The birds were her travel guide

"Aventuras repletas de adrenalina."

This was the boldly printed heading of a tourist brochure in our hotel room. We had just arrived in Costa Rica. And although I know very little Spanish, the enticing words were easily comprehensible: "adventures replete with excitement."

I loved that word "adrenalina" and could just imagine adrenalin coursing through one's veins while experiencing the adventures of zip-lining (zipping along cables between treetops in the forest canopy), white-water rafting, volcano hiking, scuba diving, and more.

But I had come with a small group of bird-watching devotees who fully intended to spend their entire time in Costa Rica behind binoculars, in search of neotropical avians. The farthest we would be getting off the ground was a suspended bridge in the rain forest.

Although appreciating the beauty of birds, I had never understood how someone could stand for hours waiting for a small feathered creature to come into view, then erupt euphorically when able to match it to the picture in a book.

Yet there must be more than meets the eye, I thought, and so I agreed to join "the birders" while absorbing Costa Rica's splendor.

With binoculars and scopes, we made our way through rain forests, volcanoes, and cloud forests and along the Pacific coastline. Monkeys swung from trees, coatis emerged from dense foliage, and shimmering electric-blue morpho butterflies, the size of dinner plates, flitted among the tropical lushness.

The fantastic forests in which we stood begged to be explored – huge palm trees laden with fruit, luminous flowers of unimaginable shapes and design, and umbrella-size leaves (indeed, called "poor man's umbrella").

But the birders were focused on only one thing: "There, look there, on that narrow twig next to the crooked branch from the second tree on the right."

I followed their directions and stared through my small, humble binoculars at the thick collage of many shades of green.

Occasionally I would catch brief glimpses of a feathery form flitting past my view. Hot and sweaty, I stood listening to everyone else's oohs and aahs. The birders' adrenalina was obviously flowing.

"I have to find the motmots," Carol, from Texas, said.

"Wait till you see the quetzal!" said Anne, who had been to Costa Rica before.

I had never heard of a motmot or a quetzal. Cardinals, blue jays, and chickadees were the birds of my acquaintance. Finally I borrowed a field guide to see what all the anticipation was about. Sure enough, pictures of the exotic birds were magnificent, with brilliant colors and long, flowing tails unseen anywhere in North America.

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