It feels like we’ve been climbing this damn mountain for days. Our water bottles are almost empty, the sun is relentless and the air is thick with humidity. I’m drenched in sweat. Ulysses, our guide with barely two decades to knock together, turns to us and smiles. He has hardly taken a sip of his water since we set out two hours ago, and doesn’t seem to have sweat glands. I hate him.

All I can think of is Raul’s little bar back down the mountain in the village of Dos Brassos, with its plentiful supply of ice cold beer. I imagine taking a sip, no, a guzzle, and then another. And then I hear Ulysses’ voice. He’s explaining we’re going to start our descent soon. I hold back my urge to cheer. Then he says, “Uno mas colina.” One more hill?

I look at Jon. “Is he crazy? We only wanted to climb one mountain!” There’s no point in protesting. We are literally half way from where we started to where we need to go. This will be our third mountain, or as Ulysses calls it, ‘hill’. Near vertical terrain, some of it along dusty, rocky, narrow burro trails, then down again, to the river, then up again. It’s beautiful here, and the hike has been, at times, wonderful, but the trek has become more punishing than fun. Jon is convinced Ulysses has been instructed not to return with us alive.

We plod on, and in another two hours, make it down to the bottom of the third mountain, and into the tiny village of Dos Brassos. Raul doesn’t even ask, he just brings over a couple of bottles of beer. And then another two.

We’ve been visiting this wild little corner of Costa Rica in the Osa Peninsula for a few years. This year, we’ve decided to leave the snow, glitterati and turkey of a traditional Christmas at home to spend it hiking and soaking up the sun instead. Although the three-mountain forced march was not what I imagined when I planned the trip. The beer is good and soon our moods brighten and we’re recounting our morning’s trek to Raul like it was great fun.

Raul is one of those people you should never underestimate. The more we get to know him, the more complex he seems. Besides being the town’s bartender, he runs the horse riding stable. He’s also the town treasurer. In his spare time, he pans for gold. I’m sure there’s more to him than these pursuits, but Raul doesn’t give much away. His Spanish is a heavy dialect, making conversation a bit difficult, as our Spanish is straight textbook. And yet we greet him like an old friend, and he beams us a big smile when he sees us again.

The tamale lesson

His family is as gracious and welcoming as he is. He’s invited us to his house on New Year’s day, to see how to make tamales.

Tamales are a Costa Rican holiday tradition. Every family has its own special recipe – like fruit cake in the U.K., or pirogues in Ukraine. On New Year’s Day, families go door to door to wish each other happy new year, and share their tamales.

Just after breakfast on New Year’s Day, we walk across the river from our lodging at Rio Tigre to Dos Brassos, where Raul and his family live. His children are playing outside. The kids are fascinated by the camera equipment we’ve brought with us, and giggle when we take a few shots of them. We show them the photos in the viewer and I wonder if it’s the first time they’ve ever seen themselves in a photograph.

Inside the house, there are three small rooms – two are set up as bedrooms, and another, as a sort of sitting area. The windows are small and there’s no electricity, so the rooms are dark. The kitchen is scarcely six square feet. Mrs. Raul is already pouring out batches of sauce for the tamales. It’s a wood burning stove and of course, there’s no refrigeration in sight. My first world brain struggles to understand how she manages.

She turns from the stove and greets us with a big smile. “Hola!” she calls and motions us to come in, then laughs. We can’t come in – there’s only room for her, Raul and a friend who’s helping, so we cram ourselves in the doorway. The kids stand around us – this is obviously a ‘BIG EVENT’, having American visitors come to the house. I feel honoured, and try to make conversation with the kids as best I can, with my limited Spanish. They don’t care – they chat away with us anyway while Jon gets the video camera going on the action in the kitchen.

Mrs. Raul takes a banana leaf and drops a hearty dollop of tamale mixture in the middle. Then she wraps each bundle, folding each side over the mixture and ties it, like a small gift. Which, of course, it is. We watch and talk and sample until a small mountain of tamales is piled up on a platter, to be carried out and shared with the neighbours.

The juggling lesson

After the tamale making lesson, we walk back to Rio Tigre lodge where the owners, Liz and Abraham, are hosting a party for the staff. It’s in full swing by the time we arrive. Ulysses is there, all smiles and energy and good looks. Jon decides to get retribution for yesterday’s humiliating expedition. He goes to our cabin and comes back with three juggling balls.

“Hey Ulysses, look what Barb gave me for Christmas,” he says pleasantly.

Ulysses is impressed, and watches as Jon tosses one, two, three balls in the air and manages a couple of circuits before one ball drops to the ground.

“Wanna try?” Jon asks, handing him the balls. Ulysses takes them, and tosses one in the air, to get the feel. Then two. He smiles and says, “Oh, I see,” and then there are three balls in the air, as Ulysses deftly tosses one up and then another. Finally, hours later (maybe it just felt like hours), one drops and the display is over.

Everyone applauds. “I bet he can’t edit video,” I say to Jon, as a consolation.

The warm Costa Rican sun shines down on us and the partying goes on all afternoon. Everyone tries the juggling balls. The tamales and rum and beer and laughter flow. As the sun starts its descent, the partiers make their way home and we all exchange ‘Happy new year’ wishes. And it really feels like it will be.