Un-Fortuna and the case of missing volcano

Tree bark: the most colourful thing in Arenal

La Fortuna (lit "the luck) is a faintly dull little town blessed with one, powerful natural resource: a sodding great volcano. Between the 60s and about four years ago, this local attraction was a big, attention seeking beast, spewing fiery lava down one side (conveniently away from the town) and providing something of a spectacle for those interested in glowing soil.

Having packed it in, grown up, and settled down, Volcan Arenal, the local rocky triangle, has become a little more shy and, lacking fire, has been known to sulk beneath a foggy duvet during the day.

So it was that, in arriving in "The Luck," we had no luck at all. Fortuna may have a big, triangular mountain, but as far as first hand experience can confirm it may well be a hoax. We think the town has been keeping photoshop artists in business for several years.

Our journey to the town had its own eruptions. Travelling from Monteverde via "jeep-boat-jeep" (a recent innovation that makes use of the artificial Lake Arenal to dodge the worst of the mountain roads and saves about five hours of driving), we clambered aboard Jeep A (yer honour) to find a raucous atmosphere as a posh English voice demanded to know if we were Swedish. Disappointed to discover we shared a nation with it, The English Voice proceeded to ignore us and ask every new passenger the same question - it was eventually sated when an elderly American confirmed that her grandmother was Swedish and that she a) qualified and b) took the wind out of The Voice's sails, not being quite what it had been hoping for.

The English Voice's key vice was in believing that, by making frequent references to its desire for beer, it was somehow being the very soul of Wildean wit and repartee. After hilariously demanding that we stop for beer every hundred yards, The English Voice was challenged by a German about English national characteristics. "We like beer!" Cheered The Voice. "No," I said. "The main thing about the English is not that they like to drink, just that they can't handle it."

I fear this response may have been lost to the sound of the jeep engine.

Refusing to look at the face of The Voice's owner, I looked out of the window instead. It might have been noisy, but Jeep A was taking a spectacular route over the mountains. Costa Rica may be famous for beaches, sloths and cloud forests, but its agricultural highlands are stunning - and, presumably, almost tourist free.

We drove down to the banks of Lake Arenal, famous for its beautiful surroundings*, and managed to lose The English Voice to another boat (such as shame). Sadly that was our only luck, as low cloud and persistent drizzle limited the famous view to only a few moody looking hills and the forbidding wall of the dam.

It's just about possible to imagine that - on a different day - the views from Lake Arenal would live up to the hype

The biggest challenge of staying at Fortuna’s bizarre-looking but perfectly comfortable Regina Hotel was working out how to pronounce it. We started with the English pronunciation to blank stares, before one driver caught on. “Oh, Re-high-na!” he said, delighted with this eureka moment. Later on we tried that, but got more blank stares before they said, “oh, Regina!” We gave up.

The hotel is not exactly charming, looking as it does like a holiday cottage for a communist dictator, but the staff were very helpful (without being overly so) and - something of a miracle in mid-range Costa Rican accommodation - the aircon worked, though given the weather it was seldom employed. It also had a very nice little balcony where you could go to judge just how hard the rain was coming down and, occasionally, enjoy a view of the town mercifully shorn of being able to see The Regina itself. And, for us, shorn of Volcan Arenal.

It never did show up. We entertained ourselves with delicious pizza at Anch’io, over the road from Regina (watching with interest as a party of 17 turned up on spec, hoping for a table, and had to wait patiently as - very slowly - the customers began to file out and table by table the staff created a giant eating space, like continental drift forging a culinary Pangea), planning to head up into the national park the next day. Arenal, though, was still under its duvet when we woke, so we went for a slightly overpriced heuvos rancheros at The Lava Lounge, which at least had videos of the volcano going pop. Seeking to avoid yet another tour bus, we asked about scooter rental at the travel desk attached to Soda La Cuchura Tica (where we later ate a perfectly acceptable, and cheap, casado), but the man on the desk warned strongly against the idea of driving one of his scooters up there, as the road to the national park wasn’t paved.

Was there a bus? No - you can hire a car. Can we? Great! It’s a minimum two day hire. But we’re leaving tomorrow.  You can take a tour. 

If your ambition extends mostly to getting wet, Fortuna is the place to be

Bugger. As it turned out, the tour was about as good as it could have been given the unrelenting rain and cloud. Buying yet another poncho (my Monteverde poncho having been split up the middle like a guard in Game of Thrones) we plodded around in the duckling chain being shown turkey birds and rainbow gums, though there was an interesting and rain-free interlude where the guide explained Arenal’s volcanos and their various explosions by building little replicas out of volcanic sand, though he lost points for rushing us through the forest in search of red-eyed frogs so quickly he lost two members of the party. Presumably they’re still out there somewhere, slowly starving and asking “isn’t there supposed to be a volcano here somewhere?”

Too soggy to get the zoom out

Finally, and we really weren’t in the mood for it by then, they drove us to one of the hot springs, so we walked through a bit of forest in our swimming costumes before taking a warm bath in the dark. We sat in a fast moving stream of hot water, being gently rained on, and somehow it was wonderful, though that could be the generously supplied cocktails talking. A few people got swept away into the darkness, but we could tell by their distant cries that they were still alive, so we tried not to worry too much.

The next morning there was still no volcano, so - avoiding The Lava Lounge to have an expensive but definitely worth it coffee at Down to Earth Coffee - we decided to get the hell out of dodge and on to San Jose, where Michelle had to do some work and I had an urgent appointment with blue skies and a swimming pool. As we left, I pressed my face to the window, thinking that maybe Arenal would reward us with a goodbye glimpse as we left.

Did it bollocks.

* "pretty, but just a lake" might just be my favourite Tripadvisor review of all time - of a lake, anyway.