Roadside Attractions

Last night before bed I was reading about the adventures of several 18th century botanists who sailed the globe in search of botanical treasures, and I was reminded of a trip of my own (one far less perilous and malaria-free, of course).

I had the great fortune to visit Costa Rica during December of 2006. I spent most of my time in the cool, moist, mountainous highlands, in the company of a great friend and scientist. Costa Rica is a beautiful place, and I took many photos of the breathtaking mountain views and the amazing scenery.

I consider myself a good driver - driving in Costa Rica was out of the question. The roads are narrow and often without adequate shoulder, and posted speed limits are largely ignored (one afternoon my vacation and our lives were nearly cut short by a speeding tour bus). My friend - who spends a great deal of time working in Costa Rica and Panama - did all the driving, which allowed me to admire the astonishing plant life as it whizzed past my open car window at 60 miles per hour. It was also a pleasant distraction from the oncoming traffic.

Huge "forests" of pink and white tree dahlias covered the rocky red sides of the highway, and giant Gunnera plants (with leaves often four and five feet across) were bursting from the streams which were rushing down the mountainsides. Vines dangling huge clusters of fuchsia-colored trumpets hung from the outcrops above the road, and orange reed-like Epidendrum orchids grew along the shoulder like weeds.

Our progress through a tight mountain pass was abruptly halted one afternoon by a cycling event. Along with dozens of other motorists, we were forced to spend nearly two hours waiting by the roadside for what seemed like hundreds of cyclists to pass. For the first hour we watched hummingbirds visit the giant thistles that grew along the road cuts, and we ate the half-dozen passion fruits that had been given to us by my friend's generous landlord.

The rocky hillsides were covered in plant life, and it wasn't long before I had crossed the road, camera in hand, to explore. I was quickly rewarded by finding three species of tropical Lobelia, as well as a curious little plant with the oddest yellow flowers I had ever seen. About the size of an almond, they resembled inflated wooden shoes; the canary yellow flowers were held away from the plant by brown, wiry stems. They appeared to be a species of Calceolaria (or pocketbook flower), but I have yet to correctly identify them.

As the last cyclist passed and we were signaled by a police car that we could resume our drive, I wondered about all the plants I would miss as we drove down the other side of the mountain. Had the roads not been so dangerous I might have been tempted to walk.