people you like.” Needless to say, I have fed this rot gut, by product of sugar cane, to a few unnamed individuals with the exact outcome intended. You must have a rock lined stomach & a pickled liver to keep this stuff down.

The boat ride down the river was supposed to be about an hour and then another 45 minutes from the boca to the final destination on the playa.

The Tico (name given to young Costa Rican males, females are Ticas) pointed out several enormous crocodiles and stopped so we could take some video. About half way down the river we entered one of the largest mangrove swamps in the world, which was part of the Corvacado National Park.

This one wasn't that big, but it was a good picture.

Our river guide asked in Spanish, “if we were adventurous and would we like to take a short cut.” Denise translated this back to me and I said “Si”, of course. We were thirsty and hungry having missed lunch and an adventure and short-cut sounded great.

After coming around and oxbow in the river he pointed the boat towards the shoreline and accelerated towards an opening in the mangroves. The Costa Rican red mangroves were about forty feet tall, compared to Florida’s white or black mangrove which average about twelve to fifteen feet. We punched through this dense tropical opening into a creek that is about twice as wide as the boat. It was like entering a tropical version of the “Bat Cave”.

Looks fun, Huh?

We had to sit in the middle to not get whipped by the branches in some areas. The boating skills required to drive the runabout through the winding creek was impressive to me. As we journeyed into the abyss, el capitano pointed out several terciopelos (Spanish for Bothrops asper) in the root balls of the mangroves and a rather large boa constrictor in the canopy. The terciopelo is often referred to as the “ultimate pit-viper”. It’s kinda like our eastern diamondback rattlesnake, but mucho more prevalent and potent.

Now for the adventurous part.

About a half mile into the arroyo and unbeknownst to our native guide, the tide went out. We went from two feet to zippo within 15 minutes.

We were high and dry on a creek bottom in the middle of freakin nowhere.

I knew we were in trouble but tried my best to act calm for my new wife. Denise is not very outdoorsy. In fact, she was not fully informed of the remoteness of our final destination.

Scotch seemed very uncomfortable with the situation. I asked Denise to translate to the Tico, “Is today a four tide day or two tide day?” He replied, “dos”. Then I asked which direction was closest to the main river. He said either way was about 1/2 kilometer. Now I knew we were in big trouble.

Our first thought was to try and push the boat. The men got out of the boat while looking in both directions very thoroughly for crocs and snakes (at least I was). We hit the creek bottom only to sink waste deep in black smelly muck. After losing my shoes and pushing the boat maybe 10’ we abandoned that idea.

I will not even tell you about the numerous spider webs, mosquitoes & no-see-ums (just like in Florida coastal areas, the tiny bugs you can’t see, but bite like hell). Denise is a no-see-um/ mosquito magnet. I think she was more preoccupied with the bugs, than our predicament. Then the little dark fellow said, loosely translated, “we are going to have to abandon ship and make our way to the river to flag down another boat.”

Since we were stranded on a two tide day that meant the boat would be stuck untill sometime after dark. My thought was to stay with the boat and wait it out. I verbalized my thought and Scotch said we would not make it through the night out here. He said it would not be the crocs or snake that got us, but instead it would be the mosquitoes. I think I rather die a quick death than the slow painful bit by a million skeeters death.

My thought was we hadn’t seen a single person, let alone a distant boat, during the past ½ hour on the river. What made them think we would see one now at the river? Again through my wife’s translations, the Tico said the Lodge would send someone after us since we had not yet arrived.

In terms of standard survival practices, you always stay with the boat, but the Tico was the chief. I agreed on trying to make it to the river, figuring worst case, we could make our way back up the creek to the mother ship(wreck) before dark.

So we walked the plank, or at least it felt that way. Our young guide was like Tarzan. He could walk on the above ground mangrove roots like we walk down the sidewalk.

Get this, he grabs my wife’s hand, tells her to lie on her belly and he drags her a half a kilo down the creek bottom to the main river. Good thing she was not wearing her cute little “day after the wedding” outfit because she would have refused the mud bath and taken death by mosquitoes. The gringo had copied the Tico and stumbled over the roots out to the river behind Denise and the King of the Jungle.

I, on the other hand, was shoeless and the mangrove roots had barnacles all over them. So, I laid on my stomach and worked like hell trying to negotiate this creek bottom. As they rounded a turn in the creek, I could no longer hear their voices over the bug’s buzzing.

So I started wiggling and pulling through the mud as fast as I could till I started to hyperventilate. I could not catch or take a breath. My chest tightened as I kept looking for the crocodile or snake that was going to take my life.

I prayed that Denise would make it back safely and thanked God for the one and a half days we had together as man and wife. Then I started thinking how my outlaws…er…in-laws were going to react to this, especially if something were to happen to her instead of me. I flipped over on my back and just laid there trying to catch my breath.

I was also thanking the Good Lord my new bride did not see her tough manly husband flopping around in the mud and trying to suck air like a beached blowfish.

About the time I think I was losing consciousness, I see a Tico monkeying it through the canopy. He probably thought I was dead. I rolled over back to my stomach and saw a second small dark man making his way through the canopy. They grabbed me by each wrist and dragged me to the river.

At the river, Denise was in a larger boat and though her clothes were black she looked remarkably clean and comfortable. I asked how she came out of this so clean and she said she just bathed in the river. So I started to bathe, until one of the Ticos shouted back to me. I heard the words “vamanos” & “cocodrilo”. Somehow, my cracker ass could translate that Spanish just fine, so I stayed muddy and jumped into the boat.

The new boat captain radioed someone to say we were OK. Then the Ticos went back for our bags. We waited at the rivers edge in the second boat, while I searched for that croc that boated me.

We headed out the river and south down the coast about 30 minutes. We dropped off the Scotch at his make shift hut. His private retreat was about 12’x12’ with a small out-house behind it. No water or electricity. Behind it was the national rain forest. What a view this guy had. Beach on one side and rain forest on the other. When he needed supplies or Costa Rican female companionship, he simply sits on the beach and flags down a boat for a ride back up the river to Palmar Sur.

Cool little cave in the rocky shorline. Most of the playa was dark almost red sand.

Scotch's Shack. Sorry about photo quality.

Another five or six miles down the coast into Drake’s Bay, we arrive at the Aguila de Osa Inn. “The most biologically intense place on earth” as described by National Geographic.

This is a picture when we departed, not when we arrived.

On the dock we find an older couple, three Ticos and two Ticas (one with baby) standing next to tattered luggage. The owner came to the dock apologizing for our misadventure. We told them no problem, just get us to our room so we can get cleaned up/changed and that we were very thirsty and hungry. The native family started getting into the boat, including our muddy guide and I asked the owner where they were going. He said proudly that he had not only fired the young guide, but he also released his entire family. This family’s responsibilities at the lodge included fishing guides, horse back riding guides, cooks, grounds keepers, maids & maintenance men (among many others). The older man was the liaison to the nearby indigenous village.

I asked the owner in front of this family, why is he firing them. He proudly said because of the young man’s bad judgment on our inbound trip to the lodge. I told the head honcho that would not be necessary. He showed his ass with me making a remark about how it is already done. I was in no mood for this. I took a step towards him and pointed my finger towards his chest and said firmly, “If they are going, pack our shit up right now, cause so are we!”

The owner backed down quickly. He did not know how to respond, but he certainly did not want us leaving. I picked up my bag and grabbed one of the family’s bags and me and my sunburned, filthy, thirsty & hungry wife just started walking up to what we assumed was the main lodge.

After a few steps the family was right behind me and Denise grabbing our bags and leading us. I told the owner after we got cleaned up I wanted him to join us for dinner to discuss this matter.

Our itinerary said we would be in the first of eight little huts closest to the main lodge, but the Owner instructed them to take us up to the primo one at the top of the plateau overlooking the bay. I guess it was their version of the penthouse or honeymoon suite. As we started up the steep hill I realized how dehydrated we both were. Our legs could barely make the counted 447 steps.

These were not your typical steps like our normal stairs.

Building codes throughout the United States are very strict on stair tolerances. Each step cannot change by more than 3/8” in rise or run nor can they be over a certain height. When we travel up or down a set of stairs, typically, you would only look down at the first and last step. Because they are known to be the same, “muscle memory” guides you from one to the next.

These steps were all different and complete concentration was required from the beginning to zigzagging end. If you took your eyes off the steps you tripped.

The rise into the lower part of the rain clouds was well worth it. They brought us bottled water and we quickly stripped for a shower. Since they had just changed our quarters to the love shack, the hot water heater was not turned on and the shower spewed freezing water. Our first romantic shower together was something I was looking forward to. It was quite the let down as we scrubbed as fast as we could. No kissing and definitely no touchy feely.

While dressing we hear the screams and cries of what we thought was a baby right behind our hut. Denise and I gave each other a look as if to say, “are you kidding me!?” I was putting clothes on as fast as I could. We could not figure out what a baby would be doing in the “most biologically intense place on earth” behind our remote chateau. As I was on the way out the door, two Ticos come running by and out into the thick rain forest. I figured they had it handled. A few minutes later they came walking by. The first Tico had a deceased white-headed capuchin and the second had a dying 8’ boa constrictor draped over his shoulder.

I had Denise find out what happened and her best translation was the Boa got the monkey, but did not have a perfect grip on the monkey’s head. The capuchin, with sizeable canines, bit the snake perfectly on its head, sealing the serpent’s fate. The snake never let go and while dying squeezed the life out of the monkey.

The wait staff was happy because monkey and snake was on the menu for the night.

We met with the owner over a private dinner that evening. We insisted that for balance of our stay, we had better see the whole family working their respective jobs or again, we would leave. He still did not understand our feelings on this, but this time, politely agreed.

I reasoned the young man just made a mistake. No one was hurt. Scared to death, yes, but not hurt. The boss man wanted to give us a free extra day of fishing and I refused, due to other plans later in the week. He offered free drinks from the bar and I said not if you are going to take it out of the family’s pay. He promised he would not.

We order drinks! Freshly squeezed tropical fruit and Costa Rican top shelf rum drinks. Then we ordered more drinks!

All my bro friends drink beer. So to fit in, I will stomach a few of the suds when out with the boys. Secretly though, I prefer the tuity-fruity hard stuff.

Needless to say, we needed help making it back to the love(less) shack for another night of passing out on our own sides of the bed. We were to be on a boat for some pacific coast fishing at the butt crack of dawn.

For the balance of our trip, the family would thanks us, bring us flowers, point out whales, monkeys, snakes, Jesus Christ lizards, birds, birds and more birds. They took us horse back riding into the forest, pointing out all the fauna & flora.

We ate wild fruits and roots prepared by our new best friends. They even took us to that remote indigenous village and introduced us to some of the natives. They were smaller in stature with Mayan features. They spoke some other language because Denise could not fully understand them.

At the end of our trip, we tipped all those in the family whom did so much extra stuff just for us. The owner found out and told us we were not supposed to tip his people, which lead us again to talk about the misadventure.

He said most guests that he pampers would have demanded them being fired and would expect the entire trip for free. He did not understand our approach, but he appreciated it and thanked us for “our forgiving nature”. I told him the family worked very hard for “his” guest and loved their job, so we tipped them.

After our first day of fishing, we finally set aside some quality R&R time for what most newlyweds take care of immediately following their nuptials or reception.

I had one other near death experience later on in the week on a white water rafting trip, but this is already way to long of a post to get into that story.

On the flight home my wife said she loved every single thing about our trip. She loved the good and the bad. The misfortunes we encountered in Costa Rica made our honeymoon all the more memorable. We also promised each other we would go back. I can’t wait.

I end this with pictures of a few of the many fish we caught. We landed many other species and some were definitely bigger, but these were the best pictures we had. We bought a waterproof Minolta camera that used that crappy Advantix film made by Kodak. We would have been better off with a Polaroid.

This is a travally, which is in the jack family. It is hard to see, but it had unbelievable iridescent blue and purple markings above the lateral line. That hunk with a cool sailfish tattoo was our first mate. Denise wanted him for her first mate, too.

Another picture of Denise and her Mate. The fish is a cubera snapper. This was our dinner for the evening along with some el dorado (mahi mahi).

Denise's Second Mate with rooster fish. This was one of the fish that was on my Bucket List. Yes, I'm a simple man and my Bucket List consists primarily of different fish I would like to catch before I die.