RovingMind: Jungle River To Nicaragua (#1 in Central America river series)

On the Rio Frio, heading toward the border.

Besides all of its natural wonders, Costa Rica has some interesting border crossings. One of these, on the southern end, is detailed in a previous blog post, "In Search Of Panama Hats." Another, even more out-of-the-way, I traveled this year. It's located on the northern side, where C.R. butts up with Nicaragua.

To take advantage of low airfare offered by AeroMéxico ($268 round-trip out of NYC) I flew on New Year's Eve and landed in C.R. on Jan. 1. It meant that I was 40,000 feet up when the ball dropped, but who cares?

After two weeks in San Jose, the capital, where I got dental work done, visited Dr. Montero, one of my chiropractors (the other is in Montrose, PA), visited with friends, made the rounds of various hostels, casinos, restaurantes, etc., I was ready for something -- something adventurous, that is. Los Chiles came to mind, a little town on the northern frontier where you can transit into Nicaragua.

I had wanted to go that route for years. Mainly because I had heard that there was boat travel involved, and with such things I cannot help myself. So I arose in the night like a ghost and caught the 0530 bus for Los Chiles.

Waiting to get passports stamped at Los Chiles, Costa Rica.

The bus trip, five hours, was the kind that I've come to love -- the road wound past sweeping green mountains, providing wonderful vistas of the countryside, and slowed through neat little towns or pueblos, as they call them here, providing glimpses of local life. So it was a look at C.R. that I've never seen.

In addition, the bus was full, with people standing in the aisles, yet I was the only gringo or white person on board! With the country a-swarm with sunseekers, backpackers, and the like this time of year it was a nice respite from the tourist zones.

A lot of the passengers were Nicaraguans (Nicas, as they're called) heading across the border to visit relatives or simply return home. For whatever reason, I've always hit it off with these people, and this came in handy because some of them helped me with getting through immigration. I speak some Spanish now but with officials barking orders and directions, demanding money for this and that, it's hard to figure out what's what and not get scammed.

Eventually, though, we got through and headed for a brown, sluggish river down the road from inmigración -- the curiously named Rio Frio.

A river ferry coming in at Los Chiles.

The name is curious because Rio Frio means "cold river." However, it's about warm as wash water, as least when I was there. Yet it's what makes this border crossing unique. The river is the "highway" leading up north, across the international border -- the only way to get there.

It's not a scenic tour, as such, but it could be: You cruise through trees and dense jungle alive with monkeys, sloths, cranes, storks, turtles with the most colorful heads I've ever seen, fish, including tarpon and snook, caymans, which are a type of crocodile, and more.

In the wish-that-I'd-had-my-camera-ready department, we passed a dozen iguanas laying out on a branch, warming themselves in the sun. They had a yellowish, even gold-like cast to their skin and would have made quite a picture.

Generally though, I just sat back with mouth open, taking it in...

Some kind of herons, I think.

Nicaraguan military shake us down mid-voyage.

Reminds me of the Upper Amazon.

As trying as they may be sometimes, I like to cross these borders. Often you have to wait for hours in the sun outside immigration, only to be grilled by authorities or hustled by shysters posing as officials, but they can be quite the travel experiences.

Call this one a border crossing with elements of a nautical safari. Other such transits are scattered about the Lower Americas, but this was certainly noteworthy.

All good things must come to an end, and this one came to a rather grand one. The Rio Frio empties into spectacular Lake Nicaragua, about a hundred miles across. Quite a sight, after being on jungle-enclosed river for so many miles, to be unfolded onto that massive body of water. Our boat steered toward a town simmering off in the distance, San Carlos.

San Carlos, from the mouth of the Rio Frio.

Reception committee at Nicaraguan immigration.

We were entering another country, of course, so we had to pass through immigration there. Under the watchful eyes of soldiers with AK-47 rifles, we hauled luggage off the boat and sweltered for an hour or so in line.

Eventually the AKs were slung across their backs and they became absorbed in their cell phones, like much of the rest of the world. I paid my twelve dollar entry fee, got my passport stamped, and wheeled my duffel out into rollicking, little San Carlos, to begin Part Two of my Nicaraguan river adventure.