Playa Grande, Costa Rica – Good deal. We’ll swing with the monkeys, surf, swim, go deep-sea fishing, hunt those big blue and yellow butterflies and leave the cooking to ‘Gato’.

Each evening Gato will fix dinner for our vacationing family of 16, serving at whatever time we want. He’ll bring all the food, as well as a helper to wash dishes, and they’ll put the leftovers in the fridge. Typically, we’ve been told, he will prepare plenty of food so that we will have enough leftovers for both breakfast and lunch the next day. All for $180 a night.

Considering that the closest grocery is the little place run by the man with his pet lizard clinging to the front of his T shirt, some five deeply rutted dirt miles away, it sounds like a good deal.

From Pittsburgh, Hawaii, Chicago and Washington, D.C., we’ve come to the west coast of Costa Rica for our annual reunion, renting two large beach-side houses to accommodate our big family – seven grandchildren, 10 to 19, two of three sons and a daughter and their spouses, His Honor and me.

One son is in China and his wife is in Italy, both traveling on business, and the 19-year-old from Chicago has brought a friend, so we’re 16. No problem, we’ve been assured, Gato can handle it.

Go and have fun. Oh yes, just ignore (or sweep out) the big crabs that move into the houses each night. They’re a little crunchy underfoot, but otherwise harmless.

Our hired cook, whose real name is Miguel but is called Gato because he has big, green cat-like eyes, is a little late the first night. The sun has slipped down into the Pacific, the grandchildren are on their second game of Monopoly, and the grown-ups on their second round of chardonnay when he arrives.

By the time Gato and Geoffrey, the yard man, argue about who should start the wood fire in the grill, the helper sets the table and Gato finally dishes out the food, we’re famished. It’s ceviche, chicken, guacamole (cloying and bland), tortillas (cold and hard), chayote (overcooked and limp), red beets and black beans and rice, the Costa Rican national dish known as gallo pinto.

Not gourmet fare, but we knew we were getting home cooking, Costa Rica style, didn’t we?

At 5:30 the next morning, howler monkeys wailing and groaning from the trees across the road waken some of us. The refrigerator is almost bare. No leftovers, except for a dish of black beans and some beets. Apparently, Gato didn’t understand the arrangements and took everything else home with him.

By 8 a.m. my son Peter and I are bouncing down the road to Matapalo in his rented SUV, dodging sun-bathing iguanas and huge potholes. Luckily, the man with the lizard on his T-shirt has lots of fresh brown eggs for sale. On the way back, we pick up a hitch-hiker carrying a machete. Eggs and crazy Americans both get back safe.

Late in the day, Gato returns to dish out his version of paella (lots and lots of rice with small pieces of seafood), more grilled chicken and very tough steak, a fresh cabbage salad seasoned with cilantro (different and good!) and black beans and rice, of course.

Por favor, Gato, could we have cheese quesadillas tomorrow instead of cold tortillas? Si! More vegetables, por favor? Si! And would you leave all the leftovers? Si! Si! Gato smiles, his green eyes light up, and he agrees to our requests – we think.

So we’re off in a caravan of rented SUVs the next morning, hitting the dirt road again on our way to Witch’s Rock and the famed canopy tour. For a mere $50, you get strapped into a leather and metal harness and allow yourself to be suspended from a cable line to zip from one platform to another high above the jungle. In Costa Rica, this is called fun.

Has anyone ever died on this flimsy-looking contraption? No. Do you have an age limit? A man 82 years old rode it last week, ma’am. What if I have a heart attack? No one ever has.

Unfortunately, I pass the printed health questionnaire. Now I have no more excuses. The grandchildren are watching, getting strapped in themselves and probably placing bets: Will she or won’t she? She’s good at peanut butter cookies and baby sitting, but swinging with monkeys? She’s so old!

One push from Walter, the guide, who seems to think it would be wise to stay near me, and I’m zipping down the first cable line, then the second and on through the forest. We’re soaring 100 to 150 feet from the forest floor.

“Look down!” Walter yells. “You don’t want to miss anything!”

How did he know I had my eyes shut tight? The little howler monkeys, chasing each other over the tree branches, are so close at times we can almost touch them. Mother monkeys have baby monkeys hanging onto their backs.

For two hours we’re on the tour, scrambling up hillsides, walking across a suspension bridge over a highway (strapped to a cable, of course), climbing ladders to higher vantage points and swinging from those cable lines.

“I can’t believe she did it” seems to be repeated often on the way home, and I know who they’re talking about. I can’t believe, it either.

No more monkeys and cable lines, but each trip away from the beach becomes an adventure. Road delays are routine. Skinny horses and even skinnier cows often are on the road Knowing this, the local people always take a book when they go out in a car. “Don’t get caught with your book down,” we’ve been warned.

A trip to the butterfly farm means a stop at Brasilito to load up on bread, milk, more eggs, cereal (every child has a different favorite), coffee, granola bars, avocados and more. A trip into Tamarindo to the bank, where the armed guard by the door has his rifle at the ready, means a stop at the supermarket for instant soups (every child has a different favorite here, too) and more staples.

The deep sea fishermen hit it lucky one day and return with big plastic buckets of tuna – enough for sashimi before dinner, plenty for Gato to overcook for dinner and more for him to take home.

Gato’s cooking doesn’t improve, but we’re learning to cope. The produce truck comes by twice, and we load up with the biggest red-fleshed papayas we’ve ever seen, watermelons, lettuce and bananas. The German bakery truck from Liberia stops, too, and we buy apple cake, velvety chocolate cake, breakfast rolls, brownies, banana bread with chocolate icing and hearty, dark crusty bread.

One night Gato’s car breaks down, and he’s even later than usual. Kevin, my 17-year-old grandson who has been studying Spanish since he started in Spanish-immersion kindergarten, has become our translator.

“Dinner in five minutes,” he announces.

“No hurry,” we say. Big mistake. An hour and a half later and many hands of Texas Hold ‘Em (the grandchildren have given up Monopoly and taken up poker), we’re eating — the usual.

One night we go to the Hotel Bulla Bulla for dinner. Good fish, rice, but no beans. Daughter Judy, the family treasurer, figures it is costing us less than dinner at home with Gato.

The last night, Gato arrives — late, of course — wearing a white handkerchief on his head, singing merrily and waving his beer bottle. Several beers later, we eat — rice and beans, chicken, you know the routine.

We’ve been vacationing together for a week each summer for the past decade. For a family that’s spread from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C., Chicago to Miami to Maui, it’s a good way to get together, let the grandchildren get to know their cousins and see a bit of the world, too.

We’ve vacationed in Sonoma and Sedona, Hilton Head and Hawaii, and points between. Usually Peter, who is a professional cook in Hawaii, does the cooking and the rest of us help. This is the first time we hired a cook.

We’ll probably never hire a cook again. We’ll probably never get to swing with monkeys again, either. But we’ll never forget Gato – or the howlers. Pass the beans and rice, por favor.

As the founder of WeLoveCostaRica.com for over ten years my primary goal has always been to save our VIP Members time and money by investigating projects for you so you don’t end up having another painful and expensive “learning experience.”

The developer of The Oaks Tamarindo, U.S. citizen Robert Irvin is an experienced developer with a proven track record of building quality real estate in Costa Rica and, it’s important to note that this is not a project in pre-construction, The Oaks Tamarindo is a totally completed, debt free project and I feel very comfortable recommending it and I know that Robert Irvin will do his best to ensure you are 100% satisfied with your real estate investment at The Oaks Tamarindo.

For more information about buying or renting a condo at The Oaks Tamarindo or more details about the developer financing then please help us to help you by using the simple form below:

Andrew Makarik

to@welovecostarica.com

Andrew Makarik is the main editor of WeLoveCostaRica, a fan of this sunny country. He is also a loving husband and a has a lovely daughter. By being a devoted family man and the biggest Costa Rica fan, he wants to make more people feel at home there. WeLoveCostaRica unites people and helps them find new home or a new travel destination. This website is a friendly community where everyone can find not only information, but also new friends and travel pals. Andrew is also passionate about IT and programming, so he himself maintains a friendly atmosphere in this cozy environment of WeLoveCostaRica.com.