Have you seen any Monkeys?

The first thing I saw once in the beach/surf town of Hermosa – after a gorgeous sunset over the Pacific Ocean (classic) – was a television that said, “Northern Iowa 69, Kansas 67.”

Our first night in Hermosa was spent getting me my college hoops fix. We jumped around to a few sports bars and reveled in the Madness; or rather, I reveled in the Madness. Tara was an uber-trooper and tolerated my hoops banter and even seemed to entertain it. After watching some otherwise boring, blowout games, we met back up with Bob and Jill who were attending a birthday party and had a few more drinks.

Retrospectively, drinking to the extent we did was a very poor decision seeing as how we were heading back to a hotel room sheltered from any breeze and without A/C. I managed to work into a full sweat during that evening’s slumber.

Luckily, the next day Tara managed to get us into a new hotel, two lots over, on the third floor with A/C. It was like a miracle. I think I cried. We settled into Cabinas Rancho Grande where I would live for the next five days.

Hermosa. This is a surf town and there’s really no other way to describe it. One afternoon, around 2:30pm when the surf is traditionally bad due to wind, I settled into a shady spot on the beach to read. I was the only person on the beach. There was not a soul in the water, sand, shade, no where. It was barren. Two hours later, as the winds died down and the surf picked up, the town made like crabs: sprinting out of their holes into the surf.

Day one in Hermosa was dedicated to living like an Hermosan. Tara woke up and surfed and I slept. This became a standard practice of our time there. After breakfast we lounged some on the beach then packed up the DP (DP = day pack which I have been mercilessly teased for naming such but has been the trip’s unsung hero) and headed to Esterillos, an even smaller surf community 5 miles up the road. Esterillos, you see, has gentler waves than the epic, heavy, unforgiving, rip current, swimmer sucking, powerful waves of Hermosa. In short: forgiving to a beginner, me.

I will forever be a beginning surfer and this attempt was no different. However, unlike my US Trials, I managed to gain some encouragement from locals. In fact, I was given pointers by a rather ornery, bad-ass looking dude despite nearly hitting him with my board as I wiped out (Worth noting: I say nearly because I cannot confirm or deny whether I indeed struck him with the board). We conversed briefly in Spanish; his dark, shirtless, tattooed body a stark contrast to my pasty, t-shirt draped, sun block painted torso. He was intimidating, but kind, to say the least.

After another failed surf attempt, Tara and I found a shady spot to relax on the beach and watch the Scarlett Macaws fly in to snack. When they arrived, the six birds settled on one tree to harvest its almonds. I meandered over for some pics. Shit. The gorgeous, rainbow colored parrots had chosen my volunteer surf instructor’s tree to perch on. He was barbequing when I arrived with my big tourist camera and timid, gringo accent. We head nodded to one another. The birds were beautiful and I got some decent pictures. I even spoke to bad-ass’ girlfriend when she came to look at the birds. Then he barked for her to return while he was holding a man-sized machete.

Then, as I was heading back, he barked again. I reluctantly looked up and, to my surprise, he was offering me a wedge-o-watermelon. I’d made a friend and scurried back to brag about it to Tara.

The next day Tara left and I had a few days alone in Hermosa. To once again sum up Hermosa I offer an anecdote. Following a Yoga class I stumbled across, I was asked, “Do you surf?” I answered “no” of course and the follow up question was asked with great confusion on the Yoga instructor’s face, “Well then, what do you do in Hermosa?” A great question but here’s what I did in Hermosa.

I met Nico. He became my roommate for two nights while Tara was home. He’s from Argentina and, as it turned out, is a great surfer. I woke up with him one morning at 5:45am to watch him and the others surf on the swell that had come to Surftown, CR. For a guy who slept from 6-to-6 and seems perpetually stoned, he sure is dedicated to his craft. He woke up at 5:15am to make himself a hearty breakfast of eggs and toast to fuel his big morning of surfing. While he did manage a joint between morning sessions the dude was good. I watched as he dropped into a wave and disappeared into the barrel. I’d previously seen him do this three or four times; each time with the barrel closing around him. But this time, as he disappeared inside the wave, he suddenly came shooting out the open end of the barrel. Triumphantly, he pumped two fists into the air. It was quite a site and I complimented him profusely back at our room. I was very impressed and he was very excited.

Another day’s activity in Hermosa was to bus down to Manuel Antonio. This is Costa Rica’s second most visited National Park and it is beautiful. There are some 20km of hiking trails, tons of wildlife, and terrific beaches to relax and swim at. I chose to navigate much of the trails and seek out wildlife.

My Manuel Antonio day began by catching the 6:30am bus to Quepos where I would catch another bus to the park. Also waiting at the bus stop that morning was the most gorgeous woman in Costa Rica who also spoke English. “But Adam,” you might ask, “How do you know she spoke English?” Well, I’ll tell you: she spoke to me, in perfect English. But soon before the bus arrived her gorgeous boyfriend also arrived and settled into a cramped bus seat next to a passed out sprawling sitter.

I hiked the trails and saw the sites of Manuel Antonio peacefully and primarily alone. I choose not to get into the details because I think you should experience the place for yourself. It’s pretty amazing.

This I would like to share. Towards the end of my hiking, I was heading down a trail when I was approached by a pair of men in capri pants and tight shirts. Now, I want you to read the next line in your best Hans and Franz voice, the weight lifters from SNL. Here it is:

“Have you seen any monkeys?”

Yup, that happened and it took everything I had in my sweaty, dehydrated body to not die on the spot due to laughter. Strangely, the next three groups I passed heading up the trail each asked the same question, but none were Eastern European. Note: I had seen monkeys.

Nico moved out when Tara returned and we were back to our old shenanigans of ridiculously childish games and rampant immaturity. We’d moved on to fake news reports as my generally unclean hair managed to stick very neatly into great anchorman hair.

We hitched our way to a hilltop resort where a friend and potential Ama Tierra employee was teaching a Yoga class. This was, by all definitions that I’m accustomed to, a 5-Star Resort. There were expansive and breathtaking views of the Pacific Coast at every turn of the resort. It was quite a place. The class was taught overlooking those views and we followed that up with another gorgeous sunset viewing.

And here’s where things got a little weird.

We watched with the other hotel guests at the hotel’s quaint amphitheater. It was a great venue and vantage point to watch the sunset. But the power ballad opera music they were blaring reminded me far too much Cirque D’Soleil – so much so that I suggested to Tara we put on a brief performance in the amphitheater – and was not fitting for a sunset.

Also, when the sun was gone, the amphitheater erupted into applause. Tara and I were dumbfounded. We had no idea what was going on. Had the hotel arranged this evening’s solar performance? Were we applauding God? What was going on? We were so shocked that we scurried out and forgot to pay our bill. Whoops. Luckily – or not – the hotel staff did not forget and we paid for our chips and guacamole.

Just as I was settling into Hermosa and the locals were becoming comfortable with the fact that there was someone there who was not surfing, it was time to go. Tara said that when you feel the comforting sense of home, the feeling that you just might belong, it’s time to go. Tara is a traveler.