Copan Ruins, Honduras

Honduras continued to provide lasting images and experiences. We followed up the stint in paradise with a trip back to Mesoamerica.

I must admit that there were a few stops on our trip that I had eagerly anticipated - Copan was one of them.

As a quick prologue, I would like to write that as a traveller one should always take the advice of a fellow traveller with a grain of salt as they say. We had been advised that since both of us had visited the grand Guatemalan ruins of Tikal, that we would surely be dissapointed with Copan. We were recommended by many to skip them. That would have been a huge mistake.

The Copan ruins are just as breathtaking as those at Chichen Itza and Tikal but for an entirely different reasons. The ornate monuments of devotion to the kings who ruled in succession there evoke notions of similarity to our present day. Just as the ruleers of the time were exaclted to levels of popularity or respect, we do the same with those who govern us today. Hopefully, one day someone will dig up a limestone monument of Barack Obama (or me?) complete with earplugs and jaguar headwear (okay, maybe no plugs).

The leftovers of what was once a bustling city center, complete with a market and ballcourt, felt strangely homey. I felt at peace among the ruins. I love sitting on the steps of the structures, just as a 23 year old Mayan might have done thousands of years ago. I ran around the remains as if I was in my own home.

Beyond the rock structures, the Macaws that greeted us at the front entrance to the park deserve recognition as well. I hate birds, but I must concede that these beautys make all other birds seem like pigeons.

The last evening in the city of Copan Ruinas arrived at completion with a trip to some natural hot springs in the mountains 45 minutes outside of town. After negotiating the surprise entrance fee we encountered upon arrival, we entered the sulfuric smelling spa. Multiple thermal pools at varying degrees of temperature were set among the lush green jungle plants and imitation mayan structures. We sat in the hot water relaxing the evening away.

Under the starlit night we rode in the bed of the pick-up truck back to our hotel. We passed by local Hondurans living in the mountains and in a way we said goodby to them and the beautiful country of Honuras which they inhabit.

A quick stop in El Salvador was to be next.

Roatan Island, Honduras

We had spent sufficient time in large urban settings and yearned for an injections of Central America's natural beauty. The country of Honduras is the perfect place to find such a remedy.

Honduras has by far been the most beautiful country we have visited. It's enormous hills and villages are peacefully offset by flatlands and crops. It is here that I saw a rainbow that would make the one I bragged about in Nicaragua pale in comparison. Hot never seems too hot here and the highlands present a brisk breeze. If it were a beauty contest, Honduras would be crowned Ms. Central America.

Roatan is a tropical island located two hours by boat off the northern coast of Honduras. It is part of a chain called the Bay Islands. We had originally planned to visit the nearby island of Utila first. However, when we arrived at the ferry dock the only one departing timely was the mammoth headed to Roatan.

In order to get to the ferry we travelled an entire day to the town of La Ceiba. Pizza Hut was again consumed and Max and I endured our hottest night of the trip. This would be a good time to offer that we have stayed mostly in low-budget accomodations. Due to my insistence and max's reluctance we have kept a low standard for living conditions. In La Ceiba the ceiling fans only pushed the hot air down upon us faster. The thin layer of sweat neve really dissipated over the entire night. I wouldn't have it any other way - or so I thought until the first night in Roatan.

The funniest part of our journey was the ferry ride to Roatan. We sat in first-class seats, which means $5 more for air-conditioning, leather chairs and a bad movie. I didn't know when I purchased the tickets that live entertainment was part of the package.

Not more than 10 minutes into the ride, the ferry picked up speed and picked up air as well. The bow rocked up and down and back and forth. Stomachs churned and vomit bags were filled. Literally half of our cabin was seasick. Constant running to the bathoom and passing out of plastic bags ensued. I won't go into too much detail, but I sat back grinning and concentrating while I mentally fought the difficult ride. The ferry never got the best of me.

The island paradise of Roatan is gorgeous. It is not overly developed or overly touristy like Cancun. It maintains a genuine island flair. The waters a mix of clear and turquoise blue. Fish swim all around and palm trees embellish the shore. It could be the perfect setting for a Corona commercial.

I wrote earlier how I enjoyed "rough" living conditions. Well, there is such a thing as unlivable conditions. We stayed the first night on the island in the latter type. For the second night we switched to a beautiful, yet more expensive, hotel complete with caged monkeys.

The highlights of the stay were the jet skis and kayaks. I have never had so much fun on a jet ski. The rough waters about 500 yards from the beach provided us with natural ramps to catch high air. 30 minutes of riding was more than enough time as the salt water was beginning to blind us.

I completed my second and final evening in paradise with some snorkeling and kayaking. I kayaked out toward the sunset and layed back as the sun descended in front of me. I closed my eyes and focused on the moment. I told myself to remember the experience. I took note, so that when I am in my small Austin apartment with nothing but the radiance of laptop screen on my face, drowning in 3 cups of coffee, writing a law school final, I might close my eyes yet again and transport myself back to that very time in paradise.

The next day we would depart for the Copan Ruins.

Tegucigalpa, Honduras

The 7 day hiatus is over and I am finally back to writing. The difficulty in posting to the blog is due to the sloooooow speed of the computers in this part of the country. Also, after exhausting myself on the Nicaragua diatribe I needed a small break.

At 4am we eagerly left Managua following that intense night among the Sandinistas. The following day proceeded as follows: 4 hours, border crossing, 4 hours, Tegucigalpa, Pizza Hut. Yes, Max discovered Pizza Hut, the food of our childhood, and we downed an entire large.

Tegus is a busy bustling city that lacks the silhouette of a city. The usual tall buildings and skyscrapers that are found in most major cities and capitals were lacking here. Only the exhaust, noise, plazas, and buses really let you know that you are in a metropolis. I was to find out early the next day that the radicalism in Nicaraguas capital would follow us to the next capital city.

We arose early to explore what little we believed to exist in the area pertinent to the tourist. Before departing for the artesania town of Valle de Angeles, Max stopped in to get a haircut from the local barber. While waiting patiently on the couch of the shop a hoard of high school students sprinted past the shop windows filling the streets in front of us. Rocks were being hurled in the area and the students projected taunts toward one specific building. The owner quickly moved outside of his peluqueria to close the shutters in order to prevent his windows from being smashed. Of course, I moved just as quckly outside the shop to attempt to get a nobel prize winning photo (The photo never presented itself). As I clicked away with my Canon semi-oblivious to what was occuring behind me, a plastic coke bottle filled with water exploded a foot above my head. I assume the riot spurred others to act foolishly and I became a target to the mayhem. Having barely dodged the projectile cast from the 4th floor behind me I safely moved back into the shop. The students amassed in front of the building and in unision cast insults toward the people inside.

We would later be informed that the students in the street were assembling in protest of a government initiative - or lack thereof. The Honduran politicians had promised a subsidy of some sort to the local students to compensate for the increase in gas prices. The students were having a hard time covering the cost of transportation. If I understood correctly, only the school that was receiving the brunt of the rocks and insults had been granted the subsidy so far. We watched for a little while longer as the students huddled with a Honduran flag planning their next move.

A more calm trip to the local National Art Gallery was next. The pieces were well worth the entrance fee and the peaceful depictions were soothing in comparison to the chaos still ongoing outside. My favorite work was a self-portrait painted by a local Honduran artist. I still believe the best art involves the human body - especially this one.

We then attempted to get out to a small town on the outskirts of the big city. Arriving at Valle de Angeles presented more difficulty than previously assumed. We transferred several buses and eventually befriended a resident of the area who would give us a lift after our bus broke down.

The city of Valle de Angeles is a beautiful cobble stoned puebla set in the Honduran mountains. An entire street caters to tourists looking to buy artesanias. We were most enamored with the mayan wood carvings. Our interest in the wooden ornate door pieces helped gain us entry into the back of the carpentery shop. We were allowed to see how the carvings were done, which is an incredible feat. I will certainly be ordering custom doors from Honduras if I ever buy a home.

Due to the layout of the city we spent the night interneting away. A spur of the moment change in our itinerary would necessitate an early departure the next day; we were headed to the island paradise of Utila.

Managua, Nicaragua

My nature impels me to turn this post into something more like a jounal entry than a blog post. I will attempt to remain more anecdotal than emotional and this will be long- maybe grab a cup of coffee before you start (or even wikipedia SANDINISTAS).

We exited the hostel in Granada early to grab a mini-bus through the rain toward Managua, Nicaragua. Many travellers had already warned us of the city´s reputation. The capital´s rough aspects deter many tourists from visiting entirely. We were not to be deflected, but I would learn by experience how dangerous the city really can be.

Managua had little to see for the tourist beyond the usual cathedrals and historical monuments. Therefore we hoped to watch a few American movies at the local Cinemark while in the big city. Over breakfast I picked up the local newspaper to find the showtimes for the new Batman. My eyes scanned diligently across the pages until they paused upon an article of interest. I deciphered the conjugations of the journalistic Spanish and i read that the very day was the anniversary celebration of 29 years since the revolution of the Sandinistas (FSLN) in Nicaragua. My mind whizzed and my heart beated a little faster. Presidents Hugo Chavez (Venezuela), Manuel Zelaya (Honduras), Fernando Lugo (Paraguay), Daniel Ortega (Nicaragua), and Vice-President Esteban Lazo (Cuba) were to speak in commemoration of the historic day. I hadn´t read the paper once since my arrival, yet there I was being informed of the opportunity to see some of the prominent and influential leaders of my lifetime speak that day. I would have been watching movies instead. Some things are just meant to be.

I adorned my revolutionary garb; In actuality, it consisted of a pice of green cloth I purchased from an Army surplus store. We then walked to the plaza where the rally was to take place.

Before the rallywe had to accomplish another one of our goals for the trip; We wanted to see the gym of the Nicaraguan boxing legend Alexis Arguello (Max´s full name is Maximiliano Alexis Garcia). We caught a cab there and persuaded the generous security guard to let us fans take pictures. It was a historic moment for the Garcia family as that fighter in particular meant so much to our parents while they were growing up. Now, back to the rally.

Again, it is difficult to sufficiently convey the kinds of emotions I was feeling so I will solely present a few observations and opinions that I think are pertinent and interesting to the reader.

The capitalization of commmunism is always humorous due to it´s irony. Vendors lined an entire avenue leading up to the plaza selling food, drink, revolutionary tees, pins and bandanas. If a Cordoba could be made off of the socialist message then a booth was set up to take full advantage. Shouldn´t the Che shirts have been given away???

Okay, I can´t claim to have understood every word of the Spanish spoken but I understood a great portion. Revolutionary Speech 101 would have a rather short section on content. Invoke the names of past revolutionaries, pay homage to curent leaders who share your ideologies, recognize the natural wonders of the country as symbols of stability, praise the masses, and throw in a few ¨America is an empire¨ lines. The crowd will love you. Like bread to the Romans of the colisseum, the people will eat it up. At least they can eat words.

I´ll never watch a speech on CNN the same way again. Just days before in Rivas I had watched Hugo Chavez deliver a speech to an enormous crowd, similar t othe one in which I would find myself. I never pondered whom was in the crowd or what was occuring among the spectators. I now have the answer....

...I have never felt the way I did that day in that crowd. In the beginning the population was subdued. My anxiety rose in anticipation of the president of Venezuela´s address. That anxiety would soon change form to fear and from fear to paranoia. Alcohol was poured faster than my sweat. Students acted without awareness of physical harm to themselves or others. They formed mosh pits and created human pyramids. The fall of the sun completed the eerie setting and the environment became ripe for the infilration of thieves. My bag turned from back to front. Money was transferred from pants to bag. My smile submerged, muscles flexed, and eyes fell from the stage to the people around me. My perspective was not solely based on intuition. I witnessed an obvious tourist get bombarded as a racket of youths pickpocketsd him clean in 7 seconds. My arm began to hurt from holding my bag so tightly. Yet, I would not allow myself to leave.

I should mention that after the rain started to fall, and after two hours of waiting, Max decided to depart the scene. I respect his ability to make the right decision for himself. I was chained to my interest in the speaker so as to put my health in jeopardy. Instead, he ate ice cream and watched Batman while I pondered if I had made the correct choice in staying.

These experiences are expressed and these observations made with a full heart for the people of the U.S. and Latin America. It hurt me to listen to Chavez and other leaders speak of and celebrate freedom while thieves permeated the impoverished and hungry masses of the crowd. The rhetoric of victory and accomplishment on stage did not fit the environment below (for that matter, nor did it fit the sentiment of the people we have encountered along this journey). The red shirt, blazing fists, powerful voice and words did not intoxicate me the way I had hoped. I continue to respect the fight of the Latin American leaders I witnessed. I just hope the words come to true fruition for my brethren amongst me in the crowd.

I arrived at the rally a proud U.S. citizen and left it even more proud of my country.

Finally, I want to recognize two Nicaraguan women I befriended. They helped me to survive the night. With 6 eyes rather than 2 we all made it safely home. Again, it is as if we were meant to meet. They represent in my eyes the true essence of the Nicaraguan people.

I grabbed a taxi as quickly as possible following the termination of the spectacle and reconvened with Max back at the hotel.

Granada, Nicaragua

I´m going to begin by stating a deductible fact; Central America functions by a system of organized chaos. With that preface, I will now admit that we missed another transfer on the morning we attempted to depart for Granada, Nicaragua. The local bus dropped us off at the ferry dock literally 30 seconds after it left the island. The waves trailed behind, mocking us as I screamed obscenities aloud.


With 3 hours to spare, I updated the blog.

The bus stations here are insane - especially the ones in the pueblas. They are bustling mercados of their own. There is no differentiation of product and it seems that everyone is selling. If so, who is buying? Regardless of the economics, entering and exiing a bus is always entertaining. Once on the mainland again we caught a bus from Rivas to Granada. This bus was especially entertaining. In the rain our yellow American school bus veered around slower vehicles on the two lane highway. More than a few times oncoming traffic was ¨closer than it appeared.¨ Nascar meets inter-city transportation. Max and I laughed the entire time while the tourist couple behind us gritted their teeth.

We immediately found a gorgeous hostel, complete with hammocks, dark wooden furniture, internet, open-rooved courtyard, and a huge painted mural. A heavy rain forced us to take it easy on the first night.

Granada is a beautiful colonial town with old cathedrals and colorful buildings. The parque central is luch green and locals fill the benches all day. Tourists love Granada for its old European influence. I did enjoy the aesthetics of the town, as it was a needed change from the other cities, but I must offer that no puebla has possessed the same amount of colonial magic as San Miguel or Guanajuato in Mexico. Then again, maybe I´m biased.


We took a day trip to Masaya to visit the mercado de artesanias. It was well worth it. We purchased a few gifts for loved ones as well as some for ourselves. Most notably, we purchased a Nicaraguan flag as we plan to purchase a flage in each country that we visit. Max also picked up a few more cigars so that we can celebrate his upcoming birthday in style.

Okay, I´ll offer that we accidentally took the bus past the town initially. We hiked along the highway to our intended destination. Just a quick detour.

My favorite part of the day was throwing a football with a local Nicaraguense. I have never come across a person with an American football while travelling. I saw the kid sitting with the ball across the street and I motioned for him to toss it over. We played catch for a good ten minutes before I forced myself away. If your wondering, I still have my arm. I was oddly proud that the kid liked American football. The sight of that ball alone still evokes so many emotions in me.

The best part of the colonial towns is the food and cafes. Max and I downed a great pizza on the calzada and he found a new love - the local ice cream. For breakfast we stopped in at a cafe and ordered nearly every drink on the menu. The waitress looked at us like we were crazy when we ordered a Fanta, Coca-Cola, coffee, hot chocolate, and a banana-orange-pineapple smoothie. At the end of a complete and relaxing day we then took ample photos in front of the colored walls. In all, Granada was a great stop.

Next stop, the capital of Managua.

Isla de Ometepe, Nicaragua

One of the coolest parts of visiting Isla de Ometepe is feeding the chained monkeys just before entering the ferry. Vendors sells churros just below their tree. We took full advantage by feeding them enough food to last through the month. Seeing a monkey in the zoo is one thing, but actually handing them food is another. Although simple, it was an amazing experience.

The hour long ferry ride to the Island is relaxing and scenic. The two volvanoes that make up nearly the entirety of the island grew in size with each passing second. I have never been in a lake that felt so much like an ocean. We arrived genuinely without a plan. Our intention was to eventually take a second ferry up to granada after a nights stay. Again, our experience would not follow accordingly.

We checked into the Hotel Castillo and right away vested our swimsuits to head to the shore. The shore was not attractive. Judging by the amount of tourists people actually vacation on the island; We don´t understand it. The water is not clear, the beach is filled with pools of old rain water, and stray dogs rain rampid. In an effort to trick ourselves into believing the excursion was worth it we rented mountain bikes to view the island a bit faster. We descended to the fresh water pools after helping push a stalled car up a slight incline. (Until writing these words now i had not thought of the implication of that action ). The water pools actually translate to washing machine for the locals. Between the stench of horse manure and mud the pools were lacking in the area of attractiveness.

We returned the bikes and caught a bus to our hotel in Altagracia. I specifically asked the money collector where we were headed and I distinctly heard ¨Altagracia.¨ We did not end up in Altagracia and no more buses were running until morning. With dawn fastly approaching and in the wrong town of Merida I debated whether to practice my Spanish cuss words on the money collector or swallow my pride and figure out how we could get home.

So we began walking. I really don´t know what I was actually thinking as I knew the area was pretty much devoid of public transportation and the sun would set in less than a half hour. However, I saw a man on a motorcycle pulling a cart with two kids. I flagged him down and pleaded our case. Reluctantly, the man agreed to return and pick us up after he checked in at home. We were elated. While waiting for our savior Max proceeded to approach a cow laying next to its young. Bad Idea. The cow immediately began to ward off Max and Max immediately ran back to me.The lady owner of the heffer ran up to the cow and yelled at it in spanish. The cow immediately obliged; the scene was hysterical.

The man returned, two sons in tow, and we jumped into the carriage along with them. The ride back was gorgeous. The moto moved a slow pace due to the uneven surface of the road but it was pefect for us to take in all the sights. The sunset splashed oranges, pinks and light blues across the sky. Following a light drizzle, the longest, boldest, and most complete rainbow I have ever seen emerged to our right. If that wasn´t enough, the dark night brought out thousands of fireflies that lit up the forests as we whizzed past. I swear i´m not making this stuff up.

We arrived, finally, at our hotel. Turns out the man was a missionary from Costa Rica who had been doing God´s work in Nicaragua for 9 months. We paid and him and gave him as much gratitude as possible. Did he come along because we helped push the stalled car earlier in the day?After a long and strange afternoon we showered and fell right to sleep.

The next day we would depart for Granada.

(Note; I currently have alot of great pictures trapped on Max´s camera. As soon as I can figure out how to upload them I will update recent posts with relevant pictures.)

Rivas, Nicaragua

Rested and reinspired from watching ¨James Bond; Casino Royale¨ on TV, Max and I were up at 4am and again walking with our packs over the sidewalked beach to the bus stop. Turns out headrests are really underappreciated. I found my appreciation for them on the cramped ride to Liberia, our last hiccup before transfering to a bus to reach the Nicaraguan border.

Imagine Disneyland. Now strip away the fun, the laughter, and Mickey Mouse. Whats left? basically, the Nicaraguan border with its long lines and hysteria. Leaving Costa Rica was relatively easy. Our only dilemmas were dodging the locals who were trying to sell us the free identification forms or change our colones into cordobas. The Nicaraguan side was not near as efficient. only a little luck (it seems the last of it) would help us get by.

On the Nicaraguan side I hustled a taxi driver whose brother would drive us to Rivas. We settled on a price and he then began to do some hustling of his own. Turns out he cut a deal with a friend of his who has a border stamp that appears to be official. In order to bypass the long lines, literally consisting of 100+ people, he suggested we just use his friend. I sternly relayed the message that we had to cross officially and we queued up at the tail of the human snake. Chaos would follow.

All of a sudden three new border officials opened stations at the far end of the border area. My driver yelled at me to get in line. People began running like a scene out of ¨War of the Worlds.¨ With my travel bag on my back and backpack in hand I sprinted past the smaller Costarriceneses. My adrenaline was still pumping when I realized I was now holding a place only 5 people from the front of a new line. I had shaved 2 hours off our wait.

The pace of the puebla of Rivas was alot different than our initial welcome to Nicaragua. It is a small town that caters to travelers heading to or from Costa Rica. This place resembled Mexico more than any other place so far on our journey. When I had the opportunity to see the town I sat in the plaza and watched the kids play on bikes, skates, and swings. A beautiful pigtailed toddler in an oversized church dress sat down next to me to watch the ongoings. There is a beautiful charm to the people of Rivas. I had no idea upon arrival how thankful I would become for the local charm and hospitality.

Max got sick. After a chicken meal and some internet it hit him, and it hit him hard. The event was not without its drama, as that night a huge rainstorm hit our hotel. I slept in 2 hour intervals checking his vitals intermittently as only a good doctor would. The following day the older ladies who ran our hotel helped me to convince a restaurant owner to concoct a special chicken soup for him. The illness passed. It was a tough fight, not self-inflicted like my own, but he fought it like Ali did Frazier and he ended up knocking it out in 24 hours. We lost a day and San Juan del Sur. No big deal.

The following day we caught a ferry to Isla de Ometepe in the middle of Lake Nicaragua.

Puntarenas, Costa Rica

¨Rich Coast¨ was not done swallowing our money. The next morning we awaked at 7am to catch an early bus out of Montezuma. To get out we had to backtrack across the ferry in order to find a bus that could take us to the Nicaraguan coast. We wanted out of the country - but it was not to be. A bus ride and a 3 hour delay to board the ferry prevented us from grabbing the last bus out of Puntarenas. We found this out after having walked the 3Km beach sidewalk for the 2nd time in three days. Hungry, exhausted, and out of options we decided to stay in Puntarenas for the night before heading to Nicaragua.

We spent a fortune on a beach front hotel to compensate for the mistfortune in transportation. Warm water and Cable tv helped us feel like kings again. Pride was back after feeling like were ¨other¨ travellers. Dinner consisted of roasted chicken from the stand in front of our hotel. We walked the night away on the sidewalk, yet this time without our baggage. A huge festival was ensuing and local tourists were out full force. We decided to skip what had the potential to be the best night out for partying of the entire trip in exchange for a safe, clean, and early sleep.

Fireworks from the festivall filled the air in true American fashion as we spent our last night in Costa Rica.

Montezuma, Costa Rica

Our last stop in Costa Rica appropriately involved two pacific coast beaches. We said goodbye to San Jose and headed west to what was rumored to be a fine example of all that is great about Costa Rica. Montezuma certainly turned out to be representative but not a change for the better.


I need to preface this entry by stating that being critical of ones experiences is a critical exercise in developing an understanding of the world. Likewise, recognizing what one dislikes can be as informative as recognizing preferences. Costa Rica in all of its beauty and reputation has not left an overwhelmingly positive impression. The country seems a bit lacking in identity. Maybe its because the country was granted independence by mail request rather than revolution, or then again maybe its the tourists. Visiting Costa Rica does not mean that one was exposed to Latin America or that one has ¨roughed¨ it. English is widely spoken, prices are comparable to America, and I never got sick on the food. In fact, the conversations I had with local costarricenes on the ferry were my favorite part of this segment of the trip; the new friends and waterfall were a close second.

Anyway, in getting to know Costa Rica, the travel between destinations is especially valuable. On our way to Montezuma Max and I trekked 3 Kms across the sidewalked beach of Puntarenas to the ferry. Through the midday sun, we arrived soaked from sweat and crossed to Paquera. (unbeknowst to us at the time, it would not be our last encounter with the ferry). Once across the expanse, we joined an Israeli couple on safari jeep trip to our shared destination. Evading tire-sized potholes while blasting Mexican norteño music, our driver drove us to the hostel like he was on the checkered lap of the Daytona 500.

Safe and off the rollercoaster ride, we had just arrived when Max and I realized we didnt have sufficient money for the stay. No ATM was to be found in the area of the town. We were informed we had to backtrack to Cobano, a town we passed. We viewed this as an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone - workout and withdrawl money. Although it was a beautiful run through rolling hills and jungle, we decided it was best for hydration sake to cab it back to Montezuma.

We ended the night drinking the local Imperial and Bavaria beer at the local club. Club-going folk are universal. Whether in New York City or Montezuma, CR girls believe they are movie stars and guys hover around them like vultures.

The second day was productive. In the late morning we hiked along a steep river bank toward the Montezuma waterfalls. Hopping on stones and through mud we eventually found the natural beast. I can recognize beauty in nature, but it must be an amazing sight in order to leave me in awe. The power of the falls did exactly that. I swam in the pool below while Max scaled the wet and slippery side othe mountain under the falls. He caught the attention of everyone in attendance and in mid-sentence of a discussion I had to kindly advise him to ¨get the hell down¨ without jumping. He jumped. He did so however from a lower ledge. I really could have passed the day away sitting in that hidden cove.

The day was completed by sitting on the sands of the rock beach and talking. A torrential downpour forced the hostel occupants into huddling under the canopied patio. We played cardgames and watched a DVD of some Bob Marley tribute.

Thats how we ended what we thought was our last night in Costa Rica.

San Jose, Costa Rica

At this point in the trip time has faded from bold to blurry. Day is no longer viewed as an antagonist to night, but rather as an alter ego to a split personality. Basically, the timex on my wrist is the only connection I have to time in the form of a date or an hour. Although Max and I are on schedule with our predetermined route we are only so through conscious recognition of a far-off deadline.

We arrived in San Jose following a 4 hour bus ride through the dense jungles of Costa Rica. Even if the dinosaurs that escaped Jurrasic Park were roaming around we wouldn´t be able to see them. Mountain after mountain is covered in deep green tropical jungle. Winding around the cliffs in a mini-bus, with the windows down, wind blowing, is a freeing experience. Max and I keep ourselves from getting claustrophobic, to the dismay of a few passengers, by play fighting, impersonating family in our best mexican accents, and debating important and pertinent issues (materialism, education, women, etc..).

A long day of travel combined with late evening showers influenced us to remain indoors at the hostel for the night. The hostel was a 5 star hotel to the experienced backpacker, providing amenities that are sought after but rarely found - that is, hot water and free internet. Showered and relaxed about 15 of us guests gathered around the flat screen TV to watch a classic piece of American cinema - Mean Girls. It is so very reassuring to know that Lindsay Lohan and company are ambassadors for our great nation. (Seriously though, the movie is well done, but the small UN gathering we had really held it in high esteem).

The only full day in San Jose was spent wandering around the city and taking in all that the capital has to offer - which is limited. Max and I met another English friend and toured the city with her - that is until Max and I got into a scuffle (translation = stupid argument over nothing). Separated, we each did what would help us cool down. I had a coffee. He went shopping.
During that time Max made another new friend - a local taxi driver. Later in the night he called up the cabbie and we had our own personal guide to the mall. On the way Max sat up front freestyling with the driver and talking about hip hop. The entire conversation was a spectacle. Once at the mall we soon learned that although it is three stories, it is simply three stories of bad shopping. With full pockets, we headed for the exit and toward the San Pedro end of town.

We started the night off with a bucket of Imperial beer and a few laughs. Terra U was a college bar playing the newest records as loud as possible. The DJ felt compelled to speak into the mic after every few seconds so the atmosphere was noisy if not annoying. A few drinks later we found ourselves at an inviting Jazz club. The atmosphere was candlelit and certainly more calm. A much needed change of pace. Girls swooned over the band. Max and I poked fun at the band. All the while we drank some more and downed papas fritas. With no whataburger around, the great night ended with some late night facebooking back at the hostel.

It was an overall great evening with new and old company.

Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, Cahuita - Costa Rica

Having departed the water taxi and piled into the back of a jeep we arrived at the border crossing, The cross from Panama to Costa Rica was relatively easy. With keen awareness for the man-sized cracks in the engineering masterpiece, we walked across the bridge into our second country. The only slight inconvenience was the deliberate inefficiency of the obviously frustrated-moody-power wielding woman in charge of the most important object to a traveller - the border stamp. after max's scowls and my insincere "gracias" we again caught the jeep into Puerto Viejo de Talamanca.

Our hostel Rocking J's was a work of art - literally. Nearly every surface of the property is ornamented by a broken-tile mosaic. It is both visually colorful and filled with colorful people. Given the option of a tent or a hammock we all went with the latter. Writing only for my own perspective, the hammocks were welcome, peaceful, and comfortable.

The move to the beach upon arrival was nearly immediate. We waded in the clear blue water under the hottest sun we have encountered on our trip. Walking a little further down the cove we proceeded to find a beautiful black sand beach. From afar the beach seemed dirty and unnatractive. yet, upclose the sand exhibits a sparkle and purity that is really unexpected. Food and a cold shower brought the day to a close.

On the second day, having fallen asleep early after a long day of travel, Max and I awakened early to be productive. A quick bite gave us the energy and inspiration for a quick workout. We ran the length of the still desolate beach. A few miles and a few push ups in the organic gym was refreshing. Following the run we made reservations for some more snorkeling in Cahuita. We caught the dollar bus and met our guide. The local costarriequense took us out to explore some amazing coral reefs. Fish, large and small, colorful and achromatic, congregated near the extensive coral. In one spot in particular the undercurrents of the ocean were more powerful and quick maneuvering prevented us from getting scraped up by the coral. The smaller fish, brown with luminescent blue spots, were my favorites.

Imperial beer, billiards, and reggae filled our night. The light local beer seems to lack flavor and potency. Although I am reluctant to admit, it seems I forget to pack my pool skills for this trip. My record is somewhere around 0 - 3. I have excuses but will only expound upon request. The reggae club lacked the energy for which I had hoped. The music was solid but the club always remained only on the verge of becoming rowdy. Regardless, I danced by mimicking, improvising, and blending styles. In other words, I tried to look like I knew what I was doing.

An account of our experiences in Puerto Viejo would not be complete without mentioning the the two new friends we made in the town. Our common interests for education, travel, witty-conversation, and the pursuit of a good time led us to meet and be together for three days. I have met few people with the disarming acumen that they possess. One of the most influential aspects of travelling is still, by far, coming in contact with passionate and experienced individuals - just like our friends from England. Genuinely caring, they are a reminder of what is beautiful.

This afternoon we arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica. The day was essentially spent travelling and reenergizing for the next few days ahead. Daily updates will proceed as I am back among the straight edges of the city life.

Bocas Del Toro, Panama

Our last stop in the country of Panama provided us with a change of pace and environment. Located in the northwest corner, Bocas Del Toro is a chain of small islands with a srong afro-carribean influence. The rasta-dreadlock-Bob Marley listening-rum drinking-pot smoking- surfer vibe is made apparent in aesthetics and human spirit.

Max and I arrived to our hostel via water taxi. Our unique accomodations were built over the water on a pier. The Aqua Lounge provided a water trampoline, diving board, and a non-stop DJ. The rooms were humid and shook as if hit with a low richter earthquake each time a wave broke beneath. definitely the best hostel in the area - at least for our preference of constant entertainment.

The first night was relaxed as we explored the main strip which is aligned with restaurants, vendors, and shirtless visitors. Bocas is a mix of backpackers, visiting surfers, and local island lifers. From the clear water, to the carribean accents, to the copious palm trees, the town is as authentic beach town as it gets. Hungry and against my stringent budget, we decided to splurge on a great seafood meal. A few drinks, some late night swimming, and flips off the water trampoline completed the evening.


On Sunday we filled our day by getting a feel for the carribean and its beauty. We embarked on a boat tour which maneuvered around the islands to show us what is special about this popular destination. Dolphins swam aside our boat, I snorkeled for the first time, and we layed out on a white sand beach. Viewing dolphins remains more exciting in theory than in practice, Snorkeling is a new life hobby, and white sand beaches remain a necessary characteristic of paradise. Over a period of 5 hours at a cost of 25 dollars we were give a proper introduction to the carribean. A product of the carribean would soon give me a proper salutation.


I decided to pick a fight with a bottle of the local Abuelo rum while we mingled with new friends from Holland. I won the early rounds but eventually was worn down due to insufficient training. Needless to say I was TKO'ed at 2am.

The next morning, unfazed by the bout, we caught a water taxi away from the islands in route to Costa Rica.

Boquete, Panama

Departing Panama City at midnight Max and I boarded an arctic bus headed toward the town of David. With the air conditioning set to hypothermia, we adorned our fleeces, leaned back our seats, and closed our eyes for the long 6 hour bus ride. However, we would not make it to our intended destination.

The passenger seating directly behind us engaged us in an unexpected conversation in English. A Colorado native, he moved to Panama to open a hostel that he is now running in Boquete. He invited us to ride with him to the mountain town as he was to be picked up by his girlfriend in David. We took him up on his offer.

The town of Boquete is a quaint village at the foot of the third highest peak in Central America - Volcan Baru. Having slept nearly the entire bus ride Max and I went directly to tackling the 7 hour hiking route to the base of the volcano.

The hike was beautiful and tiring. With our only fuel consisting of a pack of starburst, one hershey bar, and two bottled waters we somehow survived. Seriously, we rationed the candy as we were starving and overlooked the obvious fact we would get hungry. 3 hours in, we crawled our way to the restaurant near the pinnacle of the route. We devoured cheeseburgers and paticones (or "panty-chones" as we like to call them).

The highlight of the route was seeing the indigenous people of the mountain harvesting crops. The mountains were adorned with rows of onion, lettuce, lemon, and coffee. Max and I are affable travellers. The indigenous adults and kids, contrary to the experience of most travellers, are always interested in communicating. A few of the kids (pictured here) ran up to us and we taught them our handshakes. Those emotions that are not conveyed by their general lack of facial expression are certainly communicated to us through their warmness and touch.

We are now in Bocas Del Toro and I will post tomorrow about this amazing group of islands.

The White Hat and Cigar

In our last day in Panama City Max and I explored every tourist site we had yet to visit. We began the day in Panama Viejo - where ruins lay of the ancient city previous to its sacking by pirates. Next, we walked the length of the mercado de artesanias to find souvenirs of quality to purchase, but were unsuccessful in finding anything appealing enough to stretch the budget. As noon approached, we fell hungry.

Finally, we found a local place to eat and were able to brush shoulders with working-class Panamanians while devouring a late breakfast. The roasted banana chips were packed with flavor and soul. We proceeded to order about 30 pieces.

We inquired in just about every cab for the gym of Roberto Duran. Informed that one does not exist, we had a cab driver slow next to a gym in the heart of Casco Antigua. Advised to refrain from getting out of the car, and even from taking pictures, we peered out of the window in awe of the Jesus Gomez gym, out of which a few former world champions have arisen. A brief viewing was sufficient as the glares from the locals said enough.

No trip to Panama would have been complete without the class white hat and cigar. Max and I toured the city adorned with the iconic fedora and ended the night throwing back a few Balboa cervezas with lit Cuban cigars hanging from the corner of our mouths.

Tonight we take a midnight bus to David - a day stop away from our final desination in Panama on the Carribean.

Panama Canal

So after you notice that I shaved my head, then that my shirt is completely soaked, you will probably see that we made it to the Panama Canal.

Today, a hot and overcast one, we departed early to see the Miraflores Locks section of the canal. The canal is as grand as the history books make it sound. We watched a gigantic ship from Luxembourg pass through - at a cost of $46,000.

Afterwards, we went to the Botanical Garden and Zoo. The highlights included viewing jaguars and us following a trail of army ants until reaching their hill.

The entirety of the leftover day consisted of walking through Panama City. We just about got lost in every section of the obviously American influenced city. There is a tremendous amount of development occuring in downtown. It seems as though it is being set up to be the next trendy location to own a high priced condominium.

Certainly, a busy first day.

Arrival - Panama City, Panama

This will be the quickest post on the trip as there is
an internet curfew of 11.

We have arrived in Panama City and will be headed out to the canal tomorrow.

This picture is a shot of the view from the main room of our hostel.

The flight was long but bearable. Better posts to come. We are in for an early night.