Well, the Foas landed in Costa Rica on January 3rd minus one member of their family. On January 1st, just as Grandma was living it up with our three newly minted beach bums at Punta Leona, Jason Foa, skiing with his family at Winter Park, ran into a tree and broke four or five ribs--broke them badly--in the back, near his spine. Ouch! His pain and discomfort, and the sleepless night he and Kory spent assessing the extent of his injuries, together with the looming months of continued pain, discomfort and discomfiture, bad enough as it all already was, and must still be, was no doubt compounded by the terrible timing of the accident: on the eve of their long anticipated trip to Costa Rica--sunbathing, swimming, snorkeling, surfing, zip-lining, exploring, visiting the triplets and their two scary hairy parents--and all with Grandma to boot--all at stake--all, suddenly, sheer weight of potential disappointment. Ouch, indeed! His and the whole family's eagerness for this vacation was so strong, and so nearly answered, that for a crazy protracted moment, they twisted the doctor's arm hard enough to make him agree to give Jason a ridiculous dose of pain medicine so they could pretend the trip was feasible. Ultimately, reason ruled and Mr. Fantastic (--that's what he trained my kids to call him) stayed home, while his kids and Kory proceeded as planned; and thus began the Foas' riddled adventure in Costa Rica.
I call it riddled because there was enough about it, all the way through, which was, by mere fortuity, less than ideal--less even than a more subdued or experienced approach would have figured. In retrospect, it was as though Kory and the kids brought a case of bad luck to Costa Rica that they were trying to shake off. In fact, we just learned the car rental agency Kory used charged them an extra 500-some dollars for bogus crap that none of us are in any position to challenge. (Boo, Economy Car Rental--I don't want the rest of you just to boycott it; let's all give it the finger!)
Anyway, the point is, as unforeseeable circumstances kept us all on our toes, threatening even now to turn this post into slapstick hilarity, the spirit of the Foas, from the moment they came off their midnight flight to meet us in San Jose to the moment they got lost, eight days later, trying to find a hotel near the same airport (--they booked a room in the hope that it would make things easier--ha!), before a 3:00 flight the next morning--from start to finish, their spirit proved indomitable, as fun and wonderful as ever. It was an adventure, after all, and when the road got bumpy, as the roads of adventures always do, the character of the Foas, and of Grandma too, responded and revealed itself magnificently. No surprise there. In the end, we DeStefanos couldn't have felt more lucky than to have shared these very days with such friends--such role models.
Did I mention a bumpy road? Well, it was that, and curvy too, but first it was long--very long. From the airport and evil car rental agency, we headed to Guanacaste, the far Western coast of Costa Rica, and the place of a popular surfing town called Tamarindo. It was a 6-hour trek, which, with the heat and my own two previous nights of terrible sleep, left me all too happy to spend our first outing to the beach "watching" all our stuff (while closing my eyes a bit). But I am getting ahead of myself...
The delayed gratification only seemed to increase the Foas' excitement, which mine and Suzy's three were all swept up in. We made it to the condo, which was clean and possessed of every comfort, breathed a sigh of relief, dumped our stuff, put on sunscreen and swim gear, and started for the beach. Wesley's enthusiasm was so great, that when he descended the stair and saw the late afternoon awaiting, he ran as fast as he could for the door. BAM! Um, actually, he ran into the door--a big glass one. Oh, man, he shook the whole building, and, for his troubles, earned himself a soar knee and a great round nugget on his forehead. But, moments later, he was swimming in the sea, along with the rest, and I was trying to sleep on beach towels, bags, and flip-flops.
This was but a taste, we believed, of the fun we were to have the following days, so we resolutely left the beach as daylight dwindled, collected ourselves, cleaned up, and then set out to find dinner--a delicious and filling gourmet pizza dinner in the center of town, all within walking distance. No one said it--no one needed to, but we all felt we had finally arrived: our beach vacation, with each tasty morsel and the promise of a good night of sleep, had commenced. "Good night of sleep," it turns out, was relative terminology for Suzy and me, but these little bed-hogs slept soundly.
Morning, however, came with another riddle: the patio furniture all pressed to one side, as though it were conspiring with the grill to jump the railing. Hmmm. Well, our morning walk back from breakfast revealed the cause: wind. I couldn't believe it, even after the hysterical crying of my children, who felt the grains of sand blown at their faces and into their eyes with each gust of wind like a relentless, sudden incursion, rendering the beach unusable for them, and for the rest of us too. Maggie and I played on, for a little bit, but the wind was incredible. It blew the waves backwards, and sprayed us with sand continuously. We came back in, and that's when I saw the patio furniture, a big metal table with chairs to match, actually get swept to the side railing again. We pulled the table and chairs inside this time, ate lunch (which, for Wesley, consisted mostly of watermelon--wow, that guy loves watermelon--he even asked for it this year from Santa Claus--true story), and tried to think of ways to salvage our hopes for the day, if not for the entire beach portion of our trip, in case the wind persisted.
Well, guess what? It did. But so did we, and, after an afternoon of shopping, and the next morning Mama-run, upon which Kory fell--fell hard enough that Suzy, even Suzy, wasn't sure she should laugh at her, we did, at last, find a beach where the wind did not pester us as much: Playa Conchal. (This was also at the top of the Rudolph's recommendations, and of many other people's besides.) It was great. Sandcastles and swimming, lobster for a snack, even $20 hour-long massages.
Maggie actually saw a stingray on the ocean floor, and there was plenty of other snorkeling to be had around an outcropping of rocks and coral reef, which formed a swimming-pool-like area where even my three put on their goggles and ducked under to see fish. And more than any of that, swimming suddenly clicked for Scout, no doubt inspired by the Foas, who all swim so effortlessly. Scout kept taking longer and longer laps between Grandma, Suzy and me, not even waiting for praise to start swimming the next.
We had a fine time, but we weren't done yet. After lunch, we left Grandma at the condo, allowing her some much needed rest, and headed even further North and found a real gem: Playa Flamingo. Beautiful. Essentially windless. And fun.
The highlight for me was Wes and Paige's introduction to my own favorite beach activity--body surfing. Ironically, there wasn't much for waves at Flamingo, except that every so often, a wave bouncing off the shore would meet another one coming to it, and then the two would suddenly rise up like a wall of the Red Sea, and just come crashing down all at once. The trips stayed out of the water, Maggie and Paige were swimming out far like they would with their father, and the Mamas were catching up, while I gave my sunscreen its recommended 15 minutes of absorption time. Then Wesley, who I think went out into the water to collect wet sand for another castle, and who was no less surprised than all the rest of us by these sudden monstrous wave walls, was sucked up to the top of one and then chucked and crushed by it--Wesley and all of Pharaoh's army. Ka-Boom!!! We all looked to see if he was alright, or scared, or whatever, and then, surging up with even more power than the sea itself came these words: "That was AWWWESOME!!!"
Oh, boy, did we have fun. The trips and the Mamas just watched as the Foa kids and I played in the sea endlessly. We could not pull ourselves away, even after the sun dropped below the horizon, even while our own hunger rose up greater than any shark's. What a blast.
The next day, we left the beach and were off to Monte Verde, probably the most popular cloud forest in Costa Rica.
The wind dogged us still, made it nearly impossible for us care-ridden older people to sleep--sounded like the roofs of our two cabins were going to be torn off in the middle of the night; and the road, initially paved and pleasant, turned into a twisted, dusty, bumpy mess that turned poor Wesley's stomach every which way but right. And it even rained, lightly, but pretty consistently. But we were on a roll, and all we could see anymore were the rainbows inviting us on.
And the riddles made zip-lining that much more fun too. I, unfortunately, do not have a single picture of this activity, but here's the skinny: incredibly long zip-lines, high over vast green expanses, we were hanging flat like superman, with arms outspread--oh, and a "Mega Tarzan Swing" that scared you silent, before you screamed like mad--and Wes did every part of it. Maggie has pictures, and even some film, I think, so ask her to share it with you. It was exhilarating, to say the least.
Meanwhile, Grandma, Suzy and the five-year-olds explored a butterfly dome and reptile zoo, which they enjoyed--enough.
Notice, Suzy is no where to be found in these snake pictures. Hmmm. Well, she tried to enjoy it. And then, to top it all off, the dessert of this portion of our trip, the owner of the place we were staying at took us up behind his own house, and cut us some sugar cane. The sequence of the following pictures shows the process of our appreciation of this treat.
The knife in Suzy's hand here is not to prepare the sugar cane, no way; it is rather to fend off anyone who comes close to her while she devours it. You know what they say, "Don't ever step between a mother and her sugar cane." It's a Costa Rican adage.
But we weren't finished with Monte Verde. The owner's son Fabian took us on a tour that culminated with a great rope swing--not quite the Tarzan swing, but sufficiently high for another thrill, especially for Charlie, Scout and Kiefer.
Look again at the last one. Do you see her? Right at the edge of the trees. It's Maggie--on the back swing.
From the far-flung cloud forest, we headed home, but not before we made our way down to Punta Leona and Playa Blanca. Our assignment was twofold: showing the Foas something of our own haunt; and, of course, those big waves Maggie yearned for. Well, Leona was different, affected, no doubt by the wind (a catamaran actually sunk just off its shore not long before we got there--we saw news reports about it later), and Blanca was nice but had no waves.
So, it was off to Jaco, another surfing mecca just twenty minutes further south, and viola!, after another good meal for lunch, and big banana splits at Pops, the main ice cream franchise down here, we found waves--huge waves. It actually took me a while to figure out how to body surf them. Once I did though, Paige joined me, and, holy guacamole, did she fly. Wes caught a few, but mainly contented himself building another big castle with the three. The adults all took turns swimming and watching our stuff. While I was watching, just to make sure no part of our trip lacked its riddled theme, a little dog came up to our stuff, I assumed, to sniff for food. I tried to shoo him away with a little shushing sound and hand gestures. Then the little son of a bitch lifted his leg and peed all over my hat and towel.
Anyway, what about Maggie? Well, she was swimming out far, daring and loving the waves, and taking pictures, no doubt to share with her equally brave dad. We did it, I thought, we all fell in love with Costa Rica, despite the blasted wind.
We headed back to our farm, ate some mangoes on the front steps, saw some of Paige's beloved cows up toward Angelina, and ate our last dinner together at our favorite local restaurant, Naturaleza Li. And then it was off to go get lost near the airport (--not to mention, giving Kory a real taste of Costa Rican driving, which she was, at the time, still thinking I over-dramatized in my Road Hazards Impressions post--What?--Who, me? Well, ask her what she thinks now).
Kory always credits me for being a glass-half-full kind of guy, this mainly on account of learning to love Korean food--and maybe also her cruel sister. But, the truth is, with people like her and her family, it's easy to see the bright side of things, wherever we are, whatever we're doing, which is part of the reason I am so grateful my three have been able to spend so much time with them in these first years of their lives. We love the Foas, and though we would have rather had Mr. Fantastic in person, which sucked, no two ways about it, it was indeed something to have his and Kory's own three carry on in a way that would make any parents proud. Thanks for helping us define this Costa Rican experience so positively, you guys.
And Grandma, thanks for sharing your entire Christmas break with us. Your presence alone melts away the trickiness and worry of every possible contingency, and can make anywhere and everywhere our very own home. Your enormous and perpetual place in our hearts is something I trust you understand, so I will stop there. But thank you--a thousand times--for everything.
The Foas and Grandma went their way, and we tried to regain a little sense of normal again back home--tried to recover our energy a bit before Papa arrived, and started the final and most surprising part of our Christmas vacation in Costa Rica...
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