I have been somewhat surprised to find that my four years of high school French have helped a great deal in interpreting signs, menus and a few spoken words in Spanish, as the two languages are often quite similar.Between Bill's few years of high school Spanish, Lane's two years of middle school French, and Carly's one year of elementary school Spanish, we have managed to get along pretty well. Many people in Costa Rica, especially in the more touristy areas, speak at least some English. Not wanting to be perceived as arrogant Americans, and wanting to challenge ourselves to learn more Spanish, we have been trying to communicate as much as possible in Spanish, even when those with whom we are communicating speak English.We have found that a sincere willingness to try, along with many smiles and lots of "gracias" and "por favor", our efforts are appreciated.Many ticos have gone out of their way to help us with the language, especially after we utter our frequently used phrase, "Como se dice . . . ¿"

The Journey to Tortuguero

The alarm woke us at 5 am and, by 5:30 am, we were walking to the bus station a few blocks from our luxurious accommodations. The tiny little town was coming to life as the sun had already risen. The bus station consisted of a dirt parking lot with a ticket window, but it had a coffee counter so we were happy. The kids knew that we were in a strange country when we bought for them the only thing we could find for breakfast - a packaged sweet treat resembling a Twinkie. When the ticket window opened at 6 am, we asked for tickets to La Pavona, which should have been 4,000 colones or about $7.50 for the four of us. The girl at the counter showed us a calculator with the figure of 10,400.Armed with the knowledge that they will often try to get you to buy tickets for both the bus and the boat ride, but that you should only buy tickets for the bus, I replied (using Spanish I didn't know that I had), "No, solimente autobus." A man in a bus driver uniform then came over and started to speak very rapidly and vehemently in Spanish, apparently trying to tell us that we were required to buy the boat tickets also. A Costa Rican man in line behind us who spoke very good English said, "No, he's lying to you. You only need to buy the ticket for the bus."So, we handed the girl 4,000 colones and got our bus tickets, feeling good that we'd fended off the first attempt to "take us for a ride."Ricardo, our newfound friend, then took us under his wing and showed us which line to stand in for the bus to La Pavona.He then told us that he was a tour guide for Banañero, one of the boat outfits to Tortuguero that my research had informed me was one to be very cautious of as they were often very aggressive in trying to get you to go on their tour, which is longer and more expensive.Ricardo then said that we should go with him on the Banañero boat, to which I smiled and replied, "No, we are going to take Clic Clic, gracias."

The bus ride was an adventure in itself, as we rode through lush banana plantations and very rustic parts of the country where accommodations were primarily ramshackle huts with corrugated tin roofs. We picked up lots of ticos along the way, including many uniform-clad school children. After seeing the very spartan schoolhouse where they were dropped off, I think Lane and Carly had a newfound appreciation for their schools that are often taken for granted.

After a half an hour of pavement, the road turned to dirt, gravel and potholes for the remaining hour to La Pavona. When we arrived at the dock in the middle of a cow pasture, we were dropped off near a group of motorboats collected on the river.Ricardo carried Carly's bag off the bus in one more attempt to get us to follow him to the Banañero boat.I again smiled and said, "No, we will take Clic Clic, gracias."When a man with a radio near me heard "Clic Clic", he yelled to one of the motorboats that had just pulled away from the dock.They turned around to pick us up - ah, the Clic Clic boat!We hopped on the boat, which consisted of around 30 bucket seats lined up in rows of 3 seats across, with a roof on top.Then began our next leg of the journey to Tortuguero - a river cruise that was straight out of the Jungle Cruise at Disney World, sans the animatron hippos. We were very close to the water, feeling its spray as we cruised through narrow, winding waterways surrounded by lush vegetation that later opened up into a broad canal just before arriving at Tortuguero Village.

We were dropped off right at the dock for our hotel, Casa Marbella. As we arrived at 8:30 am, our room was not yet ready - but our breakfast was.We were thrilled to take a seat at one of the tables in the outdoor breakfast area and be served large plates of pineapple, cantaloupe and watermelon, bottomless cups of Costa Rican coffee, orange juice and pancakes.After breakfast, we explored the tiny village, bordered on one side by the canal and on the other by the Caribbean ocean.A narrow dirt road serves as the main street, bordered by tiny huts, which included homes, souvenir shops, sodas {small cafes} and hotels.We walked along the beach - the ocean there is not really swimmable due to very strong undertows and large numbers of sharks, but we lived dangerously and put our feet in the water.

When it started to rain, we went back to Casa Marbella and checked into our room, which consisted of a double bed and two twin beds, a private bath and two ceiling fans.After Hotel El Sura, we all felt that we were living the good life.Exhausted from the day before, we read and napped to the sounds of birds and local children playing right outside our room.

The Universal Language of Futbol

Later that afternoon, we walked to a soda named La Casona, which bordered the soccer field.There we experienced casados - the local dish of rice, beans and your choice of meat. Bill and I had Imperial beer, the Costa Rican libation that is very similar to Red Stripe in Jamaica.

By the time we were finishing lunch, we could see that a group of local boys had started to play soccer, so we encouraged Carly to get in there and mix it up with them.Although we could tell that she wanted to, Carly threw out any number of excuses:

Carly: "I don't speak their language." Us: "The language of futbol is universal."

Carly: "What if they don't want me to play?"Us: "Soccer players always welcome more in a pick-up game."

Carly: "I don't have the right shoes on."Us: "They're barefoot!"

After overcoming her significant reluctance, Carly walked out of the soda, took off her hiking boots and socks, and jogged tentatively out onto the field.I walked out with her, camera in hand, wondering if I would have been courageous enough at age 11 to join a game of soccer with foreign boys in a foreign country.As Carly ran onto the field, one of the boys pointed at her, yelling something to the others in Spanish.They all resumed play, Carly melding seamlessly into a game that appeared to be every man/woman for him/herself vs. the goalie.Carly fell in naturally, going after the ball and "busting a move" on some of the ticos, a couple of times even drawing cries of "Ah-Yee!" and laughter, the tone of which clearly communicated, "Dude, you just got schooled by a girl!"She scored a couple of goals, had a couple of assists, and on several occasions was schooled herself by some pretty amazing footwork, demonstrating the fact that these boys had been playing futbol since the time they were able to walk.

Meanwhile, as I was snapping picture after picture on the sidelines, a tico girl of about 5 years old walked up next to me, holding a dripping chocolate ice cream cone, and offered in Spanish a lick of her cone.I smiled and said, "No, gracias", after which she shrugged and went about enjoying her ice cream.Between my very limited Spanish and the patience and openness of this child with the most amazingly beautiful brown eyes surrounded by the longest eyelashes, I learned that her name was Naome.We quickly became friends, as she showed off her skills at turning cartwheels and I helped her to do a headstand.

After about 20 minutes, Carly ran off the field to meet my new friend Naome, glowing with sweat and the satisfaction of overcoming her apprehension to experience the joy of the universal language of futbol.