Mostly, we drove quietly to the rainforest. Watching the wind blow the palms outside. Watching the clothes lines zoom by. Watching the already lush countryside turn even more green, thick and tropical.
Because we were a small group — only four of us — our tour guide took us to his favorite restaurant on the mountaintop, just before the entrance to the jungle. We drove for miles up a steam hill paved with golf ball and baseball-sized rocks. The van’s motor died only once, and we all had to hop in the back seat to balance the weight to make it to the top of the hill.
After we passed homes surrounded by their own jungles of tropical fruit trees and flower gardens, we arrived in time for lunch. It was one of the freshest meals I had in Costa Rica, and the mountain view was one I could have stared at for days.