Nature's Nirvana

Cabo Matapalo, Osa Peninsula, Costa Rica

And I thought Montana was remote!

This is by far the most exotic place I have ever been! Sitting here on my private dais 500 feet above the surf, gazing out over the Pacific Ocean, I feel I’m at the edge of a bizarre otherworld, especially when the Panama coastline disappears in the haze on the horizon.  Yellow-billed toucans perch in the trees to the left and right of me; three pairs of scarlet macaws fly past at eye level; a squirrel monkey shimmies down a vine hanging not 20 meters away; hummingbirds hover at the hibiscus blooms so near I could touch. 
 

                                       

            

But I refrain from all movement, remind myself it’s important to just BE, and simply watch, listen, and sense the 750 acres of lush private rainforest behind me, an entire three square kilometers teeming with flora and fauna of the most fascinating kinds. I mean, how awesome is a place where ginger, cilantro, and ylang ylang grow wild and abundantly?!  And where such funky animals as these can be seen: 
  

Three-toed sloth

Anteater

Poison dart frog

Armadillo

Even more than photographs, I wish I could share the sounds of the jungle with you – the squawking, howling, screeching, chirping, whistling, hooting, squealing, buzzing, tweeting, chattering, trilling, cooing, warbling, whooping, croaking – what a riot of audio overload!

Also, I’ve had some of my most extraordinary wilderness adventures while here, including rappelling down a 100-foot rushing waterfall and releasing 200 turtle hatchlings into the ocean.

In my search for a tropical Latin American experience, Costa Rica was the obvious choice: safe, stable, a pioneer in ecotourism, home to an extravaganza of biodiversity.  Further delving, however, made me think maybe it was too developed, too touristy, packaged its natural gifts too slickly – and then I discovered the Osa Peninsula.

Its remoteness and the extra effort required to get here appealed to my fundamental desire to avoid crowds and my aversion to following the pack.  Even its geography sets it apart from the rest of the country.  Its superlatives impressed: the tallest trees; the deepest bay; the last remnant of humid tropical rainforest on the Pacific coast. When I learned that of CR’s 5% of all the world's species, 50% was to be found here (including 878 kinds of birds), I was sold.  The Osa sounded like the real deal and promised a wildlife immersion that was, in fact, wild.  

So here I am, 10 days in and finding my groove in this environment: geckos scurrying up the shower wall do not faze me; I’m nonchalant about the agouti scampering across the clearing; I’m inured to having to shake out my shoes before stepping into them; the possibility of a coati rambling into my cabina only slightly freaks me out.  But I must admit that knowing we are at the top of the food chain is scant comfort on treks where jaguars, ocelots, and fer-de-lance have been sighted regularly. 

Although the beaten path at times feels perhaps a bit too far away, this rich, authentic experience is what I came for, and one I will certainly never forget.