...been on a horse before?" commented Nils as he swung his leg over a bony skeleton of a horse that looked just this side of glue factory material.

He managed to get seated and turned to our guide, "Okay, so how do you stop the horse if he takes off?" The guide ignored him as he made his way to his own horse. Nils repeated his question – again to no avail. "No really...," Nils repeated a third time – a half octave higher and faster – "HOW do you stop it? Finally the guide got around to explaining and Nils relaxed again. In two years I've known him, it was the first time I'd ever seen him nervous.

We were in La Fortuna, Costa Rica, about five-hours' drive in a 1950s cramped, sticky leather-seated hot bus, from San Jose. La Fortuna is famous for its natural hot springs – fed by one of the nation's most active volcanoes. People make the mountainous, switchback trip to soak in the waters of the many spas that surround the base of the volcano and, if it's a clear night, watch for lava as it flows down the volcano's cone.

Climbing the volcano is strictly forbidden, as many people have died when the wind shifted, scorching the lungs of the unlucky with highly toxic sulfur fumes. We were perfectly happy to spend the evening sitting in a hot spring pool bar, soaking up the minerals along with our strawberry daiquiris.

After our uncomfortable and rainy five-hour ride with a driver who didn't look at the road for nearly two hours while smoking and bullshitting with his buddy and girlfriend, our bodies and our nerves were in need of a soak. It was still raining when we got to the outdoor spa, but as soon as we immersed ourselves in the hot water our troubles evaporated.

There were about 5-6 pools at this spa, ranging from cool to parboil. We started at warm and worked our way up. I could have cooked eggs in the hottest one. After several rounds of daiquiris we challenged ourselves to see who could stay in the water from the depths of hell the longest. No one lasted more than 20 seconds. As we winced and sucked air through our teeth in pain, I glanced across the pool and noticed the bemused expression on a local's face as his leg dangled lazily in the same water for an eternity.

The rain stopped, and the sky cleared long enough for us to notice lava flowing down the mountain – now granted at our distance it looked about four inches long – but it was exciting nonetheless.

We returned back to our pension all noodly, wrinkled and relaxed – only to do battle with the monster cucharachas. Nisl was sitting on a bed when I noticed something by his hand. We both yelped as it went scurrying to a corner. I had left out some natural travel sickness medication, and it had eaten through to foil to get at it.

Though this cockroach looked about two feet long, in reality I guess it was more like 3 inches. Nils tore the room apart looking for it, but then realized he didn't have anything to kill it with. He went in search of a weapon and returned with shellac, explaining it was all he could find. When he found it, it got the shellacking of its life! but there was more than one and I finally did the girly thing and ran out of the room. He eventually emerged triumphant, declaring "I killed that cockroach AND his daughter." I wrapped my hair in a bandana before going to sleep, with visions of a cockroach family setting up a homestead in my curls overnight.

The next day we experienced a Costa Rican specialty – a canopy tour. A canopy tour is kinda like a horizontal rappel through the tree tops. You're strapped into climbing gear, hooked to a pulley-like device, pushed off a platform 100 feet (30 meters) or so above the jungle floor, and go whooshing along to the next precarious platform. It's quite a rush, zipping through the treetops trying to remember where to keep your hands and tuck your head in so you don't smack it on a tree at 30 miles an hour. We only did a short ride, seven platforms, but apparently there are places that have up to 30 platforms where you can whiz by birds and startled monkeys along the way.

When we arrived at our first jumping-off point – after a jolting half-hour horse ride (equestrian I'm not) – Nils once again turns to me and says, "Did I ever tell you I'm afraid of heights?" I gave him this incredulous look, but from the mischief in his eyes, I think he was yanking my chain.

The first step off was scary, but being a speed junkie, the adrenal rush from the 150-foot (46 m) ride to the next platform erased any trepidation I felt.

We were followed on our adventure by a stray dog. Latin America is knee-deep in strays. It's amazing this poor dog was alive at all. It appeared to be starving, with its ribs poking through loose folds of skin. All four paws were deformed, two of its legs turned in at a painful angle and claws placed askew of where they should have been. This dog must have been in the mountains for years, as he ran on his hobbled legs from tree to tree, greeting us with a wag at each stop. I'd have given anything at that point for a can of dog food. Eventually someone in our group fished out a power bar, which the dog wolfed down practically whole.

And so concluded my trip to Costa Rica, soaked by choice in a hot spring, soaked involuntarily the rest of the time, relaxed, rejuvenated and ready for my two-day flight to Greece that entailed a 10-hour layover in Mexico City and a seven-hour layover in Frankfurt. I was leaving San Jose on a Tuesday and not arriving in Athens until Thursday at 1 am. Thank goodness for upgrades.

What I lost this week: where'd that list go again?

Questions?
If you want more information about this area you can email the author or check out our Central America Insiders page.