Another good night’s sleep. But regardless of this, I was awake at 4.30 listening to the sounds of the jungle, the grasshoppers in the background, frogs chirping in the foreground, then as the light gathered, the howling of the monkeys and the cawing of the birds.
We tried doing an early morning bird-watching walk, but despite all the squawking, the forest was too dense to spot anything. A large flock of parakeets flew over making a racket, exactly like they do in England.
We rather fancied doing a mangrove kayak tour, something the area is renowned for. The place to go was just back up the road at Punta Uvo. Some online research suggested we needed to book, with guided tours for $70 per person. Quite expensive. We decided the best thing was to get there early and have a look for ourselves.
The turning to Punta Uvo was easy to miss: one of those inconspicuous, stony tracks that don’t look like they are going anywhere. The track ended near the beach where we parked amongst the palms (the alternative was to park for a fee in the grounds of a restaurant).
There were plenty of places hiring kayaks for a price of $20 per person for an hour and a half. Being self-guided, it wasn’t really comparable to the online prices. I quickly signed us up because Sarah was having second thoughts. She was looking at the murky brown water and wondering what might be lurking in there. I asked the girl taking the money if there were any crocodiles. “No”, she said quite emphatically.
We set off up the creek with two paddles. The forest crowded in over the water. The sound of the ocean disappeared, making the comparative silence quite eery.
We paddled slowly and quietly, overtaking a group of three Germans, each in their separate kayaks. The foremost of the group, a girl, chatted to us as we approached. She thought we were part of her group. When she realised her mistake, she thought this was very funny and called us her new English friends, switching to fluent English without even thinking about it.
On we went up the creek. No one else was ahead of us now. We were on our own.
We saw two tortoises sitting on a log, sunning themselves. The first one scarpered, but I got a picture of the second. Photography was a high-risk activity with a chance I would drop my phone into the water, never for it to be seen again. Top tip of the day: get one of those waterproof phone cases with a neck cord.
As we went on, there were tortoises wherever we looked. Some people called them river turtles, but I always thought turtles had flippers, tortoises had claws, and these creatures had claws, so in my mind, they were tortoises.
Sarah was unhappy with how we had to navigate all the floating debris. At one point, we got stranded on a half-submerged log, which we found surprisingly hard to push off from again. That made us both a bit wary about pushing on regardless.
We got to one area where fallen logs and branches straddled the creek. Sarah declared this to be our turning back point, so turn back we did, only to pass the German trio again. They asked if we had seen the sloths right back at the start. No, of course we hadn’t! They pushed on upriver past the obstacles. Seeing them get by so easily made us determined to press on further, so we turned around and followed them.
It wasn’t long before an even denser wall of branches and leaves, an entire fallen tree, blocked the creek. This really was the turning back point for everyone. We hadn’t gone even a kilometre from the beach, but we’d used up most of the time, seen some tortoises, had a bit of an adventure, so we were happy.
Nearly back at the start, a group of kayaks had stopped to look at something, exactly where the Germans had told us the sloths were. Sure enough, once we’d got our eye in, there they were. I was expecting bundles of fur lodged in the trees, which is all we’d seen of sloths before. This was different. These sloths were active!
They were swinging very slowly, as you’d expect, from branch to branch, feeding themselves leaves as they went. Two were high overhead, but one was low down, giving people an easy view. They were like slow monkeys. It was fascinating to watch them.
Punta Uvo had a lovely beach. It wasn’t even 10 am, and our day’s adventure was over, so we found a spot to settle ourselves down. It was very peaceful.
The sea was calm again, just to Sarah’s liking. We both had a swim in the lovely warm water.
I had a funny driving experience getting out of the beach car park. The car wouldn’t get any traction on the sand. It was very puzzling. I put it into four-wheel drive and clawed the car out of the parking spot. Then I realised I’d left the handbrake on. Once that was off, it was quite a bit easier, no problem at all. That was when I reversed into a palm tree. Fortunately, not a mark on the bumper. Sarah got out to do some guiding, and, with her help, I made it back to the safety of the stony road.
We got lunch from a supermarket, then relaxed through the day’s heat at the Dream House. For today’s sunset stroll, we walked past all the other lodges to the wild end of the beach. We turned around where a deep creek made going harder a bit of an expedition.
Back at the Congo Bongo Resort seats, Pingping, the dog, awaited us. She came to life and started romping with another “stray” dog over this couple’s towel – another embarrassing “dog owner” moment.
The couple with the towel asked if we wanted to try a coconut. They had a fresh one, which the chap promptly smashed open a crack so water began to leak out. Half expecting some revenge trick for “our” dog covering their towel in sand, I took the coconut with some trepidation. The idea was to sip at the break, drink some and spill the rest of the liquid down your chest. The taste was strange; it was nothing like tinned coconut milk, nothing like coconut, just slightly sweetened water. I was pleased we’d taken some cans of beer to drink.
We stayed to watch the sunset. I had a final dip in the sea, wondering when I would next, if ever, swim in the Caribbean again. The last of the light lit up the clouds. We watched the pelicans wheeling and diving and sadly turned for home.
It was time to leave the Dream House, time to pack up and move on to a very different Costa Rican experience, the next phase with our camping truck.
Jenny’s flight finally departed San Jose Airport, which was fog-free at last. Iberia was able to get their plane in from Panama, though only with enough catering for one meal on the 10-hour flight to Madrid. Jenny put the airline at the top of her “never fly with again” list. For four nights, we were at The Dream House, and Jenny had been travelling home (or trying to) for all that time.
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