The Little Sloth That Could

As opposed to the frequency in which I have appeared as a bridesmaid over the course of the last year, it's not every day that one of your good friends decides to get married. So, when the invitation to celebrate my dear friend Larson's union in Costa Rica was extended, I was happy to oblige. Eight days in Manuel Antonio proved to be quite the blissful getaway.

It all began with a direct flight from Phoenix to San Jose.  And while it was a seamless five-hour jaunt, US Airways did nothing to facilitate that ease. Let me just say, BOOOOO US Air. You don't even offer peanuts or more than one beverage on an international flight. You don't offer in-flight movies or programming. And you charged me to check my bag on an international flight, a fee that most airlines wave for long-haul travel. Your stewardess was arguably one of the rudest individuals ever. And yet, we were determined to not let it rain on our Central American parade. A few minutes after deplaning in San Jose, and our smiling Costa Rican driver named Ugo was awaiting us with a smile and a piece of paper reading "ANDY."

Our two and a half hour drive to Manuel Antonio was not shy of thrills. One hour in, as our red taxivan trudged along the dark and curvy roads alongside crazed Central American drivers, Good Old Ugo reached his index finger backwards and clicked a button releasing the flatscreen TV we didn't know existed. Proudly, he hit the play button for us. And for that remaining hour and a half, we feasted our eyes in disbelief and joy on what appeared to be a homemade tape of John Travolta dance sequences. If this was a preview of the week to come, we were in luck.

We arrived at our destination late that night, greeted by a sweet looking Costa Rican groundskeeper named Efron. He spoke no English, and therefore gestured us to hop aboard his mini golf cart for the remainder of the way to our jungle abode.  Happy to have arrived, we had no idea until the morning just how deep into the rainforest our quaint cabin really was. (See accompanying image of our road.) Twenty minutes on this pot-holed dirt road introduced us to what we called the real side of Costa Rica: locals traveling on foot at all times of the day, truly atrocious road conditions (if you didn't have four wheeled drive, you might as well not try) and what seemed like a close-knit community of Costa Ricans. Somebody told us that in any Costa Rican town, you would be sure to find four things - a soccer field, a catholic church, a bar and a school. Our remote dirt road had what appeared to be all four ingredients.


The week that followed offered parasailing, private beaches, zip lining, a trip to the National Rainforest and in general, a remarkable society that embraced the practice of enjoying life to its fullest. "Pura Vida" has more meaning to me now having actually seen firsthand the pureness and passion these "Ticos" put forth every day amongst the backdrop of some of the most marvelous landscape (and foliage, that's for you sweetness) I've ever been fortunate enough to experience.

The rainforest venture offered sloth, mean monkeys, neon crab, frog and tucan sightings, all of which were pointed out to us by our expressive personal guide. The sloth pictured to the right was a two-toed sloth, and had actually fallen from her slumber and was slowly making the journey back to the canopy of rainforest high above us. The two-toed guys are as big as a small bear, and their wirey coat resembled that of an elderly woman. Note the death grip the baby sloth has on its mother despite the grueling speed achieved.

And while the private beach was out of this world in terms of sheer beauty, unfortunately, so was the jellyfish attack that ensued. Ouch, ouch, ouchy - the little bastard got me three times before I processed the situation and ran screaming out of the ocean. BUT, I'd be boldface lying if I said I didn't now feel like a total badass having survived it.

And oh, the wedding - the whole reason we were in this euphoric country in the first place. It was almost so picturesque, and so intimate, and so amazing, that it felt surreal. I was there for my homegirl Larson, and she looked exactly as I had imagined a good Southern girl would on the day she gets married to the man of her dreams. In a victorian-esque, romantic lace dress, she was breathtaking, and glowing from head to toe. I was so proud to see her commit her life to Spencer, and I can't be more happy for these two for the journey to come.

In true Arkansas fashion, there can't be a wedding without the Razorbacks. There were two cakes. The one of note, was a hog cake, and you better believe the whole gang rallied together as we called those razorbacks in the middle of the jungle that night. "Take that, howler monkeys!" Larson's dad shouted as he proudly shook his fist towards the rainforest that surrounded us.

We had made our mark, and came back with many more memories to speak of. Ticos, Costa Rica - you're more than we had hoped for. We will be back.

Pura Vida!