Puerto Viejo

Someone recently told me that I should probably stop using the word "incredible" so much, ya know.. something about the law of diminishing marginal returns and the fact that my experiences can't really all be that incredible.  Well, isn't that the incredible part?  =P

This past weekend six of us took a 6 am bus to the Caribbean town of Puerto Viejo.  No description of how "chill" this place was had prepared us for the complete and total lack of any hurry or necessity to move in this fantastic town.  We stayed at Rocking J's, a self-titled "hammock hostel" and though we spent the extra $2 for a legitimate bed, the place could only be described as a hippie reminiscent backpacker's dream. There were grungy, dreaded, beautiful beach bums everywhere, staying in hammocks tents or passed out on benches, which all made for quite the unique experience.  We had fortuitously arrived on  the night of full moon, which apparently equated to a hostel-wide (it felt like a small town) toga party, with a craziness that transcended the language barriers of travelers from all continents.

The next morning we arose (and by that I mean I dragged the boys out of bed so that we could start our day) and took a rather amusing taxi ride 10 km to the south to Punta Uva. Rather than get two taxis we decided to squeeze all 6 of us into what quickly became a very low riding car, and while the taxi driver blared carribbean beats and flirted with Michelle, we tried hard to fight the nausea and pain which came with every bump in the road "del mal estado." We spent the afternoon on a gorgeous and uncrowded white beach, relaxing and experiencing the slowness that this place seemed to encourage in everyone.

Sunday morning the rest of the crew went home as Zach and I made our way to Cahuita, 10 km to the north, and, if you believe it, an even slower town.  We looked at each other warily as we got off the bus in what seemed to be a ghost town, albeit a very brightly painted and festive ghost town.  After lunch we split up and I went in search of  a taxi when I walked past a sign that said "Tourist Info for Gringos." Of course, I'm naturally distasteful of the sort of picture this sign paints of myself, and internally resistant to admit to myself that, after all, I am a tourist. and a gringo.   But when I went up the stairs to ask about a taxi there were these two 70ish old men smoking cigars and chatting about how "back in Vietnam, you could get any chemical you wanted. now they have all sorts of ridiculous restrictions on that sort of thing."  which i found hilarious.  I introduced myself, and after telling me what bus I should take to get to the sloth sanctuary, they told me all about their pet parrots and their new lives here in Cahuita, where they rock on their chairs and smoke their cigars and talk to their parrots.  and are blissfully happy.


Sloths!  Now,  bear with me.  because I have come to realize that the word sloth can invoke many different and diverse opinions in the stirrings of one's mind and heart.  For example, they are not green, or in anyway like iguanas (eh-hem, DB) Aviaros del Caribe is the only sloth sanctuary in the world and is home to 120 animals at present. It was started when a couple found Buttercup, and injured sloth, and tried to look up information on rehabilitating the creature when they found that there was very little information known about them.  Nineteen years later, these people and this center are the preeminent experts on all things sloth, and have done incredible work studying and releasing rehabilitated sloths back into the wild.  I was given a tour by Jefferey, the grandson of the founders, who changed his major and left Las Vegas to become a tour guide and researcher at the sanctuary.  Okay so you may think this is silly. but its not.  keep reading! Sloths are apparently incredibly misunderstood creatures.  For example, all zoology books say that sloths sleep  18-20 hours a day, but after observation, it appears this number is much much lower, closer to about 8.  First we visited the older sloths who all have a unique story of how they arrrived and their rehabilitation process.  I fed Johnny Depp carrots!  Obviously, not the real one. But the sloth Johnny Depp sent the Real Johnny Depp a signed autograph, and then the real Johnny Depp sent him one back!

Then we saw the baby sloths. Which are by far the cutest baby animals I've ever seen. and for those of you who know my affinity for the chanchito, that is a profound statement.
But just look at them!