Parklands in Costa Rica help reduce poverty

Entrance to Tortuguero National Park

A recently released report from Georgia State University gives us yet another reason to protect the rainforest: parklands, it turns out, can also help with economic development.

Studying data from Costa Rica and Thailand, researchers concluded that national parks in developing countries can actually help to reduce poverty in the areas surrounding the preserves.

“The effect of national parks and reserves on their human neighbors is arguably the most controversial debate in conservation policy,” says the new study, “Protected areas reduced poverty in Costa Rica and Thailand” released in April 2010. The debate is especially heated in developing nations, where ecosytem preservation and economic development are often seen as at odds.

“Because ecosystem protection limits agricultural development and exploitation of natural resources,” says the report, “opposition to protected areas is frequently driven by the assumption that they impose large economic costs and thus exacerbate local poverty.”

And while the researchers found that people living near national parks were indeed on the whole poorer than the national average, careful analysis of census data revealed that the poverty wasn’t a result of land preservation, which in fact often “generates economic benefits by…promoting tourism and improving infrastructure in remote areas.”

In the graphic below (courtesy of the report), protected areas created before 1980 are in green (these were the areas that the report studied). The relative poverty levels throughout Costa Rica are shown, with pink being the richest and dark red the poorest. The diagram makes use of data from 1973; the report compared that to economic data from 2000.

Apart from the effect of protected areas on poverty, the map is interesting to me in that it shows where Costa Rica’s wealth is (or was) concentrated: in the Central Valley around the capital city of San Jose, which is to be expected, but also in pockets around the country, like near Palmar Norte and Palmar Sur (north of the Osa Peninsula), near Cuidad Neily and Paso Canoas (near the Panama border), around Liberia in Guanacaste, and along the Pacific Coast between Jaco and Dominical. I would imagine that an updated map would show even more wealth along Guanacaste’s “Gold Coast” – where in beach towns like Tamarindo and Playas del Coco development is moving along at breakneck speed.

Here are some maps of Costa Rica with cities and towns marked, if you want to compare them to the map below.

Green means protected parklands; light pink means wealth, dark red poverty.

See also:
Boom town greed and condo ghost towns in Playas del Coco

Tico wins prize for work to halt shark finning

Photo: Matt Potemsky/Pretoma

A few weeks ago Tico environmental activist Randal Arauz was in San Francisco to claim a Goldman Foundation prize for his work to help stop shark finning in Costa Rica. The prize this year went to six environmental activists around the world; each recipient received US$150,000 to continue their grassroots efforts.

Shark finning is the practice of maiming and killing sharks for their fins, which often bring a very high price, especially in Asian markets, where Shark Fin Soup is considered a delicacy. In 2004, Costa Rica was the world’s third largest exporter of shark products, including 8,000 tons of fins.

Things have improved since 2004, but much work remains to be done. In his acceptance speech Arauz noted,

Sadly, shark finning is far from over. Global shark population declines are estimated at 90%, mostly due to shark finning. … More than 100 foreign longline shark finning vessels still operate illegally in private docks of Costa Rica. Recently, investigative journalists have exposed drug trafficking and indentured servitude alongside shark finning at these private docks, whose operators take advantage of lax customs enforcement.

So what’s next? What can we do? Read the rest of Arauz’s speech to find out.

Arauz is part of PRETOMA, a Costa Rican organization that works to protect the ocean’s resources, including sea turtles and sharks.

Curubanda: History and future of a working farm turned ecotourism lodge

Curubanda Lodge in the Guanacaste hill country

Curubanda Lodge is a small ecotourism lodge in the heart of a working farm—Finca Nueva Zealandia–in the Costa Rican highlands. Its four modest but comfortable guest rooms are within spitting distance of the farm’s dairy, chickens wind their way through the gardens, and on your way back to your room you might have to push through the cows waiting to be milked.

Curubanda Lodge in Guanacaste is also a working dairy.

The Nueva Zealandia farm and dairy has been in the Brizuela family since 1930. At that time, there were few roads, and the family would take milk and cheese by oxcart to Quebrada Grande (often shown as Garcia Flamenco), a small town 13 km away, to trade for staples like rice and beans.

The 100-hectare farm stayed pretty much the same, says Wilberth Brizuela Chavarria, 34, from 1930 to 1980, with successive generations working the dairy and in the fields. The area was high and green enough for dairy cattle, but they also kept chickens and pigs.

In 1980, the government was offering nearby land at a very good price if the buyers would agree to help reforest the area (which had been cleared for farms and pastures) so that there might be a biological corridor between the two volcanoes and the two national parks. The Brizuela family bought up land around the original farm and increased their holdings to 350 hectares.

Another big change for the family farm came in 2000, when Wilbirth finished his business degree at Universidad Latina in Santa Cruz (on the Nicoya Peninsula). The price of milk is notoriously volatile, and Wilbirth came home with big ideas about how the family could diversify and not rely solely on the dairy.

A non-paying guest at Curubanda Lodge

Soon after 2000, the farm began its transformation from working farm to working farm that welcomes guests. They built four guest rooms (the best is on the second floor, with a deck, an amazing view, and a bathtub big enough for two). They built a large restaurant, created trails for walking and for horseback riding, landscaped the grounds so that part of it looks more like a hotel than a farm, and are in the process of relocating the dairy barn so it’s not within smelling distance of the guest rooms. (Right now it’s quite close, but the smell isn’t unpleasant, just earthy.)

Agro-Eco-Tourism, complete with mud wallows

Wilberth calls the new project agro-eco-tourism. “It’s a radical change for us,” he says, and indeed it seems as if they are working out some kinks. The guest rooms could use screens on the windows and the water pressure means that the impressive tub takes over an hour to fill up. Guests are fed extremely well but there are no choices—you eat what they’re cooking, and many meals have rice and French fries on the same plate. A friend who came up to watch the sunset drove into a huge swampy hole in the driveway that  was hard to see in the dark and the rain, and upon later inspection that was just one of many tire-swallowing holes. In the Costa Rican manner, Wilbirth smiled and shrugged, as if to say, Who’d be dumb enough to drive into those holes?

Curubanda Lodge: Slipping and sliding to the waterfall

Curubanda Lodge, near Quebrada Grande in the hills of Guanacaste

“Don’t be afraid,” our guide tells us. “It’s a little steep and slippery on the way to the waterfall, but the horses know the way.”

We’ve already come up a trail so muddy the horses sank in past their knees. There were stretches so steep I’d been hugging my horse’s neck to keep upright.

But I wasn’t complaining—yet. We were riding through a dramatic landscape that few would associate with Guanacaste or even Costa Rica. Swaths of dense forest alternated with green hills that might be called rolling if what they were doing wasn’t a lot more dramatic–let’s call them rock-and-rolling hills.  The air was fresco – cool and fresh.  Cacao Volcano lay before us, with Rincon de la Vieja Volcano at our back.

David and I and the guide had started out from Curubanda Lodge, four comfortable cabins on the Finca Nueva Zealandia (New Zealand farm, for the area’s resemblance to that country). We were just over an hour from the baking-hot town of Liberia (the hottest in all of Costa Rica), where there’s an international airport and more banks per square meter than anywhere else in Costa Rica, and two hours from the party beach town of Tamarindo.

If you’re not crazy about extreme heat or spring-break style revelry, then Curubanda is a breath of fresh and cool air. At well over 2000 feet, it lies in a perpetually green valley between two volcanoes, and is sandwiched between two national parks—Rincon de la Vieja and the Guanacaste Protected Area.

The path to the waterfall at Curubanda Lodge

We’re riding through what they call bosque seco (dry forest), though you wouldn’t know it from the rain squalls and the clouds scudding through. “The clouds here haul ass,” says a local expat rancher from California who’s been here a decade and says that the area’s microclimates are so very micro that it can be raining out his back door when the sun is shining on his front yard.

This morning we’re riding 3 of the farm’s 22 horses, trying to catch of glimpse of the volcanoes’ steeply sloping cones, and marveling at the view from the ridges—we can see over multiple ridges in myriad shades of green, all the way to the where the Pacific would be if the haze of the lowlands wasn’t obscuring it today.

We’re well-fortified with a farmhand’s breakfast—eggs, gallo pinto (rice and beans), toast, a plate of fresh pineapple, papaya, apple, and watermelon, and a dollop of delicious fresh cheese (the farm is primarily a dairy, with 80 Holstein, Jersey, and Pardo cows).

Still, I’m not feeling too good about the steep and slippery descent to the waterfall. I guess I could dismount and do it on foot, but one of the reasons they encourage exploring the area on horseback is that hay culebras (there are snakes, including terciopelos (fer-de-lances) and matahueyes (literally “ox-killers,” aka bushmasters). The lodge has loaned us tall rubber boots, but still, I guess I’ll take my chances on horseback.

Our guide is William (lots of people around here have anglicized names, though they may speak no English and have no English heritage). He’s from Nicaragua originally –we’re not far from the border here, and the clouds we see probably formed over Lake Nicaragua. He carries a machete to whack away some of the branches encroaching on the trail, and to have a weapon against culebras.

I take a deep breath and give my horse, Palomo, a gentle kick so he’ll follow the other two, which have begun to slip and slide down the narrow, root-encrusted trail. It’s not my first time on horseback but it’s the first time I’ve seen how horses can slide stiff-legged for yards and then right themselves. The horses nimbly pick their way over fallen trees, rocks, and through mud bogs.

We’re almost to the bottom of this steep stretch when the guide’s horse loses his footing. The rear feet slide out from under him and he goes down, sliding on his rump for several yards.

I pull my horse up short as I watch the spectacle. But William doesn’t bat an eye, just pulls up on the reins until his horse regains all four feet.

I turn to David. “I thought you said these horses couldn’t lose their footing.”

David laughs. “I guess I must have meant mules.”

Soon we dismount, clamber on foot down an even steeper stretch (No hay muchas culebras aqui, says William—There aren’t so many snakes right here), cross a small river, and round a bend to see a small waterfall cascading into a round pool. The mist from the falls drifts over to us, and we breathe it in, watching a blue morpho butterfly ride the currents of air produced by the falling water.

All photos by David W. Smith

The trail to the waterfall was steep and muddy, but it was worth the trip.