The next morning we watch as monkeys invade the breakfast room, brazenly stealing sachets of sugar from the tables, before we carry our luggage down to the beachfront bus stop for our journey on the public bus back to San Jose, stopping at both Quepos and Parrita on the way to pick up more passengers. It’s a hot and sweaty four-hour drive back to the capital as, due to Covid regulations, public buses have to have open windows rather than use air-con. At one stage the on-board temperature gauge hits 39 degrees and it’s a relief when we finally pull into San Jose’s bus station in a slightly dodgy part of the city.

Finally we get to spend four hours by ourselves exploring the further reaches of the park, away from the guided groups of tourists. We wander along winding trails, blissfully free of people, having the joy of watching a slow-moving three-toed sloth in the trees above us in total solitude. It’s a rather magical moment and very tranquil indeed. We climb up to a number of miradors allowing gorgeous panoramic views of the coast and spend the afternoon swimming in all three of the park’s own stunning beaches, with hardly anyone else to be seen.

At the entrance to the waterfall there’s a small ticket booth and the lady managing it is called Dulcie Wilson. We had bumped into her last night in a supermarket and chatted to her about the local coffees that we were buying, so she’s delighted to see us again. She tells us that unlike many of the settlers in this area who were traditionally Quakers, her parents were Seventh Day Adventists who moved down to Costa Rica from Virginia, and several generations before that she is descended from pirates. 

Delving deep into the recesses of our rucksack I fish out the medical kit that has been lying quietly unused for the past six weeks and sterilise the bite, drawing out as much infection as I can and protecting it with flesh-coloured dressing. Meantime Coman takes the antihistamine and anti-inflammatory tablets we have with us. Our guide asks if we need him to call a medic as bites can lead to sepsis but we say we’ll keep going for the moment and see how it goes. 

After a couple of hours we arrive at Rancho Tojijifuro, which is home to the remaining members of the indigenous Maleku tribe. We’re led straight through a little garden to a dining hut where we’re fed a simple lunch of rice and beans, with a whiteboard on the wall giving us a few words in the Maleku language. Once we’re finished eating we move onto the tribal hut, a large smoky space with rudimentary benches and carvings, masks and artworks hanging on all the walls. Holding court at its centre is Juaquima, leader of the Maleku. 

Due to the rains and Janet’s drama on the boat, we’re behind schedule when we finally arrive at our destination for the night. It’s a unique, agricultural community called Junilama and we are home-staying with different families in this remote area. None of us quite knows what to expect and as the minibus rumbles along the dirt tracks, weaving past little huts and houses around the hidden valley, we’re all slightly nervous about the evening to come. 

Armed with binoculars and craning necks we see a variety of tropical insects and some of the 300 bird species in Tortuguero including keel-billed rainbow toucans, along with brown spider monkeys and, to much excitement from a number of women in our group, a three-toed sloth with a baby on its back, hidden high in the tree canopy. 

The makeshift jetty is extremely busy with coachloads of tourists arriving at the same time, all aiming to get ahead of each other and secure their arrival in Tortuguero before lunchtime. We spray ourselves liberally with mosquito repellent and set off in one of the first boats, laden down with all our luggage and sitting low in the muddy brown waters. As we motor along the winding river the banks are rich with a huge variety of plant life, the jungle around us also home to all sorts of monkeys, birds, iguanas, snakes and insects, while the river has many crocodiles and caimans in it. We keep our hands firmly inside the boat.