Pura Vida: Arenal Volcano, Baldi Hot Springs

A short walk from the Tree House Hotel, Becky and I found lunch on the side of a mountain at a restaurant called Lomas del Mapache (translation?  "Raccoon Hills").

Their driveway is long, winding, and gravel, with a breathtaking view that goes on forever.  This is a good example of one of my favorite things about Costa Rica; you didn't need a building to have a restaurant.  If you had a kitchen, a bathroom, a roof, and maybe a wall or two, you were good to go.  Lomas del Mapache had no walls.

The food was too salty and waaaay too buttery (I got the feeling they were trying to appeal to American palates, or their idea of the American palate, but I've seen some positive reviews so maybe we just got the wrong cook) but the fresh juices and the atmosphere made up for it.  At the raccoon restaurant, we met another couple from the US who would be hiking Arenal Volcano with us. Our guide, Juan Carlos, picked us up after lunch, and we were off.  

Pura Vida: Zip Lines, La Fortuna, and Pizza Delivery

After breakfast at the Treehouse Hotel, our first foray was to Ecoglide for a zip line tour of the base of the Arenal volcano.  I lost track of how many platforms they had, but thankfully Becky took a picture:

This.  This many platforms.

All Others Are #2 or Lower

We've won this a time or two over the years, but never with such a sweet poster.

Pura Vida: One Hell of a Honeymoon

Becky and I registered at Deposit a Gift.  We wanted to go to Italy for our Honeymoon, which not only sounded  romantic as hell, but would be a nice cushion for turning halfway to heaven (a phrase I only recently discovered and instantly hated; for all I know, I was halfway to heaven at twenty and I’ll die next year choking on an M&M).

Even with the generous gifts of friends and family, Italy turned out to be more than we could afford.  Becky looked closer to home and came up with Costa Rica.  Which is great, because Costa Rica looks like this:

Come to the Circus & We Will Kill & Eat You All

Thanks to Christina Thompson, for inspiring the title.  No thanks to Cindy Sherman, for inciting the nightmares.

I've never had an irrational fear of clowns - I've known someone who does, so I know I'm not one of them.  Still, it's impossible to look at this picture as anything less than the Doorway to Clown Hell.