The Simple Pleasures of Tamarindo
By Frank D. Roylance
The Associated Press

 A growling outboard motor pushed our boat slowly along the winding channels of the Tamarindo estuary. Crocodiles peered at us from the coffee-colored water, then slipped beneath the surface among the mangrove roots. Somewhere deep in the forest, howler monkeys hooted at our passing.

 Then the cell phone rang, wrecking our fantasy of motoring through the jungle aboard the African Queen.

 But the phone was a reminder that we had come to Costa Rica's northwest Guanacaste province because of its easy accessibility to some of the country's rich natural heritage, and also its creature comforts.

 Just minutes from our air-conditioned room at the Hotel El Diria in Tamarindo, we were putt-putting among crocs and monkeys, clouds of tropical butterflies and a long list of shore birds. Later in the week, we would tour the forest canopy suspended from zip lines, "flying" without wings through towering cashew trees.

 Then there were the snorkeling, marlin fishing, afternoon swims on top-rated surfing beaches, and a sunset sail escorted by spotted dolphins.

 Costa Rica, a country the size of West Virginia straddling the Central American isthmus between Panama and Nicaragua, has hitched much of its economic future to the growing worldwide interest in ecological tourism.

 The tiny nation of 3.9 million people has set aside more than a quarter of its land area for preservation. A jade-green necklace of national parks and preserves protect wildlife, rain forests, wild rivers, mountain cloud forests, turtle nesting beaches and sputtering volcanoes.

 On our weeklong visit, my wife, Christy, and I and our friends Guy and Laura Manfuso, of Timonium, could sample only a fraction of the country's riches. The tour operator at our hotel alone offered a dozen bus trips, including guided hikes through the rain forest to the Arenal and Rincon de la Vieja volcanoes; hot springs and mud baths; a birding trip on rafts down the Corobici River; and a horseback adventure in search of toucans and sloths in the Los Inocentes Ecological Ranch.

 But the roads out of Tamarindo are narrow and slow, and we balked at spending so much of our vacation on a bus. Instead, we split our time between the natural attractions within easy reach of our hotel and the creature comforts in the busy beach town of Playa Tamarindo.

The uncrowded season

 After decades of fighting and upheaval in Nicaragua, Guatemala and Panama, many Americans are understandably leery of travel to Central America. But Costa Rica should be an exception. A stable democracy since 1949, the country has abolished its army and devoted much of its resources instead to education. Literacy rates are high, unemployment is low and the country is relatively prosperous.

 More than 30,000 Americans have retired to Costa Rica, taking advantage of favorable residency and tax laws, and a relatively low cost of living.

 Our travel package was booked through Vacation Express, a 14-year-old Atlanta-based tour operator. It came to $900 per person, including a chartered flight from Baltimore and seven nights at the El Diria, with transfers and breakfasts.

 Summer vacations in the tropics sound dreadful. But Christy and Laura are teachers, so summer is really the only season we can travel. And we've discovered it's the best time to go.

 Costa Rica in July is very hot and humid, but frankly no worse than Baltimore. And there are no crowds.

 Maryland's summer and fall are the rainy season in Costa Rica. That means plenty of vacancies and low prices. When it's winter up north, it's the dry season in Costa Rica. Everybody's on vacation; rooms are scarce, restaurants are full and prices are higher.

 The rainy season isn't so bad. Typically, it means clear, sunny skies in the morning, with clouds boiling up by 10 a.m. or noon. Cooling showers arrive in the afternoon and depart in time for dinner under the stars.

 At the Liberia airport, our guides strapped the baggage to the roof of a bus, and off we went, over narrow, two-lane roads through a countryside of green sugar-cane fields, pastures and wooded hills. The sun peeked through billowing clouds.

 Most of the passengers got off at one of the pricey, all-inclusive resorts scattered around the region, with their golf courses and gift shops. We visited one and found it quite lovely. But guests told us they felt isolated, and complained that their dining choices were limited. It reminded us of a cruise ship.

 Our bus pressed on until we reached the Pacific coast, and pulled into downtown Tamarindo.

 This is not Cancun. There are (for now) no high-rise hotels, no yacht basins, no Starbucks.

 In fact, the main street was first paved in 2002. Barely a decade ago, this was a fishing village of perhaps 300 people, with one sizable, low-rise hotel - the Diria. Since then the place has caught on with Costa Ricans and foreigners. It has acquired more modest but comfortable hotels, and a lot of terrific small restaurants.

 "Tamarindo is changing every six months," said Nicolas Viale, the French-born owner of the Century 21 real estate office in town. He arrived from Nice a decade ago. "I was getting bored by the French system," he said, "and paying a lot of taxes."

 Viale fell in love with the place. "When it's raining in Costa Rica, it's really raining," he explained. "When it's sunny, it's burning. It's got monkeys and weird flowers. I love the sensation of being surrounded by nature."

 But most of all (he's a real estate guy, after all), "the place is completely changing," he said. "It looks like Tamarindo is going to be one of the most important beach towns in Costa Rica."

 As good as the restaurants and hotels have become, however, the two-lane main street still feels like the end of the road, which it is.

 It is lined with brightly painted but ramshackle, open-air bars and restaurants, craft and T-shirt shops, Internet cafes and surfboard rental stores. On the sidewalk, peddlers sell beads, bracelets and earrings to tourists in bikinis and Speedos.

 We wondered why such valuable beachfront real estate had not seen more substantial investment. In its drive to protect its coastline and turtle nesting beaches from heavy development, we were told, the government claimed a maritime zone 218 yards inland from the high-tide line. Any business seeking to develop on that strip must acquire a government lease or concession.

 But because a five-year concession might not be renewed, developers have been reluctant to sink too much money into the sand. So, most beachfront shops, restaurants and bars are flimsy affairs - thatched or corrugated tin roofs on wood supports set in sand.

 Just off the main street, the lanes are muddy and potholed when it's raining, dusty and potholed when it's not.

 "Maybe that's part of the beauty of Costa Rica," said Dave "Ziggy" Ziegler. The footloose, 48-year-old American entrepreneur came here a year ago to open a bar with his son Ben, 21, after a prior venture in the States burst with the dot-com bubble. During the 1990s, he had operated a real estate company and a cowboy bar in Kiev, Ukraine.

 In Tamarindo, the pair saw a need for tour brokering and opened the Tamarindo Tourist Information Center. If Ziggy's not in his office on the main street, ask for him across the street at the bar in the Las Palmas restaurant. We would see a lot of him during our stay.

Vacation spot

 Tamarindo feels like Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville. It is crowded with North American and European dropouts and entrepreneurs, surfers following their endless summer and college kids with time and money on their hands.

 "It's a party town down here," said Danielle Deisenroth. The 22-year-old Montana native was taking time off in Tamarindo after graduation from college. "To me, it always seems like MTV Spring Break. People party here till 4 in the morning every single night of the week. Something's always going on."

 We met Deisenroth curled up on a couch in the lobby of the Botella de Leche (Bottle of Milk) youth hostel in Tamarindo, on a muddy lane up the hill from the main drag. It is a well-scrubbed and air-conditioned, $12-a-night dorm for young people.

 Deisenroth was recovering from a rough bout with dengue fever, a mosquito-borne illness she thinks she contracted in Guatemala.

 If it's Central American history, folk art or colonial architecture you're looking for, she advised, Tamarindo is not where you want to spend the bulk of your travel. "This part is just vacation."

 As a base of operations, the Diria was perfect. Built along the beach before the maritime zone law was passed, it is clean, attractive and well-run. There is lush, tropical landscaping, three pools and a beautiful bar and restaurant overlooking the sea.

 Our rooms were in a newly built section across the street. They overlooked a sprawling turquoise pool with swim-up bar. New condominiums were under construction up the hill.

 The sweeping crescent beach on Tamarindo Bay is still unspoiled. From a few hundred yards down the strand, you can look back and see little of the hotel but its palms.

 The ocean is warm, the beach slope gentle and the waves steady and ideal for learning to surf. Everywhere we went, the air was fragrant and filled with butterflies.

A drizzle of butterflies

 After a bad experience in Acapulco, we were nervous at first about the water here. But we were assured repeatedly that the water and food were safe.

 "This is not Mexico," the hotel's staff said flatly. We drank bottled water, but finally ate the salads and fresh fruit and had no problems.

 Getting cash was more problematic. The Banco Nacional has a monopoly in small towns in Costa Rica. Its ATMs are scarce and don't use the network my card required. I ducked into the bank for a cash advance on my VISA card. But the lobby looked like the waiting room of a free medical clinic. Simple transactions can take four hours, I was told.

 Ziggy said he'd threatened to make T-shirts saying "I Survived the Banking System in Costa Rica." He could just as easily have tweaked the government's telephone and oil monopolies. It can take months to get a telephone line, and gas stations are scarce. "Someone who gets stressed easily won't last," Ziggy said.

 But he added, "I'm really happy it's that way. If it wasn't, I'd be too late, because when it gets [pulled] together, everybody's going to want to live here."

 I finally got cash at the hotel, which took a sizable cut, and I made a note to bring traveler's checks next time.

 Back at Ziggy's place, we booked a morning estuary tour for $40 each. A van took us a mile down the road, where we walked across the tidal flats and climbed aboard a red and white launch.

 Our young guide, David Rodriguez-Rosales, shoved us off the mud and yanked the starter. Sheltered by a blue sun shade, we motored slowly up the estuary.

 In his best tourist English, David pointed out the black, white and red mangrove trees that crowded the muddy river banks. There were colorful mangrove crabs, a little blue heron, kingfishers, ibises, egrets and a tiger heron. Parakeets chattered unseen in the forest, and a steady drizzle of orange, yellow and white butterflies floated over us.

 Far up a narrow tributary, we pulled up to a steep, muddy bank. David led us off into what is known as a "dry tropical forest" habitat. He pointed out hoards of red and blue rainbow land crabs, termite trails snaking high up the tree trunks, and a pendulous oriole's nest dangling from a tall tree.

 Meandering in the woods, we finally reached a grove that is home to a family of howler monkeys. Prodded by David's hilarious imitation of their deep, guttural call, a large male and a female with a baby in tow began to stir in the branches high above us. The male hooted back.

 When it began to feel like monkey harassment, we took our pictures and hiked out.

 Back at the hotel, we ordered drinks beneath a huge banyan tree. A sailboat anchored offshore as the sun was setting between the palms. This close to the equator, the sun sets around 6 p.m. every day, so evening activities begin early.

 At Ziggy's suggestion, we set out after dark for El Jardin del Eden, a delightful, inexpensive hotel set on a hillside above the town, with a spectacular view of the bay.

 Ziggy had directed us to an obscure gate marked "Lobsters." We found it, and from there hiked up a long, dark alley. Finally, we entered a tropical garden, climbed past lighted pools and a small thatched bar, and entered a pretty, multilevel open-air restaurant.

 Soon to be the setting for the Temptation Island reality TV show, El Jardin is owned by French expatriates Nicolas and Natalie Segonne. For the four of us, our whole red snapper, lobster and shrimp dinners, with drinks, came to $82. It was the most we ever managed to spend on a meal in Tamarindo.

Turquoise water

 The next morning, we hired a taxi to take us 15 miles north to a quiet, white-sand beach called Playa Flamingo. The coastal region here is primed for development. Nearly every farm and masonry house along the way was posted with a for-sale sign, in English.

 Playa Flamingo is a community of expensive homes perched on a hilly green peninsula overlooking the sea. There is a marina, a handful of hotels and businesses, and a gorgeous crescent beach.

 Our driver told us the homes in Flamingo are owned by rich foreigners - too expensive, he said, for "Ticos," as Costa Ricans refer to themselves. Actress Linda Carter - Wonder Woman - is said to own a home here.

 Our driver dropped us off, promising to be back in two hours - about all the tropical sun we figured we could handle. The turquoise water was so clear we could wade in up to our shoulders and still see our feet. The sand was soft and white, and lined with shady mangroves.

 We swam and body surfed, and admired the view from our shelter beneath the trees, taking a break for soft drinks at the quiet poolside bar at the Flamingo Beach Resort Hotel across the street.

 Back in Tamarindo for lunch, we discovered that Costa Rican iguanas have filled the ecological niche occupied by pigeons back home. Reptiles the length of your forearm hang out at the edges of Tamarindo's outdoor restaurants, and move in when food hits the ground. Smaller green iguanas patrol the pool area, and tiny brown geckoes hang out on walls everywhere, waiting for insects.

 For dinner, we tried Pedro's - a few picnic tables under a thatched roof on the beach at the end of the main street. A surfer we met said we'd get fried fish, right out of the sea, cooked by the fishermen's wives and practically given away at $3 per person.

 Most of that was true. The tiny eatery was right on the beach, under a starry sky dark enough to reveal the Milky Way. The tables were illuminated by candles in jelly jars, and we were serenaded by a trio of guitar players singing plaintive cancions that the Tico diners around us seemed to know by heart.

 But the food was fancier than we expected. We ordered lobster and mahi-mahi, one garlic, one breaded. It was good, but not outstanding. Plus, it was $12 apiece instead of $3. Tourist prices, we figured.

Offshore fishing

 Guy, it turned out, had a yen for bigger, more expensive fish. For $250, he chartered a half-day offshore fishing trip. There were no other guests, this being the slow season. A professional photographer hired to shoot promotional pictures for the owner never showed.

 So Guy stepped aboard the 26-foot boat, and Captain Javier motored out about 10 miles, surrounded by playful dolphins. They caught a few small tuna, and watched a sailfish leap clear out of the water.

 Then Guy set his hook in a striped marlin and battled the fish for what seemed like a half-hour. Javier figured it weighed 350 pounds - way too big to land in his boat. So, after a few minutes to admire the great fish, and not a soul to photograph it, he let it go.

 "Short of major life events, this was one of the coolest things I've ever done," Guy declared on his return. With no pictures, of course, we had to take his word for it.

 And with no fish, we sought our dinner at the El Coconut restaurant, owned by Norwegian ex-pat Anne Kathrine Gayraud and her French husband, Hubert - more of the many Europeans who have invested here.

 From their deck, we watched a parade of well-fed, college-age kids walking toward the bars and clubs in town.

 More young people were arriving by bus. They clambered down with their overloaded backpacks and pulled surfboards from compartments beneath the coaches. Most appeared to be Americans. Tamarindo is a well-known surfing destination, close to the famed surf at Ollie's Point and Witch's Rock.

 I had to admire their pluck. An adventurous summer for us a generation ago was waiting on tables and changing sheets in the Adirondacks. These kids jet off to Central America, often combining education with playtime.

 Deisenroth - before she arrived in Tamarindo and came down with dengue fever - took a Costa Rican course in primate behavior. Her dorm-mate at the Botella de Leche, Catherine Lecours, 22, of Sherbrooke, Quebec, said she stopped for five weeks at the University of Guatemala to improve her Spanish. "I'm almost fluent," she said.

Touring the canopy

 For our next adventure, Ziggy sent us off with Rod Jones, captain of the Lazy Lizard.

 For $75 apiece, we sailed on a big catamaran with a dozen other tourists, gliding past steep, green forested hills and standing rocks. After a few hours, we anchored in a quiet cove for snorkeling, kayaking and lunch.

 Stinging nettles chased some of us out of the water, but I suffered them long enough to photograph a spotted ray, a sea turtle and lots of colorful tropical fish below the waves.

 After a late lunch, the captain hauled up the anchor and sailed us around until the boat attracted a pod of spotted dolphins. They swam and played around the Lazy Lizard for a half-hour or so, until we turned for shore.

 As the sun drifted down into a golden sea to our west, a partial rainbow emerged from the showers that were falling over Playa Flamingo, doubling briefly before fading away.

 All week long, we had seen ads for the Tamarindo Canopy Tour, so after breakfast on our last day in town, we set off in search of the place. A mile up the dirt road, we were dripping from the heat and humidity, but we arrived to find we had the place nearly to ourselves.

 Our guides, Carlos and Ron, told us that in the high season they may lead as many as 100 tourists at a time through the trees. In the quiet of July, there were just six of us. Then three.

 One look at the hilltop tower where the tour began, and at the slender wire falling away toward the forest canopy below, the three women in our group elected to pocket their $35.

 That left the men with no honorable choice but to go on. We strapped our backsides into rock-climber's harnesses, each hanging from a strap with a wheeled pulley that hitches securely to the zip line. After a brief checkout on a practice line, we climbed the tower.

 The guide went first, sailing off into the distance and vanishing into the trees. The only sound was the fading whine of his pulley on the braided steel cable. Guy was next. With a shove from the second guide, he soared off with a grin, shrinking from sight as fast as if he'd leapt from an airplane.

 Then me. That first stretch of cable was a third of a mile long, we were told - the longest of 14 such leaps.

 I flew off like a hawk, gaining speed. The wind rushed past my face and the forest canopy rose toward me. Soon, the tree branches were flying by on both sides and I caught only glimpses of the ground, far, far below.

 Then a towering tree trunk appeared in the branches dead ahead. As instructed, I slowed myself with a gloved hand on the cable, and finally glided into the arms of the guide, who waited on a platform in the tree, 80 or 100 feet above the forest floor.

 This, we all agreed, was very cool. All around us, above and below, were gigantic, towering tropical trees. Some were in flower, and surrounded by clouds of butterflies. We could barely see the ground.

 For 45 minutes, we climbed steel ladders and traversed wire footbridges to reach the next takeoff point. Some leaps were long, some short, some very fast. But all were high in the air, amid the branches and the birds.

Promising future

 Back in town, I sat with Ziggy and we talked about Tamarindo's future.

 "To me," he said, "you are sitting in the first Acapulco of Costa Rica. This will be the place. A lot of the big hotels are buying property."

 He said he and his son Ben and a partner were already developing their own canopy tour near town. In the spirit of Costa Rica's eco-tourism, they're also planning a butterfly farm and mud baths for the tourists - part of an eco-friendly resort powered by the sun and wind.

 Other developers are following a more conventional path. At the Diria, sales rep Jose Murillo showed us the hotel's two-bedroom condominiums, still under construction. They have beautiful views of the bay and sell for $298,000, he said, although a hotel employee later confided that buyers were paying closer to $230,000.

 Real estate guides we picked up in town advertised houses and condos elsewhere for as little as $69,000.

 Murillo and Viale, the French-emigre realtor, said buyers are a diverse bunch. Most are from North America, but many are Europeans, South Americans and, yes, Costa Ricans.

 Many bed and breakfasts, small, lovely hotels such as the Cala Luna, and larger luxury resorts like the Hotel Barcelo Playa Langosta have popped up along the coast near here. Many are European-owned.

 The place is ripe, Viale said, for the area's first big hotel chain.

 Those who came here because it was small and quiet and charming would seem to be at a crossroads, we suggested. Actually, Viale replied, "those people have already moved."

 Getting there: You can fly from BWI to San Jose, Costa Rica, via American or Delta airlines. But you'll need a connecting flight via SANSA or Travelair to Tamarindo. Or, it's a five-hour drive.

 TACA offers inexpensive package tours, flying from BWI through Atlanta to the new airport at Liberia, 45 minutes from Tamarindo.

 Money: Call your bank or credit card issuer or check online to be sure of compatible ATMs at your destination. Merchants in Tamarindo accept credit cards, traveler's checks, dollars and Costa Rican colons - 505 to the dollar.