Costa Rica Travel and Vacation

     What do you want from your Spring Break? Some of the typical answers from American and Canadian college students include things like: Sunshine Good nightlife A beach scene A chilled atmosphere Spring Break Parties Inexpensive food and drink Surfing and water sports       For all these and many more, Costa Rica checks all the boxes. It has only very recently become popular as a Spring Break destination, and it offers a slightly different experience than is typically associated with the usual Spring Break zones like Florida and Cancun. Because it’s not first and foremost a Spring Break destination (as is the case with the others), it’s not so densely and highly built up with hotels and resorts. While it can be hard to move at the height of Spring Break in many of the typical resort areas, Costa Rica’s crowd tends to be smaller and less intense.      That’s not to say that there’s no party atmosphere, however! In fact, just the opposite. The less densely-packed beaches and bars provide many more opportunities for meeting and getting to know other groups and new people, and going to a beach bar party in Costa Rica is often likened to going to a house party back home – intimate, fun, and friendly. The same goes for Costa Rica’s nightclubs, live music venues, and smaller reggae clubs, each with their own unique identity, but all with that laid back Costa Rican charm and atmosphere.       Costa Rica’s beaches are world famous, and once you’re there it’s easy to see why. It’s very often described as a tropical paradise, and you’ll understand this description when you’re laying on a sun-drenched beach, iced drink in hand, taking in the fun-filled beach scene around you! There’s always lots going on, from action-packed water sports (including some of the best surfing and kayaking found anywhere!) to wildlife-rich hiking trails and quiant towns to explore. Whether you want a Spring Break spent lazing on the beach, or the opportunity to try out some new activities with new friends, Costa Rica Spring Break will be sure to satisfy your expectations.      Eating out is inexpensive in Costa Rica – another good reason for making it your Spring Break destination of choice rather than the places that have more of a reputation as tourist traps, where you’ll find it much more difficult to enjoy good food on a budget. Restaurants and bars here serve everything from traditional Costa Rican cuisine (rice and beans with chicken, meat or fish), to seafood, to popular North American fare, and whether you’re a meat lover or a vegetarian, you’ll be able to find tasty and filling food without hurting your bank balance.        Accommodation is clean and cheap, and there are a number of excellent party hostels where it’s possible to spend your entire Spring Break without even noticing that you haven’t left the hostel grounds! Check out what this alternative Spring Break destination has to offer, and join those who already know that a spring break vacation in Costa Rica is a fun-filled and unforgettable experience!     Costa Rica is a great option for adventure seekers that want something different for Spring Break.   Options include rappelling, horseback riding, ziplining, and whitewater rafting.   Hike to the Arenal Volcano and see the lava flow.   You can choose among a variety of extreme spring break adventure activities to fill your days. Why not try surfing or paddle through an estuary tour on a kayak. If you want something a little less strenuous go on a snorkeling adventure to see all that the gorgeous Pacific Ocean has to offer.  

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If you are planning an exciting vacation, travel to Costa Rica for the best fun under the sun. Take courses in languages, and other activities taught by English-speaking instructors. Learn something new and have a great time on your vacation. There are a lot of things to see and do in Costa Rica. The beautiful beaches offer some great activities including water skiing, scuba diving, and turtle watching. Costa Rica has some of the rarest wildlife on earth. Travel to Costa Rica is simple and uncomplicated; you do not need a travel visa if staying less than 90 days. Most travel agencies have discount travel packages to meet every budget. Grab a board and go surfing, or sign up for lessons to get you riding the waves like an expert. There are many points in Montezuma that have great waves. Soft sandy beach areas with almost no rocks make this a great surf spot. Spanish is the native language of Costa Rica. In fact, the name Costa Rica means “rich coast” in Spanish. English and Spanish are spoken in the widely public areas used by tourists and visitors. Hotels and restaurants and other businesses are also bilingual. While in Costa Rica, why not spend some of your vacation time learning a new language or getting your scuba certification. There are some great places to dive in Costa Rica if you are already an experienced diver. For example: Montezuma is home to many volcanic and coral reef formations. Dive sites are abundant near the coast, including Tortuga Island (the Spanish word for Turtle) Aquarius, and Franklin Chang( the site of a shipwreck). Learning Spanish in Costa Rica is ideal as it will give you the real world experience of speaking a second language. Not only will you learn to speak Spanish in the classroom but you can use what you have learned right away. The best way to learn a new language is to be around native speakers of the language to hear the correct pronunciation. Enrich your vacation by taking classes in a native setting. Break away from the usual classroom experience by learning in a beautiful island paradise. La Escuela Del Sol in Montezuma, Costa Rica, offers classes in Scuba Diving, Spanish language, Yoga and Poi. Get scuba certified in 2 weeks and dive to some of the most beautiful places in the area. Swim with the fish, dolphins and manta rays. Most classes are completed in 2-4 weeks and food and lodging are included. Many people who travel to Costa Rica love it so much that they return year after year. Great activities to get into: Biking Snorkeling Kayaking Dolphin Watching Visit the Turtle Conservation Project Montezuma Waterfall Hike Horseback Riding on the Beach to El Chorro Waterfalls Scuba Diving at Isla Tortuga Deep Sea Fishing Hike to Cabo Blanco National Park

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White water Tubing on Rio Negro Rapids at Hacienda Guachipelin. One of the most popular adventure tours in Guanacaste, Costa Rica.

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Canopy San Lorenzo, Lands in Love Hotel, Costa Rica, just try Tarzan Swing is exciting, 100% pure adventure…

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Of late, regular travel has become predictable and boring. With falling airfares and the resulting increase of package tours becoming the most common way of vacationing, traveling has become uninspiring and monotonous.

That feeling of adventure that traveling is supposed to evoke has become jaded. This is what has given rise to a new form of travel these days – Adventure Travel! Adventure travel is not only popular with the adrenaline filled youth, but is increasingly being taken up by people of older generations too, because of greater fitness, health, leisure time and economic prosperity.

There really is very little else in the world that can be more thrilling than adventure travel, because it primarily involves risk taking. When you get out there, you finally start experiencing life at its edgiest – which is part of its excitement. It is not hard to figure out why.

Adventure travel usually takes us into close proximity with Mother Nature at her rawest best. It also often introduces us to new peoples and cultures, thus broadening our perspective about the world we live in.

For those who really are into hardcore adventure travel at its adrenaline pumping best, there are many options, such as scaling the fourteen thousand feet craggy mountains of Colorado or the even loftier snow-capped peaks of the Himalayan range, bicycling along the route of Tour de France, or trying out a new heart-rate pumping adventure sport like white water rafting in treacherous, rolling icy waters.

You may choose to try parasailing into the updrafts from vertiginous cliffs, bungee jump off precarious toe-holds, or ski down hair-raisingly steep mountain sides. If it is thrills you are looking for, there is no dearth of them.

However, not all adventure travel need comprise of spine-tingling feats, defying death. For the gentler bent of mind, there are trips you can take which can be equally exciting and stimulating, without much danger involved in them.

For example, you could float up above the African veld in a hot air balloon to watch lions stalking their prey below, or take a walking tour of the ancient Angkor Wat temple smothered in the Cambodian jungles, or hike through the forest trails in the Amazonian jungles experiencing the exotic wild life there like the Caymans snoozing on the banks of the rivers or the brightly hued parrots squawking in the canopy of branches overhead.

Some of the other adventure travel sites include eco-trekking through the rain forests of the Caribbean in order to get up close to the insects, birds and animals that inhabit it. You could take camping trips to various exotic locales still off the tourist map and learn about the local people – their food habits, costumes, language and culture by actually interrelating with them.

Or perhaps you would like something more solitary and gentle. If so, there are still unspoiled beaches that are virtually deserted and exist for you to immerse yourself in the sun-splashed splendor of yellow sands and azure seas.

Or, if you want something a little livelier, how about surfing off the coast of Costa Rica? All of these provide a way of being a part of adventure travel, without it getting too hazardous.

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These days, couples seek romance and adventure for honeymoon
Exotic travel is to honeymoons as strapless gowns are to weddings.

Read more on Fort Worth Star-Telegram

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On the pampas the horizons seem to flee. The llamas are golden, the clouds impossibly white. We let the bikes run. Suddenly, the view changes. The lead bike rises above the line of the horizon, a rider flails through the air 10 feet above the ground. This is not good. Jeff has gone off the road at 70 mph. Katie goes into paramedic mode, calming Jeff, running her hands up his spine, probing, checking ribs, legs, arms. The fall has ripped his touring jacket from shoulder to waist, peeling the back protector to reveal the We-Build-Bridges T-shirt. He is scuffed, but within moments is giggling, flashing the “I Can’t Believe I’m Still Alive” grin that is his default expression. Ryan pulls the bike up and starts collecting the bits scattered across the desert. The luggage is destroyed. The right handlebar is bent almost to the tank. Mirrors, turn signals, front fender snapped off in a microsecond. Both wheel rims have dents. Incredibly, it still runs. He puts the parts that still work back on the bike, takes it for a test ride. It will last another 7,000 miles. Our motto: We Will Make This Work. Jeff tells what happened. A small bird had hopped into his path. The next thing he knew he was off the road, launched into a culvert. “I thought, wow. I’m Superman. Oh look, there’s the bike. Oh look, there’s the bird…” In a field strewn with jagged boulders, he had landed on sand. THE BEGINNINGThe trip came up long before I was ready. A phone call, an invitation to tag along with a group of BMW riders embarking on a five-week, 8,000-mile journey from Peru to Virginia. I would document the ride, a fundraising effort for a group that builds footbridges in remote areas of the world. I’d been thinking about a long ride, something open-ended, without support vehicles, the experience of being totally “out there. ” This seemed to fit the bill. A third of the distance around the world with complete strangers. I had a brand-new BMW F 800 GS and it was thirsty. If there was a point of no return, I crossed it before I hung up the phone. First, the riders. Ken Hodge is an insurance benefits specialist and member in good standing of the Newport News Rotary Club. He discovered motorcycles late in life, when he bought a bike, rode it across country in 48 hours, then began to dream of a bigger adventure, something for a good cause. He recruited his daughter Katie (a fire department paramedic), his stepson Ryan (a mechanic and dirt-bike rider) and Ryan’s best friend Jeff. I’m impressed by their preparations. They ride old BMW R 1150s and F 650 singles. Ryan had spent a year renewing the bikes, poking about the inner recesses, memorizing the shop manuals for each machine. They would bring enough tools and parts to handle almost every emergency. INTO THE ANDESWe stop at Nazca to view the ancient figures scratched in the rocky desert. From the top of a tower we can see a figure with raised hands. Just to the north, the Pan-American Highway bisects the figure of a lizard, decapitating the creature. Bound by the tight focus of brass transit levels, the surveyors who laid out the road were not even aware of the sacred relics, discovered when aerial flight became common. I realize that we are as blinded by focus, by concentration as the surveyors were by their instrument. The trip will be a series of images, sidelong glances, captured at speed. Descendants of the people who built the Inca trail, Peruvian builders know their stuff. But it’s the tracery, the managed flow of momentum, that has our respect. The road ascends ancient seabeds, hills covered with talus, fractured dry ridges with cornices sculpted by landslides. Midday, we find ourselves on a high pampas inhabited by thousands of vicuña and alpaca. In the distance, our first sight of snowcapped peaks. There are stone corrals on nearby slopes, one-room huts. In the middle of this giant nowhere, a lone shepherd walking on the side of the hill. We discover that the distances on maps are those of the condor. We travel incredibly twisted roads that sometimes take a hundred turns (and several miles) to get from one ridge to the next. The map indicates towns, but to our dis-may not all have gas stations. We buy gas in a small outpost from a woman who ladles it out of a bucket with a coffee pot, then pours it through a plastic, woven kitchen funnel into our tanks. The whole town watches. We push on into the descending night. We make it to the next set of lights, 20 or so buildings on two streets, find a hotel, and park our bikes in an enclosed backyard with dogs, chickens, dead birds, plastic bottles and an animal hide tanning on the wall. Instead of the usual exit signs, the restaurant in our hotel has green arrows that say “ESCAPE. ” It is not a criticism of the food. The forces that drive the Andes skyward have been known to demolish whole towns. The next morning we fire up the bikes, and ascend into the Andes on a perfect road. We are fluid, going through hairpins, double hairpins, squared-off turns—climbing the flank of a single 4,700-meter peak. I can think of only one word: delicious. We move through mist and low-hanging clouds, with shafts of sunlight slanting into rainbows. The valleys below are green and fertile, a mix of old Inca terracing and more modern farms. Slender eucalyptus trees line the road, providing shade for huts with red tile roofs. A girl tends a flock of goats (identified with colorful ribbons) on a green meadow, book in hand. At one point I think the clouds above have parted to reveal patches of blue, but when I look up I see that it is snow-covered rock, another 3,000 or 4,000 feet of mountain. On a turnoff near the top of the peak we find a dozen or so tiny shrines, little churches decorated with flowers and ribbons and photographs of loved ones. The site of a bus plunge. On a hillside across the valley paragliders work the thermals, the canopies looking like bright-colored eyebrows, or ostentatious angels. We share the road with vicuña, alpaca, llama, sheep, goats, dogs, roosters, pigs, horses and cows. On a narrow lane near Abancay, a bull tries to gore me as I pass, charging and making a hooking motion with its horns. One night after the sunset, I round a corner and a beautiful roan stallion wheels in the light from our bikes, filling the lane with wide eyes and flashing hoofs, inches from my head. I realize that riding sweep poses a risk. The novelty of our passing bikes wears off, and the local wildlife has time to react. Entering Cusco, Ryan asks directions, a girl directs us onto a narrow cobblestone street, slick with rain, as steep as a bobsled run. The rocks are turned on their side, like teeth. The knobbies have no traction whatsoever. The people on the sidewalks frantically wave their hands, indicating that the road gets steeper. I touch my brake and the bike goes down, pinning my leg against the curb, a quarter of an inch shy of a fracture. The bike behind me goes down. It is harrowing. The locals help us lift the bikes, get them turned uphill. A police escort leads us to a hotel that lets us store the motorcycles in the lobby. Without bothering to shower, we make our way to the Norton Rats Bar on the northeast corner of the central plaza. The owner, an American expatriate, once piloted a Norton to the tip of the continent. The walls are lined with photos from the trip. Above the bar are mounted heads, the four past American presidents, with their best known soundbites: I am not a crook. I did not inhale. I do not recall. We will find WMD in Iraq. We sip beers, trade stories, trying to reassemble the past few days. The dead battery. The punctured radiator. The roadside repairs. The incredible rush of unrelenting beauty. Three days of desert north of Lima generate a few details. The total absence of life, the three colors of sand. Young boys pedaling tricycle ice cream carts in the middle of nowhere. We enter a <I>zona de nimbleras</I>, but instead of fog we find a 60-mph crosswind that sends a layer of grit skittering across the road like a special effect in a Steven Spielberg movie. Two lanes narrow to one covered by blowing sand, thick enough to swallow the front tire, deep enough that a road grader prepares to clear the drifting sands. We decide to try a secondary route through the hills. We turn onto a dirt road and everything changes. We pass through villages alive with people, dogs, tiny three-wheel taxis fashioned from old motorcycles. Kids on motorscooters ride past, snapping pictures with their cell phones. The road throws split-finger fastballs at the bash plate that clang as loud and adamant as the sound of an aluminum bat. We slosh our way through gravel, gray dust on everything, parts falling off, teeth rattling. Oh yes, this is what we wanted. ECUADORIn Macara, we sit on the sidewalk near a minor town square, eating pork cooked by a rotund woman in a yellow dress. Her daughter brings us three beers (giant) at a time, and keeps the empties in a milk crate for accounting later. Boys on motorbikes cruise the quiet streets, the lucky ones with girls on the back. Across the square, girls sit on benches. Jeff experiences a cultural revelation, that South American girls have breasts, and wear tight pants…and “Hey, I think she likes me. ”Our dinner companion is David McCollum, an American expatriate that Ryan had met on ADVrider. com. He tells us stories about riding the Ecuadoran Andes, and gives us tips on handling roadblocks. “Act Stupid. Do not try to communicate in Spanish. Say ‘No fumar Espanol’ (I don’t smoke Spanish). If all else fails, have Katie cry. ” Er, Katie does not do “cry. ” The next day he leads us into the Ecuadoran Andes. Impressions: Razor-sharp ridges. Lumpy, conical outcroppings. Monasteries on top of hills. Slopes so steep they will never be worked by machine. A couple standing above dark earth, the man holding a wooden hoe, the woman a bag of seeds. A woman on horseback, black and red cape, a whip coiled in one hand. Trees. Cloud. Mist. The feel of a Japanese block print, the ones that suggest the road goes to infinity. I had introduced the group to a family tradition. When we travel, we end each day by recounting high point, low point and funny bone. After this day, I will add “Pucker moments. ” Trucks hurtle out of the fog, running without lights, signaled only by the ghostly wave pushed before. They appear in our lane without warning or reason. We go through construction sites where the road narrows to one lane that offers no escape route. One side seems hideously close to the new concrete, studded with rebar fangs. The other side is precipice. Pucker moments? Take your pick. Sometimes it’s the surface, a half mile of muddy bobsled run, of loose gravel, of gushing water, the bike handling like a loose bowel. Twice, we round a corner and find no road, the surface having caved in, sucked away by underground torrents. Katie’s moment comes when a cow, with no footing, scrambles into the path of her bike. For Jeff, it is passing a truck that suddenly swerves to avoid a pothole, the trailer swinging toward him like a baseball bat. We spend two days in Cuenca, a 500-year-old city surrounded by mountains. Ken phones ahead and discovers that the ship that was to have taken us and the bikes from Ecuador to Panama doesn’t exist (had we had drugs or been illegal aliens, no problem, but there are no accommodations for <I>turistas</I> with motorcycles). We ask David for help. While we ride to Quito, he will work the phones. He finds a contact, a guy known for getting things done when no one else can. We meet up with this air freight magician at The Turtle’s Head, a biker bar in Quito. At midnight. The next morning we ride our bikes to the military section of the airport, then into a refrigerated warehouse. The steel floor is covered with embedded ball bearings, across which slide steel palettes. For the next three hours we wrestle with tiedowns. A skinny man dressed entirely in black oversees the operation, taking pictures of the bikes with a digital camera, making sure batteries are disconnected, tires are deflated. Drug-sniffing dogs poke their noses into every recess. Then, just like that, our bikes are gone, on their way to Panama in the belly of an airplane. CENTRAL AMERICACentral American countries are the size of postage stamps. You can cross them in a day and a half, only to spend a half day at customs and immigration. Ken had prepared Xerox copies of all our documents (passports, licenses, titles, registration, VIN numbers) and had them notarized. As he works with the official in the air-conditioned office, we sit in 100-degree heat and watch ants carry grains of dirt from beneath the ground. We will become used to the demands for more copies, the freelance currency traders waving bills in front of our faces, the young hustlers willing to facilitate the process, the food vendors waiting for starvation to overcome caution about local cuisine. Before embarking on this trip, I’d read State Department travel advisories. The section on Peru warned that five Americans had died from liposuction in Lima. OK, was that consensual liposuction, or were there gangs of thugs wielding vacuum cleaners with sharp pointy attachments? Virtually every entry on Central American countries warned about fake checkpoints, bandits in uniform, soldiers in the middle of nowhere. Along the roadside are signs with a blood-red eye and the warning <I>vigilantes</I>. We round a corner to find two soldiers walking patrol, miles from the nearest town. They ask for paperwork. A surge of adrenaline turns my mouth to cotton. David, our friend in Ecuador had given us good advice: Act stupid. Smile. We seem to have a natural talent for that. <I>No fumar Espanol</I>. After inspecting our paperwork, they wave us on. In the next few weeks we will be stopped repeatedly, sniffed by dogs, x-rayed, wanded with devices that look like carving knives with car antennas where the blade should be. At border crossings, guys in jumpsuits and facemasks spray our bikes with liquids designed to kill stowaway bugs too lazy to cross borders under their own power. There are soldiers at every gas station, armed attendants at convenience stores and restaurants, guys with shotguns on Pepsi trucks. We are aware of poverty, a culture of criminal opportunity. The night air can strip your bike naked, if you don’t find a hotel with secure parking. These countries are linked by soil to the United States, and our culture has rattled its way through. Central America is a motorbike culture. Whole families whiz by, perched on narrow seats, wearing helmets with missing visors. In Panama City we run into a group of Harley riders. The bikes have exhausts the size of howitzers, the horns blare a soundtrack of special effects. They surround us, and ask if we want to join their regular weekend burger run. We follow them to an exclusive country club just beyond the Mira Flores locks on the Panama Canal. They send us off with directions to a bed-and-breakfast up the coast. I fall asleep that night in a hammock, a bottle of beer still clutched in my hand, the blades of a fan whirring softly overhead. Central America has a different feel than Peru and Ecuador, a different gravity. We move through verdant countryside at a speed that would be natural in Virginia or Colorado or California. The vegetation looks like fireworks, only green. Here clusters of one plant have taken over a hillside. There a different species explodes. A slow war. We have been in the saddle for three weeks. Nothing can break our pace. We abandon the Pan-American Highway and find roads that make it seem like you have two flat tires, ones that seem like you’re riding on an oil spill. There are narrow, one-vehicle-at-a-time bridges of mismatched narrow-gauge rails, or on lesser roads, steel plates tossed across rotting timbers. The terrain is a geological mash-up, without the power of the Andes, but enough unexpected elevation change and tight corners to make for an interesting ride. Towns announce themselves with speed bumps and potholes that can swallow bikes whole. I see road signs unique to the country, silhouettes of odd animals. A snake crossing. A jaguar crossing. In Costa Rica we hit a 30-mile stretch of gravel road, and the world becomes dust. The bikes come alive. We romp, skitter, wander, trusting the gyroscope. I try to read the strange shadows that appear in the dust—bicyclists, ATVs, huge trucks with no lights—not always accurately. There are breaks in the dust cloud when I see fields filled with white cattle and at their feet white egrets. The sky tinges pink with light from a setting sun. A feeling almost like peace. We spend a night in Arsenal, a destination resort for adrenaline junkies with discretionary income. Posters advertise canopy walks, zipline rides through the rain forest, the chance to rappel down waterfalls, night hikes to lava flows, kayaking, canoeing. We ignore the offers, saddle up and ride into the rain forest. A group of meercats swarms down an embankment onto the road. Monkeys cavort in the trees overhead. A tourist zips by on a steel cable casting a shadow on the road, a blur of color in the sky. It looks like someone was hanging laundry and forgot to take his or her clothes off. Nicaragua has its own feel. We ride past volcanoes so large they make their own weather, the crowns hidden beneath wide-brimmed clouds. Don Quixote in his barber bowl hat. The streets are clogged with horsedrawn buggies. We find a hotel near the town square. Across the street from the hotel is a shop offering galactic Internet. The traditional culture is slowly losing ground to bandwidth. Relay towers compete with church steeples, billboards for cell service block oversized statues of saints on nearby hilltops. We visit a bridge, built by Ken’s organization, in a remote area of Honduras. At the turnoff from the main road I think we are entering a drainage ditch. Indeed, during the rainy season the road is impassable, the clay surface too slick for traction. Now, the bikes tackle a road gouged by erosion, working their way around rocks exposed by the force of water. This is by far the most technical riding of the trip. The 40-mile road will take five hours to cross. The clawmark gullies pull Ken’s bike out from under him; Katie rides into a ditch and smashes her bike’s windscreen. Even Ryan has trouble. The river, when we reach it, is intimidating. I take pictures of the bikes as they come through, pushing a bow wave over front wheels, jouncing up the rocks on the other side. If a trip can be reduced to 1?250th of a second, a single moment seared in memory, these pictures would be it. We cross into Guatemala, and spend the night with Hemingway impersonators and Jimmy Buffet wannabes in Rio Dulce. The hotel has a wonderful tacky feeling. The overhead fan showers sparks. The power goes off at regular intervals, as does the water. If you want a shower, step outside. We spend a long day riding through rain. The water destroys one of my cameras, turning the LCD into an aquarium. Hey, I have enough pictures. ALMOST THEREAt the first town over the Mexican border, we stop for directions on a crowded street. A truck sideswipes my bike, snags a sidecase, and drags me down. I’m unhurt, but the windscreen and instrument panel lie in fragments. The police, when they arrive, are the opposite of helpful. We collect the broken bits, duct tape everything in sight, and fire it up. We are unstoppable. We ride on, but the mood of the ride changes and the calendar beckons. Katie, Ryan and Jeff have to be back by a certain date, or they lose their jobs. The ride becomes time vs. distance, a push that blurs most of Mexico, and a final border crossing into the United States. We hurtle across long roads, nursing bikes that are showing signs of wear. Ken’s bike is missing a sidestand. Ryan’s helmet a visor. Katie treats her BMW’s busted windscreen like a badge of honor, but still, a 75-mph headwind is exhausting. Jeff’s bike has chewed the rear sprocket to nubbins, the chain is beginning to slip. It will wind up in a U-Haul 100 miles from home. Five weeks after departing, we see the lights of Newport News. As they enter the city, Ken, Ryan and Katie spread across the road, side by side, arms raised. The long ride is over.

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A day in the life with Desafio Adventure Company in La Fortuna, Costa Rica. Come join us for some Serious Fun www.desafio.travel!

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Costa Rica journey Travel PackagesSan Jose is the capital town of Costa Rica and is conveniently found in the middle of the country, providing visitors with simple access to several of the country’s most well-liked activities. The town lies in the middle of the Meseta Central, or Central Valley, and enjoys a nice climate year round with temperatures that tend to hover around seventy degrees Fahrenheit. History & CultureThanks to its central location and its status as the capital city, San Jose and the surrounding valley is home to over 2 3rds of the state’s whole population. The town also hosts a global airfield, as well as colleges, major surgeries, and commercial complexes. Lodging & DiningIf you are looking to be close to all the capital town has to offer, then you are going to love Hotel Grano de Oro or Hotel Alta. Both of these luxurious hotels offer renowned restaurants of their own, and are within walking distance to all the culture, nightlife, and dining found in San Jose. If tranquility is what you seek, but you would like to take advantage of the conveniences of the city, then try Vista del Valle, El Silencio Lodge & Spa, Peace Lodge, or Xandari. As this region is home to the capital town of San Jose, you’ll find no deficit of great eateries featuring local and international cuisine. If you are staying close to the downtown area, try Bakea, an international/fusion cafe in a restored mansion. This popular choice features creative cuisine and delicious desserts. San Jose boasts a number of tiny cafeterias offering lighter fare and less expensive costs. Some of the finest of these include Café Moro and Café Mundo. Also, do not miss El Balcn de Europa, one of San Jose’s oldest restaurants. For meals with an ethnic twist, try the Tin Jo for Asian food, Vishnu for Indian/vegetarian, Machu Picchu for Peruvian, Lubnan for Middle Eastern, or Le Monastere for upscale French cuisine. ActivitiesFrom this central area, you actually can experience all the finest that Costa Rica has to supply thru a number of exciting tours that depart daily from the local hotels. You may want to commence with a tour of San Jose itself or visit the nearby consequential cities of Sarchi and Grecia. History buffs will also love a trip to the Pueblo Antiguo Experience which transports visitors back to the Costa Rica of the early 1900’s. Proceeds from this judicious attraction benefit the Costa Rican Countrywide Kids’s Hospital. Many visitors come to Costa Rica to see volcanoes and looking for costa rica adventure travel packages, and tours to Poás and Irazu are an option from San Jose and can be included with other tours of the region. Are you a coffee fan? Then try a tour of the Café Britt Plantation or the Doka Estate where you may follow the life of a bean from being picked all the way to your mug. Scenic tours of the Orosi Valley and the Lankester Orchid Gardens are a way to soak in the lush landscape of this beautiful country. Adventurous souls will find lots to do too. Experience the thrill of white water rafting, or soar through the jungle on astounding cover tours. Horseback rides and hiking are other great methods to experience the area while staying a little nearer to solid ground. Boating tours to golden beaches can also be prepared if the sea is calling your name. Other sites worth checking out:Costa Rica Adventure Travel Packages

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Costa Rica is a small country yet best for vacations and overseas adventure travel due its rich wildlife reserves and forest as well as Pacific and Caribbean beaches. If you can’t decide where to spend a really great and memorable vacation then traveling to this exotic country is your best destination yet and I’ll tell you why.
There are several travel agencies in Costa Rica that offer the best deals and packages. Most people think that these Costa Rica tours are quite expensive to spend during summer and especially holidays; however, there are still plenty of travel agencies who offer promotions or more affordable packages and deals online. Some packages even include guided tours during your visit. It’ll never hurt to check and it’s always best to read their Costa Rica vacation reviews to gauge whether these travel agencies comply with your expectations and won’t create issues once you travel to your destination.
I can think of a million fun things to do in Costa Rica so you certainly won’t feel out of place or bored once you’ve reached its fabulous tourist attractions. Famous for its beautiful resorts and beaches, you will experience a really cool and exciting surfing experience with several of their unparalleled beaches that’s visited mostly by surfers like the Playa Dominical and the Playa Manzanillo. Costa Rica beaches are notably good places for other water activities like windsurfing, snorkeling, swimming, scuba diving, white water rafting, kayaking and etc. These beaches that lay on the Pacific and Caribbean vary from black to white sands and from isolated to crowded beaches. It’s up to you which of these beaches will suit your mood and style.
Costa Rica is also famous for bird watching. Most tourists visit the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve to get a glimpse of the Quetzal which is a native bird that symbolizes freedom for Costa Ricans. The Quetzal fancies damp places and heavily deforested areas and is prevalent in other parks such as the Volcan Poas National Park, Chirripo National Park and Braulio Carrillo National Park.
Visiting its National Parks in also gives an interesting twist for tourists. The Irazu Volcano National Park, a definite tourist attraction, is the highest volcano in Costa Rica and remains to be active even until present. Watching its crater boil water and shoot steam     geysers may catch your interest. Another volcano called the Poas Volcano is considered to have the second largest active crater in the World.
Lastly, there are several museums that tourists wouldn’t want to miss during their Costa Rica vacations that are located in, San Jose which is its largest and capital city. One is the National Theater which has 1000 stone seats and is where famous artists who visit the country usually perform. The Jade Museum houses the country’s century-old artifacts and perhaps the World’s largest collection of pre-Columbian Jade while the Gold Museum encompasses 2000 pre-Columbian gold artifacts. The Butterfly Farm in Alajuela is another tourist attraction considering that its Latin America’s first and largest exporter of farm-raised butterflies.
These are not all the things that you can experience first hand in Costa Rica. But to find out what else we can do once we’re there, is to actually be there. So let’s not wait and instead start looking for the perfect travel agency and start traveling!

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