Nowadays there are said to be approximately 400 million people speaking Spanish as a native language and a total of 500 million speakersworldwide. Spanish is the second most spoken language in the world, after Mandarin Chinese.   Spanish is one of the six official languages of the United Nations and there are more than 20 Spanish-speaking countries in the world.  Are you getting my point? Oye chicos y chicas! (Warning: Non PC/fun writing coming up) Spanish is the new black. Literally. For about a decade now, Latinos have been the largest minority group in the United States, surpassing African-Americans.

So learning Spanish is a no-brainer and literally can be with a download-able language-learning program I just tried out called Bueno, Entonces. If you’ve wanted to improve your Spanish or learn from scratch…now is really the time. Vamos!

To get a feel for the program, here is a clip for you (if you are reading this in email and the vid doesn’t come through, please go to my site to see full video clip):

Click here if video is not above:

Bueno, Entonces quick info:

• Cost: $147 (for full download)
• 30 Classes = 18+ hours of audio and video to help you retain everything.
• 30,000 vocab words
• Slang dictionary

The Good (the Bueno)

You are not only learning Spanish, but the lessons are fun and quirky.  There are animated hosts that you like and root for: David, the lovable loser from Britain and Jimena, the cute and smart girl from Buenos Aires.

So it not only feels like a lesson, but like a bit of a TV show that you want to watch again to see what happens.  There is even character development.  Will Jimena fall for David’s sense of humor and constant advances? Will she break-up with her boyfriend? Or will David meet another Porteña linda (pretty girl from Buenos Aires) to date?  And often ‘dropping in’ is the oddly British-accented ‘Einstein’ professor who pops on to give us some deeper facts and explanations.

The graphics and animations are cute and well done. The whole thing has an overall fun, whimsical feel.

The program costs just under $150 which is less than half the cost of the popular Rosetta Stone course, which I find very slow moving and tedious. I have tried those too, but because there is so much repetition I get very bored with them very fast.

The Bad (the Malo)

The classes are based in Buenos Aires so there is a little slang and usage that is indigenous to that area. For example they pronounce 2 Ls together like ‘sh’. Whereas in most Spanish-speaking countries, the 2 Ls are pronounced like a ‘Y.’ Either way it would mess up the name of this blog.  In Spanish it would be pronounced ‘SH World Tour’ or ‘YA World Tour’.  That’s just not right.

The class moves along a fast clip…almost a tad too fast for me. As I mentioned, I’ve done some Rosetta Stone courses before and they were way too slow and too repetitive. While I love the quick pacing of Bueno, Entonces, sometimes, when you are trying to follow along and read all the words on the screen, it cuts to the next shot just a tad too quick.

The files to be downloaded are quite large so just keep in mind it will take awhile.  But like me, you can just start it and walk away or do something else in the meantime…like take a quick nap, solve a tricky algorithm,  eat a grilled cheese sandwich…or even better, make a quesadilla! Esta bien?

If you are about to travel or just want to improve your Spanish or even give it as a gift to someone else…Bueno, Entonces is a good idea!

Muchas gracias!

With the proliferation of the internet and WiFi, I have found myself sending a lot less postcards then on former trips. But when you’re on a ‘round the world’ tour like me, you will inevitably have to send some packages home from various countries. I’ve been fortunate to have a few friends visit me while I travel and not only of course is it great to see them, I also benefit by being able to shove some crap into their bag that I no longer need—like some memorabilia I’ve collected or the hiking boots I haven’t worn since the rainforests of South America or the magic walking stick from New Zealand or the conical Asian hat I got in Vietnam. This way they can cart it home for me and I save a ton on postage and mostly am saved from the stress I would suffer by worrying if my precious package would ever make it safely to the shores of ‘Amerika.’ When I could not pawn things off to friends, every few months I’d put a little care package together to send home. I’ve learned that the post offices around the world are as varied as the toilets. And some are just as stinky.

Monteverde, Costa Rica—This was a tiny post office up in the cloud forest with one window and one man. No muss no fuss. Signed, sealed, delivered.

Galapagos Islands—In the middle of an empty beach on an island only inhabited by animals three hours from mainland Ecuador is a ‘post office.’ Well, it’s actually just a wood barrel with a door cut out, but it may actually work better than some real postal systems that I have come across. Here’s the deal: You write a postcard to someone you know (or perhaps a stranger if you are feeling friendly) who lives anywhere in the world. You address it and sign it, but you DON’T put a stamp on it. You leave it there in the barrel. Then you look through the other postcards that have been left in there and take one that is supposed to be ‘sent’ to your country…or a country where you are headed. Once you get to that country you can either hand deliver it if you are near the address or just buy local postage and just send it off. It’s a postal system by the people, for the people. Sounds perfect, but, by the way, has anyone ever received my postcards from here??

Melbourne, Australia—Fairly similar to going to the post office in the US: fill out some forms, pay way too much money, stamp it with some official looking seals and away it goes—all the way around the world and up into another hemisphere. Too efficiently boring to give me anything interesting to write about.

Hong Kong—Here I remember playing ‘musical windows;’ the first window guy said to go to another window across the room. At the second window, they weighed my package and addressed it. Then I had to return to the first window with some kind of receipt which I gave window guy #1. Here I had to pay and he stamped it. Then I returned to finished package the second guy. Got it?

Hanoi, Vietnam—I think I could have sat in this tiny post office (similar to a small bar with some round stools at the windows) all day and never have been served. They certainly didn’t ask me if I needed help and when someone local came in she would literally just shove in front of me at the window and be helped before I was even acknowledged. Before I ‘went postal,’ I finally pushed my way in and was handed, I kid you not, about five different convoluted forms to fill out—each one just about the same as the last. My current address, the recipients address, the address of my second cousin once removed, several lists of what the contents of the box where, the value of each item in Vietnamese Dong, the total weight, etc. I was given two different total costs by two different people. I was not feeling confident about this one and thought I would never see my Vietnamese trinkets and souvenirs ever again…but alas it arrived weeks later intact and unharmed.

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam—One of the prettiest post offices, it was in a grand old building and kind of looked like an old fashioned train terminal. I had been told ahead of time by fellow travelers that I did not need to scavenge for a box prior to my arrival here. The young man that helped me here was great—he found me a box behind the counter, we put everything in it exactly how I wanted it and he spent the next ten minutes taping it up so good—that the whole box was covered in blue tape and you could not see one speck of brown from the original box color. I filled out one form and paid in cash (only). I noticed that the ‘form process’ was much simpler than in Hanoi—kind of strange considering it is the same country, no? In the end, I made a possibly detrimental decision and chose to save money by sending it ‘sea mail’ as opposed to the modern method of ‘air mail.’ I pictured my sad little package all wet and moldy with crabs and seaweed clinging to it on the decks of some old pirate ship. Four months later it arrived in the US and apparently had no sea creatures in it. Amazing.

Istanbul, Turkey—This was a doozey. There were only five windows at this post office and yet none of them wanted my package. They actually ushered me through the ‘employees only’ door and behind the glass partition that usually must separate postal worker and postal user. I had brought my package unsealed to show its contents. Not only did they not care one iota of what was inside, they did not have me fill out one form at all. No, actually there was one form—it was practically the size of a postage stamp and had three lines on it—one for the sender’s name, one for the recipient’s name, and on the final line they scribbled the word ‘Amerika.’ Doesn’t seem like enough info for an important international parcel, does it? I already did not have a very confident feeling. After finding out my package was going to ‘Amerika’ the postman told me, like nearly every other foreigner I’ve met, ‘America? George Bush bad man.’ I agree, but it gets tiring after a while being a spokesperson for our entire nation and carrying the weight of the American government’s often bad decisions on my shoulders. Plus, at this point, I just wanted to mail my package, not be a diplomat. I actually forced the two Turkish postal workers that were helping me to just take a gander of what was inside my box, just out of habit. Then they haphazardly taped the box shut, took it away, and told me the price as if we were finished.

“What about the address??” I exclaimed.

“Oh yeah, address, address.” The two men said in unison. Then they proceeded to slap on some plain white stickers onto the top of the box where I was to write in the address.

No official stickers. No official cards. The postage meter machine apparently had a maximum of nine lire per sticker so now he had to slap about five different meter stickers all over the top of my box wherever they would fit. Lastly he licked an ‘airmail’ stamp and a “Turkey” sticker and slapped them on as well. By the end of this unofficial process I just about decided I would certainly never see this package or any of its contents again. When the nervous security-crazed U.S. Customs Department sees this crazy looking, hand scrawled box coming from 99% Muslim Turkey…they will probably just blow it up on site.

In actuality, all of my packages traveled half way around the world and have arrived safely. BUT ironically, the postcards I sent out from the most efficient, anal city in the world, Singapore, never made it. Makes you wonder. Maybe Turkey is on to something.

Here are some general tips for you if you decide to send packages from abroad:

1. Bring your passport.
2. Bring cash and lots of it. Many post offices in other parts of the world do not accept credit cards.
3. Bring your package unsealed. Oftentimes for Customs purposes, they will need to look inside (excluding Istanbul) to see what kind of contraband you are actually sending, so be prepared to explain your ‘apocalypse now’ shot glass from Vietnam or the ‘opium pipe’ you picked up for decorative purposes in Phnom Penh. Also be aware that many post offices can provide you with a box and tape it up for you.
4. Bring your patience, sense of humor, and comfortable shoes.
5. Before you go, make a list of what you are sending. This will make it easier to fill out all the forms and keep them all consistent rather than you repeatedly shuffling around the contents of your package (like most guys I know tend to do).
6. Of course, wrap everything breakable very carefully. And then you will inevitably unwrap it and wrap it again after you show it to the postal worker.
7. Don’t mail anything from Singapore.

The one constant in my life this year as I travel around the world is my big backpack. And like all other close companions, I’ve already established a love/hate relationship with it. It’s very hard to pack for one year. In fact, obviously, you really can’t technically pack for a year. I had to get it out of my head that I was packing for 365 days of travel. You really just have to pack for one week and remember there is a lot of laundry in my future and, of course, I can always buy something if I need it.

I’d only been on the road a few weeks and already sent one care package home of extra clothes that I just didn’t need and now, four months in, I’ve bought a few new shirts (re-wearing the same 6 over and over gets old real quick) and plan to give away some others and a pair of sandals in exchange. One thing you always have is a limit—there is just so much I can stuff into my backpack with out the seams starting to burst.

It’s nice to not have TOO many clothes, but I do miss having a bit more variety. But for the first time I really feel like I’m certainly getting the most out of my clothes and shoes.

Packing and unpacking my bag has become one of my new tasks in life. It’s not exactly fun, but I just need to remember it’s replacing things like working 8+ hour days, riding the train for an hour to and from work, vacuuming, unloading the dishwasher (okay, sorry, that’s a bad example since I was super lucky to even have a dishwasher in the first place), etc. The part that makes my obsessively neat side happy is the separate Ziploc-type air-releasing clothes bags I brought. Not only do they help to keep all my clothes compressed, my favorite part is how they keep my garments organized—pants in one bag, shirts in another, and the under-things in a third. This makes life a whole lot easier when you have to crash at one place for just one night. Love these.

My backpack is what they call a convertible. Oooh yeah, put the top down! No, it has wheels and an extendable handle so you can roll it, but also has a flap in back that unzips to reveal some straps and a waist belt so you can hoist it onto your back when necessary. So far, I’ve been wondering if I should’ve just bought the regulation huge backpack I see on nearly every traveler I meet. With mine it seemed more like I was strapping a huge suitcase to my back. Fortunately there have been only a few times I actually have had to wear “big red” like a backpack. Boarding a boat taxi in Costa Rica in knee deep water was one of them. Another was in Chile hobbling over a rocky road which became a rocky sidewalk which just turned into a grassy steep hill that led to my hostel with the great view, but the very sweat-inducing and nearly impossible access. Normally I have to actually sit down to strap my pack to my back. Here some old leathery Chilean woman had to help me hoist the forty pound monstrosity on to my tired disoriented body.

But, fortunately, I have already received the always welcomed approval from some fellow backpackers. A girl from Switzerland was admiring my pack in Costa Rica and loved how it opened like a suitcase instead of a rucksack like hers where she had to put everything in through the top and therefore had to dump out the contents anytime she needed to get at something and, inevitably, that ‘something’ was bound to be all the way at the bottom. Plus it is made by Victorinox—the famous Swiss Army Knife Company. It’s not exactly ‘razor-sharp,’ but the name brand also helped woo her Swiss praise.

The big red pack comes with a separate but attachable smaller day pack. This I use just as it says—on day trips to carry my camera, rain jacket and other possibly important daily necessities like ‘womanly items’ or my cool compass/flashlight/thermometer/magnifying glass tool. You never know when you will suddenly be lost in the dark and need to know the temperature and have to read some fine print!

Things I Brought that I Love:

• Packable Rain Jacket
• Laptop
• Camera
• Big hair clip
• Nylon shorts and pants with zip pockets
• Sleep Sack (only used it once so far, but it saved me from some pretty rank sheets)
• Micro Fiber Mini Towel
• Duct Tape (patched up holey screen to keep out pesky Costa Rican mosquitoes—but as most of you remember it did not help with the ant situation)
• Umbrella (this is, of course, already broken, but my next one will be just as cherished)
• Chapstick with SPF protection
• Hiking Boots & Walking Sandals

Things I don’t need:

• A full set of Encyclopedias
• My car
• My U.S. State Quarter Collection
• A beach ball
• A little, cuddly wallaby (oh, but I’d sure love to have one!)

See the “How LL” page for more details on what I brought and how a world tour is planned.

Sadly, since writing this, I lost my cool thermometer-slash-compass. Or it was stolen? I think the latter. I mean who wants a laptop when you can have a cool gizmo like that?

In Costa Rica there’s a saying that permeates everyday life. Pura Vida literally translates to ‘pure life.’ But here, it’s used in many ways to kind of mean ‘it’s all good.’ When someone asks:

“How are you?”
“Pura Vida.”

“How’s the weather?”
“Pura Vida.”

A pretty girl or cute muchacho is “pura vida.”

It’s an attitude. It’s a feeling. It’s all good. It’s laid back. In the States we don’t really have this attitude in everything we do.

It makes me think about how we say we want to live life to the fullest, but how hard it is to actually do when we are so preoccupied with working, making more money to buy more things, commuting, running on the treadmill, and falling into bed exhausted. How do we have time to really ‘live life’ or ‘pura vida?’

We say “stop and smell the roses” and “work to live, don’t live to work.” But it takes five seconds to say these words and then MAYBE we think about their meaning for another five seconds before our own daily thoughts, responsibilities, and to-do lists come crashing into our brain. We fill our lives with so much crap when we need to be focusing more energy on the most important things:

Personal Relationships with friends and family
Love
Happiness
Laughter

Believe me, I’m writing about this, but I’m no expert and no better than anyone else and certainly get caught up in the daily BS. And if I figure out how to do this thing called ‘life’ better I will let you know. And you do the same for me.

Pura Vida.

…and they’re all Gringos!

I’m back in San Jose for a few nights before my flight to Ecuador. So as I’ve traveled throughout the country I’ve noticed an amount of poverty that I’m not quite used to. And this country is nowhere near the poorest country I will visit. Again, it makes me painfully aware of all that we have in the states and more specifically all that I have.

I’ve also noticed nearly every house here has at least bars on the windows and in most cases, a gate, and a big metal fence usually topped with razor wire. Sadly, the more tourism has increased, the more crime has also increased.

For my last few nights, I decided to stay in Escazu, a well-to-do suburb up in the hills just outside of San Jose. I hadn’t seen any wealth and was curious as to what I’d find here. I knew I would find many Americanos because as my bus pulled into town we preceded to pass Denny’s, Tony Romas, and possibly our worst import—Hooters. Wow. Was I in Costa Rica or Atlanta?

After a morning of catching up on my sun at the pool and catching up on my writing, I took a walk around the ‘hood. I turned a corner and there I was in Gringoland. It looked like a wealthy suburb of Miami. Coral colored stucco mansions with tile roofs one after the other lined the streets. It was the first time I’d seen pretty streetlamps and manicured lawns the whole time I’d been here. I strolled up a block that dead-ended at a security booth. I ended up chatting with the security guard (in Spanish—so thankful for my lessons!) about the neighborhood. According to Señor Security, nearly everyone that lived here was American. And they all worked for Intel.

If you recall in an earlier blog, I mentioned technology was the number two industry in the country, thanks in large part to Intel. It was like a mini Stepford with all these American housewives whizzing by in their SUVs into their gated driveways and their hermetically sealed homes. Muy interesante. AND I bet they pay beau coup bucks on the monthly exterminator bills to keep the ants out.

Isn’t that fun to say? That’s what they call the transportation method I took to get to La Fortuna and Arenal Volcano. It’s actually more like Van-Boat-Van, but I really think they should call it Bus-Boat-Bus and really have some alliteration fun. The road from Monteverde to Lake Arenal was probably the worst yet—bumpy and rocky the entire way. But the scenery was gorgeous—rolling green hills dotted with cows and a few small farmhouses. And in the background the perfectly conical Arenal Volcano arose from the hills into the clouds.

We reached the lake and boarded a boat for the other side. This quick one hour ride across the calm waters provided a nice reprieve from the unpaved roads, plus it provided the most spectacular view of the Volcano itself. Arenal Volcano is the second most active volcano in the world. It has eruptions every five to ten minutes. In 1968, it erupted violently after laying dormant for hundreds of years. A village was destroyed and 80 people were killed. Nowadays, Arenal erupts just about every five to ten minutes shooting red hot lava rocks out of its crater.

Proving once again, IT IS a ‘small word,’ I met a guy named Scott on the boat who had worked as a TV Producer for WIS-TV in Columbia, South Carolina. I was a Director at this same station for three years just out of Journalism School! He worked there about six years after I did, but we knew some of the same folks. I love random encounters like that. We got to the other side of the lake and what to my wandering eyes did appear?? A double yellow line and actual pavement! We’ve reached civilization!! Land ho!

I took the last leg of my “Jeep-Boat-Jeep” excursion and was dropped outside of “Gringo Pete’s,” the hostel Marcel and friends recommended. Pete is a jolly (and I soon learned often condescending) ol’ expat from Washington State. I’ve done it—I’ve crossed over into dormitory living. I’m in a clean room with 4 bunks and my roommates are a Swiss guy, Martin, a Dutch gal, Sandra, and a cool Romanian (who speaks 5 languages and works for a bank in Geneva) just walked in. We all end up hanging out now I have instant friends for the next few days. Oh—and the rate? Three dollars a night!

My second day in Monteverde I went on the very popular Canopy Tour
through the St. Elena Forest. This is a series of steel cables, or ‘ziplines’ strung across the top of the forest. You wear a harness and with a pulley and several carabineers, you are hooked up to the line and literally zip across the tree tops. Costa Rica has become somewhat famous for these adrenaline pumping tree top ‘rides.’ The canopy tours have popped up all throughout the country. Mine consisted of about 17 different lines of varying heights and lengths. It’s not for the faint of heart or those with a fear of heights. It’s also not really a good way to ‘see’ the rainforest since you are zipping through so quickly you can enjoy the tree tops, but little chance of spotting any wildlife.

I loved it—it’s scary and exhilarating at the same time. The guides were a bunch of fun young Ticos who made it even more fun. The craziest part was doing what they call the “Tarzan Swing.” It was basically just a rope they tethered your harness to and with a “lista?” (are you ready?), they would push you off a high platform and you would free fall until the rope caught and then you’d swing into the jungle. I screamed and then kept laughing so hard, I was crying! It was a great rush and as I was whizzing through the forest with no control, like some kind of monkey, I realized this was the ultimate feeling for ‘letting go,’ like I hope to be doing all year.

At the Canopy Tour I met some cool Americans (sometimes sadly that seems to be an oxymoron). There were two couples—one from Buffalo and the other from Aspen, Colorado. We hit it off right away and it was nice to be with fun, down to earth, outgoing people who were my own age. I ended up kind of inviting myself to dinner with them (I’m usually direct, but being alone, I feel I sometimes have to make friends quicker than I normally would) that night. We went to a place called Sofia’s and I had the nicest meal I’ve had since San Jose (these were not backpackers on a backpacker budget). I ordered the chicken in a plantain crust with a mango salsa and coconut rice. It was beautifully presented and delicious

Later that night I met back up with my roommate, Marcel from Germany, who’d gone away on a sidetrip for a few days and had now returned. Super nice guy—very friendly and easy going—he made the perfect roommate, but alas, he was also leaving the next day for Nicaragua. We met up at Amigos, the local watering hole, and were joined by Daniella and Yasmine, a couple friends from Switzerland who were also staying at our hotel. Also there was my cute Tico waiter from dinner who’d actually invited me to go dancing at the local ‘discothèque.’ He had a cherub face and the sweetest brown eyes with long eyelashes, but I think he was ten years my junior. I think I’d sit this dance out. I really enjoyed my new friends—we were a mish mash of German, American, Swiss, Canadian, and Tico. Monteverde definitely was a special place and after three days in this small town I already started to recognize and be greeted by some of the locals. That is definitely something I like and a lesson in staying in each town for a good length of time to enable me to meet and get to know the people. I’m definitely starting to meet more people which is great, but many new friendships are fleeting as we go our separate ways. It is so easy to meet and ‘bond’ with fellow travelers and swap road stories. It makes the solo traveling hardly solo at all!

I love my rain jacket. This is the best thing I packed for the world tour.

I spent three days up in the St. Elena just outside of the Monteverde Cloud Forest where when they say ‘rainy season,’ they really mean it.

The actual town of Monteverde (Green Mountain) was founded in the 1950s by some Quakers who’d left the United States to avoid a constant fear of war and an obligation to the military and the taxes that supported it. Ironically for me, my hometown of Randolph, New Jersey was also founded by Quakers. I even grew up right off of “Quaker Church Road.” But, oddly, I don’t think I’ve ever even met a Quaker…or at least if I ever did, I didn’t know it. Side note: they are actually named Quakers because in their religion they meditate in a way that actually makes them tremble or “quake.”

Cloud forests are the same as rainforests, except they exist only high atop mountain slopes. The warm, moist ocean air is swept up the mountain forming clouds which give moisture to the abundant plant life.

I took an excellent (and very wet) guided tour of the Cloud Forest given by Vernal, a very knowledgeable and excited young guide.

He

Here are some amazing stats on Monteverde Cloud Forest:

• 2500 different types of plants, including 350 types of ferns alone
• 1000 Epiphytes (plants that grow on the branches of forest trees—ferns, orchids, bromeliads)
• 400 species of birds
• 100 different species of animals

This was truly a great example of nature at its finest. It was so lush and so full and most of the life was up above in the canopy of all the trees where the sun could get through.

On our tour we saw a multitude of plant life—ferns, orchids, huge fig trees. Animals were a little harder to spot but we saw a ‘walking stick’ insect, a praying mantis, a poisonous viper snake (thankfully far away and only viewed through Vernal’s scope), hummingbirds, a fox, howler monkeys, and even the very elusive and endangered Quetzal bird. Another guide mentioned to Vernal that he’d spotted the bird. Suddenly, Vernal scampered up the wet trail with the rest of us huffing and puffing in tow. He plopped down his high powered scope and with hundreds of trees and branches in his view, he spotted the bird within thirty seconds. These guides were amazing. They knew the forest well and knew exactly what to look for—certain torn branches, rustling (although with rain pelting everything this seemed impossible), and the areas where certain animals had been spotted before. The Quetzal was once revered by Pre-Columbian peoples of this region. It is a stunning green and in mating season, the males sport two very long ‘tail feathers.’ Sadly, today their habitat has diminished and in turn so has their numbers, but thanks to newer conservation efforts—things are turning around.

Today I left the homey and hazy beach town of Montezuma for the mountains.

Here’s how I got there:

First I took a minibus 1 hour east to the town of Paquera to catch the ferry. Our mini bus was constantly dodging potholes on the dirt roads. Then I took the 1 ½ hour ferry ride crossing the Gulf of Nicoya. From here I was to catch a public bus, but alas, it had departed just 15 minutes before the ferry arrived (seems like poor scheduling, no?). So I jumped in a cab with 3 other travelers I’d just met and we chased down the bus. I haggled with the cabbie for a lower fare and 20 minutes later we were on the “Express” bus to Monteverde Cloud Forest which was about 50 miles away. Three and a half hours later our “Express” bus rolled into the town of St. Elena just before the
Forest. Once again, Costa Rica’s horrible roads slowed us to about 15 miles per hour most of the way here as we swerved around pot holes and dodged oncoming traffic while clinging to the side of a mountain blanketed in a thick dense fog. So combining my mini bus, ferry, taxi, and “express” bus it took me a total of 8 hours to get here. It took me less time to fly to Costa Rica from
Chicago. But that’s okay—it’s all part of the adventure!

Plus, getting off the ferry and dashing into the taxi I met my first traveling partner who was also on his way to Monteverde. Marcel, from Freiburg, Germany, is traveling through Central America and Mexico for 3 months. With his new surfboard in tow, he had just come from a month of learning to ride the waves in one of the beaches on Costa Rica’s Pacific coast. I was planning on staying at a hotel recommended by my book and also by a couple I met in Montezuma. Marcel’s budget was about $10 a night. I thought maybe this is it—tonight I will really take the plunge into hostel-dom and go for it. I’ve been a bit reluctant to give up my personal space yet and share a dorm room with smelly strangers, but since I’d have a friend in tow, I figured ‘what the heck?’ I needed that extra push to get out of my comfort zone. I could go with him to check it out and if I hated it I could always just go to my originally planned hotel.

As soon as we stepped off the bus from our LONG journey, we were bombarded with the ‘hotel hawkers.’ A group of about ten men and women with laminated pictures got in our faces shouting things like:

“Nice rooms!”

“Stay here get breakfast!”

“We have nice warm shower for you!”

I ignored them all and focused on retrieving my bag from the bus’s baggage compartment. My backpack is my number one priority. One woman had Marcel in her clutches and we decided to go with her and check out her place—if we didn’t like it we could always leave. Her and her husband drove us in their jeep about “500 meters” to their Cabinas. Surprisingly, it was actually very nice and VERY cheap. We have our own room with 2 beds and a private bath for…get this…$5 a night! Wha?? Now, that’s how I can afford this trip!!
Costa Rica you so cheapa!

It literally felt like I was in heaven or at least close to it as I lay on the massage table feeling my muscles melt while listening to the sounds of the ocean. You know how back in the States, when you go to a spa for a massage how they play some soothing CD with ocean sounds? Well, here there was no CD—this was the real thing. Wow. This was so incredible.

I was at the Ylang Ylang Resort just about a 10 minute walk from town. But I’m not talking about walking down the street. There are NO roads to Ylang Ylang. The only way to get here is to walk on the beach. This IS paradise.

I was a bit early so I sat at the bar and had a nice cool Michelada (In Costa Rica it’s beer with lemon on the rocks with salt). The place had an all around resort feel and was a nice step up from the dusty main street of town. After my one hour open air massage I headed back to the bar for some Sushi. Here I met Matt and Craig, two Northwestern Grads who were here on vacation with their wives. They were having a grand old time and were already a bit hammered from a day of drinking and relaxing by the pool. After being regaled with tales of the ‘old days in Wrigleyville’ and Cubs memories, the boys went back to their wives and I finished up my sushi and Mojito and headed back to the beach for the trek back to town.

It was dusk as I headed back and the beach was deserted. Crabs scurried under random flotsam and jetsam as the waves rolled onto the beach and back. I stared thinking about all the expats I was meeting who had moved down here for a slower, better life. There was definitely something appealing about it—less money, but less responsibilities and less stress. Not sure if I’m ready for this lifestyle yet, but maybe someday…