Costa Rica's Caribbean Coast is Pure Paradise
By Mara Vorhees, King Features Syndicate

I had spent the day lounging on the black-sand beach and biking through the monkey-infested rain forest. When I pedaled up to the Pure Jungle Spa, I was salty, sandy and sweaty. My host, Denise, did not bat an eye.

The spa itself -- just south of Puerto Viejo on Costa Rica's Caribbean coast -- is set in an open-air, thatch-roof hut, lit by lanterns and surrounded by rain forest. Denise ushered me into a Bedrock-style shower with an open window offering a jungle view. I half expected to turn on the water by tugging on an elephant's trunk.

After rinsing off, I was invited to soak my feet in hibiscus-scented water and to sip a local elixir flavored with honey and cloves. This drink's unappetizing name is agua de rana -- frog's pee. It tasted like sweet, cool, herbal tea to me.

Completely relaxed and refreshed, I was ready for the treatment: the spa's signature papaya facial. Denise's fingers danced across my face, starting with a light massage, followed by a sweet-smelling pineapple exfoliate, and then the namesake papaya mask. While the mask set, she massaged my hands and head.

The call of exotic birds, the patter of rain and other sounds of the jungle drifted in. More than a facial, this was an all-body, all-sense experience.

You can't bottle tropical paradise, but the Pure Jungle Spa comes close. All its products are locally made from organic fruit, virgin coconut oil and homemade cocoa butter.

The finishing touch for each spa treatment is a sliver of dark chocolate -- pure cocoa and sugar cane -- made by an indigenous family with homegrown ingredients.

The spa was an unexpected highlight of my stay in Puerto Viejo, a hippie haven famous for its big surf break, not for fancy spa treatments.

Costa Rica's Caribbean coast has long lagged behind the more developed Pacific coast. Two mountain ranges -- the Cordilleras Central and Talamanca -- bisect the country and isolate the "Caribbean side." But the divide is more than geographic.

Much of the region's population has Afro-Caribbean roots, stretching from Jamaican and Barbadian immigrants who came to work in the banana industry. Until 1949, the country was racially segregated, and the darker-skinned residents were forbidden from leaving the Caribbean. Neglected by the central government, the region trailed in obtaining electricity, telephone lines and paved roads. The disparity is still evident, with higher poverty levels and lower standards of living than in the rest of the country.

In earlier times, only wave-riders and thrill-seekers were willing to brave the overland journey to this far-flung spot. By day, they would take on Costa Rica's sauciest surf, known as Salsa Brava; by night, they would build bonfires on the beach and sleep under the stars. The lack of telephones and electricity -- let alone hotels and restaurants -- didn't bother these hard-core adventurers too much.

Nowadays, Puerto Viejo's traditional clientele is growing up; and so is the town itself. Sleeping on the beach is no longer required. The road from San Jose is paved.

Costa Rica's Caribbean cuisine is evolving, too. Famous for its slow-simmering stew called rondon, made by mixing whatever ingredients the cook can "run down," Puerto Viejo's kitchens are also turning out fantastic fusion cuisine, incorporating influences from around the world.

El Loco Natural is an open-air cafe, where sounds of calypso and reggae accompany Asian, Mediterranean and Caribbean flavors. I started with tropical gazpacho soup, subtly sweet and spicy with mango and cilantro. It was followed by fish tacos, featuring fresh-caught marlin, grilled to perfection and topped with a spicy jerk sauce. After six weeks of pinto gallo (rice and beans), I was in fusion-foodie heaven.

The following night, I dined at Patagonia, a real-deal, Argentinean-owned steakhouse. The decor is not much, but the open kitchen allows an unimpeded view of unembellished steaks sizzling on the grill. A Mendoza red was the complement to my tenderloin, a treat, in many ways.

Puerto Viejo de Talamanca is still a long way off from the condo-lined beaches of the Pacific coast. Despite certain advances, this little town retains the atmosphere of an outpost, where adventurers come to ride the waves and escape civilization. But even adventurers deserve the occasional indulgence ... more chocolate, anyone?

Getting there: Four daily buses make the five-hour journey from San Jose to Puerto Viejo de Talamanca. Gray Line runs one bus a day. It's also an easy trip for rental cars.