Do as I say, not as I do. 

That’s what went through my mind, thinking of my girls, as I followed Jésus down an almost vertical path with dead branches and dirt underfoot and tree branches and vines trying to grab me. This had not been the plan. Rather, I’d chosen to pay an entrance fee to hike in Montañas de Cariblanco, to see if I was really ready to tackle four days of the Costa Rica Camino. A gentle 8 km route seemed like a good idea, if a little managed.

Although it wasn’t actually gentle, but perhaps that’s because I opted for the longer, harder route. Is that a surprise to anyone who knows me? I arrived just after the finca opened at 8 am and was the first on the path. Happy days. I started through fields, terraces really, of coffee plants that were rich with fruit, ready to be harvested, and continued into thicker woods. It was steep, and loose underfoot; I was happy for my hiking boots.

So where did Jésus come from? You might well ask. The plantation was essentially empty, I was the first car in the lot, so it was a surprise to see someone ahead of me on the path to the waterfall. A Tico, similar age to me, short, dark, dressed almost fully in camouflage with a bandana around his head, old hiking boots, a greying goatee, twinkling eyes, smile lines and a machete lashed onto his backpack. Not your average tourist.

A local who moved away from Santa Ana many years ago, Jésus returns at times to hike because that is his passion. He has climbed many of the mountains of Costa Rica, Central America really, as he has lived in Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua and El Salvador. The only countries he didn’t mention were Panama and Belize but most Central Americans don’t consider Belize. Too much British influence. 

Jésus travels off-piste, rather like his namesake, which is why he didn’t have a car in the parking lot. He’d entered a different way, without paying, and was continuing por allí, he said, waving a vague hand towards the other side of the river, beyond the organised paths of Montañas de Cariblanco. Did I want to see another waterfall? 

Before you remind me that this could be the Tico variation of do you want to come upstairs to see my etchings, you must remember that I have decided to say yes to whatever crosses my path, even if that includes a Sunday encounter with Jésus. As my blog states, “I don’t mind what happens”, which requires me to step outside my usual habit patterns. I considered his question. He didn’t strike me as a serial killer, even with the machete.

Of course we ran into trouble immediately as the path across the river was new, so the old one had disappeared, and I wondered several times whether he would have retraced his steps if I hadn’t been with him. Machismo can get in the way of common sense. 

We were so high in the mountains above Santa Ana that we saw no signs of civilisation other than right at the start when we opened a stick-and-barbed-wire gate and skirted the edge of some fields planted with beans and tomatoes. Suddenly some dogs started yowling, yanking at their chains, and a couple of skeletal cows looked over their shoulders at us. Someone came out from the nearby shack, which wasn’t really a shack but more of an open-sided stable with tools, dogs, food, benches, hanging onions, an old cooker, piles of scrap wood, metal and junk everywhere. Basic living in a country where anything grows and there is an (albeit minimal) safety net provided by the state. But it was very rustic and they were poor. My compañero had a discussion with the couple, who were not keen on us, but let us pass to join some vague path beyond their property.

As we walked through, the woman held back a rather ferocious dog and I looked at all the bird cages, probably a dozen in total, hanging from a beam, longing to release the songbirds within. But I couldn’t, so I sent a hopeful wish their direction and followed Jésus through the stable (seems appropriate, and in fact they had a small Christmas crêche in a straw-filled bowl) to continue our trek.

Onward and upward, along vague tracks, then down steep slopes, around massive old trees dripping with epiphytes and up, up, up. For hours. I lost track of time. Until Jésus stopped and indicated a bent-back bough. This was his mark, he said, to get to the waterfall. At this point I was totally reliant on him to get out of this situation. I peered through the tangle of branches and leaves and roots, wondering what the hell he meant by a route to the waterfall, but gamely followed. 

It was insane. Steep and challenging with loose footing, vines everywhere, trees with spines and dead trees that snapped if I grabbed one. I lost my sense of humour about an hour into this section, but we weren’t really talking other than the occasional brief explanation of a plant or to point out a handhold.

And then, ta dah!, a waterfall. Catarata La Mula. Maybe 50 metres high with water shooting out a rounded bowl at the top and falling past the slippery rock. It was gorgeous and green and damp, and we ate almonds, drank water from the river and took selfies. He even shared his pastel de piña as I had very little with me having expected to be gone for only a couple of hours.

“Twenty minutes more”, Jésus promised, and then we’d arrive at the old dirt road that would take us back to the parqueo and my car. With that we headed downstream, following the riverbed for the first few minutes. This is where I fell. One of those too-fast-to-realise moments when the next thing I knew was that I was damp and my head hurt. I had an egg on my temple and some aching parts on my body. My sense of humour, which had returned, slid into concern that I might have done something serious. And what the hell was I doing, anyway, in the middle of nowhere with this cowboy? 

We continued. We had no choice really, and headed back into the jungle, clambering up through the chaotic bushes or trying to slide down a section with chunks of pine needles and dead wood, vines everywhere. At one point, he got out his machete and the tune from “Deliverance” began to play through my head. 

It wasn’t twenty minutes by any stretch of the imagination, but the dirt road did eventually appear, and we walked the last kilometre or so down its steep, stony track. I made it home more than seven hours after I’d left.

So what is my take from this outing? I was fine that I’d agree to do something as crazy as go off hiking with some random Tico that I’d just crossed paths with. I’m content to have made it home with only an egg on my head and about a dozen scratches, bruises and scrapes on my body. There is also the realisation that I’m not invincible, and that more normal events, outings and activities could also be just fine. I don’t bounce the way I used to, as I discovered when I broke my collarbone last March.  

There is also a feeling that sometimes I try too hard, one could almost say I’m too earnest. I have flung myself into full-on engagement with my life, looking for experiences and fun and people. I am feeling my way. And working at it because I want to learn more, and make discoveries as to who I am, where I might belong. My sense of humour has fully returned, and I am enjoying laughter and silliness, although I can be reticent to reach out because I’m unsure, which is tricky. I’m lonely at times. But it’s all part of my journey and the low parts are balanced by lovely meet-ups with friends, the full Spanish immersion classes I have just started, and that amazing feeling I had just a couple of days ago, spinning slowly on the sidewalk in Santa Ana. It all bolsters my sense of wonder, feeds the creative soul and shows me possibility.