I made my way past 20 rididulously annoying big ol' speedbumps into Puerto Carillo and tossed a mostly eaten thigh into the jungle. I'm all about helping out the local wildlife. About 5 km into my trek the road turned into a dirt bulldozer track. The jungle is very dry now, as it is the dry season. Dust covers almost all of the broad leafed trees in a brown haze. I'm sure deeper into the jungle the leaves are less dusty but along the road it is almost as if you are looking through a photo filter devoid of bright colors.
The road turned sharply to the coast and followed many ravines up and down until a 'T' in the road appeared. To the right looked like it led to a dead end so I headed left, to the south. I almost ran over some sort of snake that I thought was a stick until it swished away at the last second. Just at the last second I saw it move out of the corner of my eye as I passed it. It gave me the willies so for a lark I unsheathed the machette and drove the next mile or two with it hanging out the driver side window in my left hand. I put it back in its rightful place when I realized just how crazy I looked driving down the road holding on to it. Not that it mattered, I hadn't passed one person or car in the first half hour. The next town that appeared over a rise was called Punta Islita.
This tiny 300 yard curved beach was flanked by 1000 foot mountains to the north and south, leaving a pleasantly sheltered valley. Unfortunately the valley had been discovered by a resort that had bought up all the important property in town and had built a 9 hole golf course. The dirt road gave way to nicely paved and bricked streets to a nicely manicured youth soccer field and a brightly painted church. The tiny town was quite quaint but it looked as if it was too quaint, as if it were all nice and shiny for the tourists, not for the locals. After the church I gunned it up the steep rocky dirt road and stopped for a small lunch overlooking the town to the north
and the undiscovered beaches to the south.
After lunch the road turned inland for a while and started south again right at the point I was beginning to question my sense of direction. The inland areas were mostly agricultural land with pastures for cattle and smaller plots for gardens. The next beach I made it to was a long straight beach that had a long straight road parallel to the beach about 50 yards from where the sand started, with hundreds of empty lots. The beach was beautiful and looked clean and surfable. Only 20% of the lots were built on (or squatted on). Although the roads getting to this part of the peninsula are rough and unpaved with lots of very small bridges, the beach communities have been blowing up in the past 20 years. Perhaps because of the access this beach has not seen much in the form of development, but I would not be suprised if Playa Coyote turns out to be a big destination in the near future. After a few more relatively deserted beaches I made my way into San Francisco and over the only "big" river that I had to forge.
It was about 1-2 feet deep and about 25 yards wide. I made it across without problems, but i'm not gonna lie to you, it had me thinking. On the other side I ran into a carload of Canadians who asked me for directions. I told them what little I knew and they told me where to head. The driver smiled and asked me with disbelief if I was travelling alone. When I said yes he smiled and said 'cool' although his eyes told a different story that read more like, 'you silly, crazy man'. I did not introduce him to the machette sitting shotgun, so technically I wasn't travelling 'alone' but I didn't want to get into a semantic discussion with him so I smiled and let it pass. Soon after the big river I started driving on the beach, itself. I was told to follow the tracks for about 4 miles 'til I got to the next town and I would almost be at my destination. As I was driving on the beach I started looking to my right at the ocean and to my left at driftwood. It was then that it hit me that it was low tide and I was driving on hard sand and I had no idea if the tide was going out or in.
As you can see it didn't stop me from getting out and taking a pic but I started freaking out a little bit, hence driving faster until I hit the next town. By sheer dumb luck I had hit the tides perfectly but that had not stopped me from a mini freak out. After a water break I drove another 10 minutes and was there. I had driven the not so famous 'Monkey Trail' and had lived to tell the tale (not seeing one monkey, mind you). Regrettably I only finished half of the fried chicken, but on the bright side I had wiped my hands clean on the dashboard which gave it a nice armour all look. Win-win for everybody!
