A View With a Room
Plus: the World's
Ultimate Outposts
By Alex Markels
The Lapa Rios lodge and preserve is at the forefront
of a growing trend that benefits both nature and the local economy.
As the morning sun sets the horizon aglow, the trees
high above Costa Rica's glittering Golfo Dulce come alive with the
cacophony of the lowland jungle. The ocean waves crash against the
shore here at the tip of the remote Osa Peninsula, the southernmost
coast of this Central American nation. A troop of howler monkeys
bark a rowdy greeting to the day; scarlet macaws squawk in unison
as they streak across the horizon; and a pair of chestnut-mandibled
toucans discuss breakfast plans in a nearby tree. A long-nosed coatimundi
scampers up the trunk of a cecropia tree. His tail wrapped around
a branch, he sniffs out a few choice fruits, grabs them with his
paws, then wedges himself between two branches to feast.
This vision of biodiversity would be remarkable enough
if I had seen it while standing on some muddy jungle trail. Yet
what makes the scene truly amazing is that I'm taking it in without
venturing an inch from my luxurious queen-size bed. Still tucked
between striped percale sheets, I lie in the middle of a private
open-air bungalow, with hardwood floors, lacquered bamboo walls,
and a vaulted palm-thatched roof, perfectly perched along a ridge
overlooking the Pacific and bordering the 1,008-acre Lapa Rios rainforest
preserve. A combination luxury lodge and eco-sensitive conservation
project, Lapa Rios is at the forefront of a growing worldwide movement
to develop nature tourism that actually nurtures the fragile ecosystems
that draw people in the first place. Since the early 1980s, hundreds
of eco-lodges have been built in tropical jungles, cloudforests,
and remote savannas. The best of them not only tread lightly on
the land and help protect endangered wildlife habitat but also benefit
the local economy.
Lapa Rios' stunning main lodge and 14 bungalows were
built on a former sheep pasture, and not a single native tree was
cut down. The developers, Karen and John Lewis of Minnesota, purchased
the site in 1990, intending to demonstrate to both guests and locals
that "a rainforest left standing is more profitable than one cut
down." They had originally planned to build a rustic birdwatching
lodge. But when research showed a far stronger demand for an upscale
wilderness resort, featuring such seemingly incongruous amenities
as private, heated showers; 24-hour electricity; and gourmet dining,
the couple altered their politically correct vision to ensure that
their labor of love would be as sustainable economically as it was
ecologically. The inevitable compromises yielded a five-acre compound
built almost entirely of native materials and equipped with solar-powered
showers, but with diesel-generator-driven electricity and a conventional
septic tank sewage system. "We're a demonstration in ecotourism,
not in energy conservation," says John Lewis.
The middle-aged couple -- he's a lawyer and she's
a teacher and professional musician -- have dumped more than $1
million of their own money into the project. They channel part of
their profits into protecting their land: saving hundreds of acres
of primary rainforest from the sort of slash-and-burn farming that
had denuded the resort site, and reforesting several hundred additional
acres. Worried that they'd be viewed as interlopers by their neighbors,
the former Peace Corps volunteers ventured out into the surrounding
hillsides bearing home-baked bread and cookies. After finding out
that their neighbors lacked any formal education, the Lewises founded
a charitable foundation and recruited other philanthropic groups
to help build the village's first primary school. They also hired
local residents to work at Lapa Rios -- the entire 43-person staff.
In the six years since the resort opened to the public,
it has been lauded not only by such environmental groups as the
Ecotourism Society and Conservation International but also by hotel
critics, including Andrew Harper, the fastidious editor of the exclusive
Hideaway Report newsletter, which awarded its grand prize to Lapa
Rios three years ago.
Not that Lapa Rios is an unqualified success. Ironically,
by drawing attention to what was once a remote, largely overlooked
part of Costa Rica, Lapa Rios has helped put the Osa Peninsula on
the tourism map, drawing scores of foreigners who have arrived to
grab and subdivide their own piece of paradise. The resort's financial
success, as well as the Lewises' exclusion of nonpaying visitors
from its private reserve, have also fostered deep resentment among
some locals, who mistook the Lewises' good intentions for meddling;
at one point the couple were even banished from direct involvement
in the school they'd worked so hard to help establish. "It was very
hurtful at first," recalls Karen Lewis. "But things seem to be working
themselves out."
Despite the pitfalls, Lapa Rios has
largely achieved the Lewises' original goal of saving a pristine
chunk of jungle wilderness from becoming pastureland, while proving
to both tourists and locals that there is value in protecting Costa
Rica's endangered lowland rainforest. Meanwhile, its economic success
reminds other eco-lodge operators that ecological sustainability
requires economic viability, and it may inspire the traditional
tourism industry to adopt sustainable practices.