Tico Tales Part 3: Montezuma Magic

Montezuma’s miniature beach-town charm had me trapped for four days. It may be the tiniest, tourist oriented village that I have ever been to. The two roads that make up “downtown” might add up to a city block if laid end-to-end. The shorter road dead-ends into the longer one which runs parallel to the gulf with beaches at each end. The town is comprised of two small supermarkets, two bars (one did not seem to do any business at all making me wonder how they stayed open), one ATM, a park, soccer field, a dozen restaurants, an equal number of pensions/hostels/guest houses, and a few souvenir shops and tour companies. I soon fell in love with the ambiance and atmosphere of the little beach village and quickly found my secret spot on a local rock to watch the crashing waves, fireflies, and shooting stars.
The next day I made it to the famous Montezuma waterfalls. The trail to get to the falls was as much fun as the falls themselves. After crossing the river it runs parallel with it before ascending into the forest. At this point there is a not-so-obvious route to the base of the first waterfall on the rocks along the riverbank . Otherwise the trail runs up through the trees and straightens out alongside the rivine, hugging the side until it disappears into a ledge that a drain pipe runs across. The path intersects with the heavily rooted, hillside climb from the first waterfall back to an identifiable trail. By this time I had developed the route into a “trail parkour” course with the roots, vines, and trees along the path. I moved through as quickly as possible while maintaining safe, secure footing for my bare feet.The trail came to a rope-assisted, vertical descent to the top of the second waterfall through the roots and rocks. There was plenty of playtime jumping from the third falls and the rope swing, but I just couldn’t build enough desire to jump from the second waterfall (sorry Chaba, I didn’t chicken out, rather the thrill simply lost its appeal).
I stopped at Chico’s for a couple of Pilsens before bed. Being the only nightlife destination in town, Chico’s Playa Bar tends to fill up regularly every night. It was on this night – when I had just become content with the public solitude of a solo traveler – that I met a four wonderful girls from Ireland that I would hang out with for the rest of my time in Montezuma and Santa Elena. We closed Chico’s down, but the beach backyard was still full. They boarded up the front of the open air building but kept the music on.
The next day I went back to the waterfall with the Irish and two girls from Canada that they rode with on the boat taxi.
I was staying at Luna Llena, a hefty walk up the hill from town. The hotel was a quiet and charming place built in the jungle hillside . When I arrived home that night a couple of white-faced monkeys began running back and forth across the tin roof. They jumped up and down, stuck their hands out, and peered under the ledge down at me and the other guests, less than two meters away. Then we noticed at least a half a dozen more in the trees to the side of the hotel. I struggled to get a decent picture with both my soon-to-be-dead, piece-of-shit camera and my ithing. Someone announced that there were howler monkeys on the other side of the hotel, and I ran to the upstairs balcony to get a view. At least six of the black monkeys climbed and swung on the branches above us. One was a baby that rode on it’s parent’s back, and two seemed to be at their adolescent stage of growth.
The next night was Thursday, pot luck BBQ night at Luna Llena. A number of people at the hotel were vegetarian, so I bought two eggplants to grill and loaf of local bread. Two of my roommates – one from California and the other from Germany – made a tasty fruit salad. The spread was massive: pork, chicken, potato salad, caprese salad, pasta salad, more bread, dip, tahini, and other delicious dishes that got lost in memory after the liters of Pilsen were introduced. With everyone full and content there were still tables of food left for the security guard to pack away and clean as everyone slowly migrated to Chico’s for reggae night.
That night made a decent farewell to Montezuma. Being the only place to party, Chico’s attracts everyone in town, locals and tourists. The crowd on the street in front was as big as the one in the bar. The party started at the sidewalk stoops across the street and extended to the beach behind the bar. All of the familiar faces in town were there. Alcohol levels were reaching dangerous heights all around, and the crowd slowly began to thin. I went to the bar for one last drink and decided on pisco since this was the closest I was going to get to Peru or Chile (for a while at least). The brand that they carried featured a moai-shaped bottle. I ordered a shot, and the bartender stared at me confused. Was my Spanish that bad? In all of his days working the bar, he told me in English, never had a customer order straight pisco – pisco sour, pisco and Coke, but never straight. He insisted on giving me a chaser even though I declined one. I easily finished the spirit, but without a clear memory of its taste.