Costa Rica - Out to the Mountains

Coffee Growing Country
In the mountains southeast of San Jose the coffee farms dominate.  I booked a room through AirBnb in a small town called Rio Macho, on the edge of Tapanti National Park.  I was interested to learn more about coffee other than how I like it served.  On Friday afternoon I told my Costa Rican colleagues my plans and they all looked at each other quietly, as if to decide which of them would deliver the bad news.  "It's only 38 kilometers away" I said.  Carlos, the boss of our operation in Costa Rica, responded "on a Friday night in San Jose, 38  kilometers may as well be three-hundred and eighty!"  Friday is pay day here and the locals cash their checks and party, clogging the roads in every direction.

It was two hours of the most annoying bumper to bumper traffic: slow drivers, multi-lane highways that bottleneck to one when crossing ancient bridges, potholes that would break your axle and your neck if you happened to drive into them.  I was so happy to have rented a giant 4-wheel drive.  Costa Rica is a combination of raw natural beauty and horrendous infrastructure.  By the time I arrived at the far end of the long driveway to my rental, the sun was already on it's way towards Hawaii.

The owner of the house was out of town so I was to meet Rodrigo, the groundskeeper.  When I parked, he materialized out of the darkness like a ghost.  He took my luggage and guided me to the front door.  We walked through the house and took countless turns left and right, each seemingly leading to yet another narrow hallway.  As we passed room after room Rodrigo pointed to each and explained what it was.  "Guest room.  Bathroom.  Kitchen.  Bathroom.  Guestroom.  Closet.  Kitchen."  We kept turning and walking, I felt like I was being lured into a maze, never to escape.  The house was ancient - as if it were built for an 18th century coffee baron and then re-modeled in the 1950s and left untouched since then, a museum.

We finally reached my bedroom and Rodrigo gave me my key and his phone number and told me to call him if I needed anything then walked slowly out the door.  Seconds later I popped my head out to ask about the internet but he was nowhere to be seen.  He'd simply disappeared like he'd appeared, without a sound, not even bothering to register his footsteps with the creaky wood floors.  I closed and locked the door and didn't venture out again until I'd found a flashlight on the bedside table.

I found the bathroom, ran in and locked the door behind me.  It was as ancient and giant as every other room, with a shower stall that could qualify as a Manhattan studio.

After my shower I searched for light switches and turned them all on.  As I walked, the house creaked around me, each step echoing from a different direction, sometimes from behind me, other times in front.  It was unnerving - I started to talk to myself.  What did this place remind me of?  Why was I so spooked?

Then I realized.....  This was just like the movie "The Shining."  Ancient large hotel, ghostly caretaker, old photos, antiques....

I got into bed, turned off the lights, pulled the covers up snug and tried to ignore the batch of pigs staring at me from the bureau.  I fell quickly asleep but woke up many times, usually to the sound of critters outside on the wooden porch skittering back and forth.  I tried to calm myself, saying "probably just a dog" but I knew in the back of my mind that dogs don't sound like that.  It was a light, nervous sleep.  I couldn't wait for daybreak.