Travel Log 3
Below is a simple start to some words I penned after returning home from our trip to Central America a few months ago. After spending ten days traveling around Costa Rica with our kids, I can honestly say that our lives have been changed. We were blessed with some incredible experiences, and more importantly, sweet time with friends.
These journal entries of sorts, may be published a bit after being written, as is the case with the words below. I hope these perspectives will serve to inspire you as you recall the people and experiences that have shaped your life and travels.
To read part one and two, click here, and here.
(Written February 2018)
Nearly a week later, we sat cross-legged on the bed in a little house on stilts, checking flights home in the event that we could hop on an earlier one and see our two toddlers a few hours sooner. Nothing remarkable had happened and honestly we were tired from all the “vacationing”. But the price tag on changing flights made it clear there was only one choice, stay in paradise one extra day and enjoy one more tour, one more candlelit dinner.
The next day we signed up for a large group ATV tour through the jungle.
As we started to follow the other riders away from the practice field, our guide pointed at my husband and I, motioning for us to leave the group. We rode over to him, expecting a lecture for getting a little raucous on the practice track, and instead a grin spread across his face and he said a few poignant words, “You guys ready for the real tour?”
We spent the next few hours enjoying some of the best riding we had ever experienced. Jungle trails we would never have found on our own, creek bottoms, and hill climbs, old pipes large enough to ride through.
At one point in our ride we stopped in the middle of the dense forest. The quads rattled and shook, their low grumble drowning out the sounds around us. So I cut the engine. My husband and our guide followed suit.
Then we sat.
For a second there was silence, and then we heard the song. The sounds of the giant Ceibo tree as the wind blew through it’s ancient branches. The sounds of the Chicharras whispering in cadence, as tropical birds called and whistled, gliding from tree to tree. It was as if the woods were singing to us in unison, one voice with many sounds.
And there we sat, listening to the forest song, feeling grateful and content.
Soon we were adding to it’s song, swapping stories with our guide. We exchanged our words like gifts, carefully selected and full of emotion. It was beautiful. I recall thinking to myself, “I will remember this moment, in the thick forest shade of the volcano, for the rest of my life.”
And before we knew it, we had made plans for dinner, not in another restaurant at a table set for two, but in his home, around a table set for seven.
We went back to our bungalow to shed our mud-caked clothes and make ourselves presentable, and questions began to surface. “Do you think he is ok with us coming? Will it be awkward? Is it safe, we don’t even know this man?”
But then the truth settled around us. The realization that perhaps our poolside lens change was all for this moment, so we could see him. Not just a guide who could show us a good time, or fulfill our thirst for adventure, but a man with a story and a home, and a family, and an outstretch arm, saying, “come” and I will make you a part of our world.
A few hours later we sat around a small table just inside his front door, sharing a simple meal with his family. It was imperfect and humbling, simple and profound. We shared bits of our story in broken Spanish, as they told us about theirs.
Later that evening, as we said goodbye, tears tugged at the corners of every eye. We held one another close and made promises to return. I prayed to God we could keep our word. We backed our white Suzuki out of their narrow drive, while their words rang fresh in our ears, “You are family now, and this place is your home.”
We marveled at their love, how quick they were to extend it, how willingly they shared their table. It was more then we could have hoped for, better then we could have planned ourselves.
Our trip instantly held far more significance from those few final hours, because relationships are always worth more; more than adventure, more than experiences, more than tradition, and more than our comfort and security. They may require risk, looking foolish, speaking improperly, piecing together stories in two languages, and laughing nervously at our mistakes, but they are so worth it.