Costa Rica

Joee’s flight got in at 5:45 Monday morning. I woke up every 30 minutes the night before making sure I wasn’t going to miss the 4am shuttle going to the airport so I could surprise him. At 6:30 Joee finally cleared customs, came out of the terminal and my brief solo journey officially ended.

We only spent one night in San Jose, which is more than enough. The following morning we left for Arenal. As soon as we got on the bus we met Ronny Sunshine. He looked at us and announced “I’ll be on the news tonight, 10 o’clock.” To which Joee replied that he would also be on the news; the old man had met his match.

Ronny Sunshine is a living remnant of the 60’s New York drug scene. He made his name by taking photo’s with celebrities, who for someone reason always said “Yes” when he asked. We know this because he showed us a magazine article, dated 1994, written about him. Ronny Sunshine was the entertainment for the trip. He repeated the same two questions to everyone he met, “Guitar or base?” and if they were in school, “Doctor or lawyer?” He also made sure to show everyone his new teeth that he acquired for apparently a great price thanks to Costa Rican dentistry. Every time he returned to his seat after roaming the bus he would bless it in a jumble of Arabic and Christian prayer. After the seats filled he was never hesitant to ask any standing female if they wanted to sit on his lap. We later Googled him and found nothing, which leads me to believe his reputation along with the better half of this brain cells didn’t make it out of the 60’s and 70’s alive.

Ronny Sunshine

Once in Arenal we set up a tour to see the volcano, which is what Arenal is known for. A small van picked us up nearly as soon as we checked in to make the 45 minutes journey to the national park. At the park we trekked to a covered observation point and sat at the base of the volcano waiting patiently for it erupt. In front of us fire flies filled the skies, while behind us our tour guide made Cuba Libres. Drinks in hand we watched the volcano erupt as molten hot rocks tumbled down the side of the volcano, glowing in the blackness of the night. After four or five eruptions we left for the second part of the tour: hot springs. On the way down the bus driver stopped to show us a sloth that was in the middle of the road. I felt bad for it as the driver picked it up by the scruff of the neck so some British tourists could pose for pictures.

 Volcan Arenal

At the hot springs we shuffled along the pitch black trial as we made our way down barefoot. The hot springs themselves were equally as dark and only a few headlamps lit the area. We all dispersed between two pools for 45 minutes before making our way home.

The next morning we were up early to cross the border into Nicaragua. At the bus stop we met Adam, a teacher from Mississippi who was on the volcano tour the night before, who informed us that the rumbling that had filled the night skies wasn’t planes, but the volcano erupting. We all waited for the morning bus then piled on to make our way to Nicaragua.

Going Solo

From Bocas del Toro we left the islands and headed north to Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica. On Tuesday Jon, Nick, and I checked in to Rocking J’s, a hostel that has a reputation for its party atmosphere and long term guests. When we got there however it had a super relaxed vibe, which matched the atmosphere of the beach town it was in. There was a sign that said “Guests Can Stay for 3 Months Max” and plenty of people who were pushing the limit. During the afternoons backpackers huddled around whoever had the guitar suggesting song titles until 10pm when they relocated to the beach for bonfires.

Hammocks Where I Slept at Rocking J's

We rented bikes and spent the 24 hours the boys had in Puerto Viejo exploring the town, attempting to surf, and watching shooting stars on the beach.

First Attempt Surfing

The boys left Wednesday afternoon and Joee’s flight didn’t land until Monday morning. This meant four days of going solo.  Maybe it was the anticipation of getting to see Joee for the first time in four months or maybe I didn’t give it enough time, but I did not enjoy traveling by myself. I spent the first day playing catch up on emails, phone calls, bills, and financial aid for the upcoming school semester. After the entire day spent at my computer an older gentleman called me out on being a loner; then proceeded to ask if I would like a massage. I politely told him no, then avoided him for the next three days. He did however make me self-conscious about not spending too much time alone.

At Rocking J’s I met some nice people, but no one I was overly enthusiastic about. Jean, a Brit who had spent the last year in New Orleans, and I rode bikes to the Jaguar Sanctuary, where there are no jaguars but plenty of snakes, howler monkeys, sloths, ocelots, hawks, owls, and a mess of other animals. The sanctuary is run by a Spanish woman and her Italian husband. They work with injured and abandoned wildlife to either rehabilitate them or give them a home. They also own and are continuing to buy plots of rainforest to release the animals into while combating deforestization. It’s an amazing program and incredible to visit. We played with baby howler monkeys and sloths, and learned all about the problems animals face as Costa Rica continues to develop.

Turns Out Sloths are SUPER Cute

Everyone told me to wait as long as possible before heading to San Jose, so I filled Friday and Saturday with as many yoga classes as possible; the first at Om, a small yoga studio by the beach. I was quickly comforted by the castellano of the Argentine yoga instructor and amused by her seven year old daughter who attempted to do yoga next to me. Saturday afternoon I made my way into the jungle for my second class. After a grueling hike I came to an open studio overlooking the Costa Rican rainforest. The owner, Marco, had built the studio from recycled wood and let the instructors use it for free so he could attend as many yoga classes as he pleased. He was also in the process of building a sauna a few hundred meters from the studio. As we moved through Sun Salutation I could hear howler monkeys in the distance, the same ones I had been playing with that morning at the Jaguar Sanctuary. It was a beautiful place to practice yoga and I’m grateful that Marco took the time to build it.

Jungle Yoga Studio

By Sunday morning I had spent five days in Puerto Viejo and was anxious to leave. I booked the afternoon bus to San Jose to finally meet Joee and continue my travels north.

Panama

Every feeling of hesitancy and doubt that I had when leaving Buenos Aires left as I stepped foot into Hostel del Carmen in Panama City. I went around back to find Nick and Jon sitting in hammocks and already a six pack of beer ahead of me. I’ve rightfully been dubbed “Mama Hen” trying to keep the boys out of trouble. And this is what traveling with boys is like…like trying to keep a dog in a bathtub. At times it’s difficult, guaranteed to be full of beer, booze, “Your Mom” jokes (and the occasional “Your Dad” joke), making wizard sticks, the constant quest for food, farting (which they still play the same safety/doorknob game as my younger brothers), and of course more beer. But most importantly traveling with the boys is a great time.

 Six pack in hand...

The first day we went to the Panama Canal, a true modern marvel. We spent the rest of the day exploring the town and ate at the restaurant above the local fish market, which reeked of fish even though it was Sunday and there were no vendors. As we were exploring Casco Viejo, the historical district, an old man stepped out of his door and began singing to us. How my life led me to be standing in an alleyway in Panama with an old toothless man serenading me to the sounds of Frank Sinatra I’m not quite sure, but no complaints.

 Casco Viejo

The next morning we headed to David, which is a jump of point more than anything else. When we realized there wasn’t much to do, we put Jon’s duck tape to use and played wizard sticks, a game my boyfriend taught me. Basically you duck tape your new beer onto your empty can until they began to stack taller and taller into a wizard staff. The notoriously quiet Purple House didn’t quite know what to do when Jon broke a chair as he was trying to drink his 24th beer around 11:30. The expat owner, Andrea, didn’t think we’d have it in us to hike the next day, but we were up bright and early at 6:30 the following morning.

 Wizard Sticks

We took a bus up to Cerro Punta to hike the Sendero los Quetzales trail to Boquete. The trail itself is only 8 km, but it’s another 8 km to the trail head from Cerro Punta plus another 7 from the trail’s end to Boquete. We hitchhiked most of the way down, which I was pretty excited about. It took us 8 hours from start to finish and we barely caught the last bus back to David.

Our next stop was the Lost and Found Eco-Reserve, which is halfway between David and Bocas de Toro. The bus drops you off at the 42 km marker just outside of Villa de Mina and from there it’s a 15-minute hike to the hostel. Or if you’re me, a 25-minute hike to the hostel. Luckily Nick carried my pack and I took his significantly smaller backpack to the top.

Our first night we joined the dozen or so people staying at our hostel for happy hour and a foosball tournament. Which I won…or my partner Nico won, but I still got bragging rights.

When we first arrived at Lost and Found everyone was talking about a treasure hunt they were still trying to figure out so we gave it a shot our second day. The treasure hunt starts in a labyrinth right outside the hostel. From there it takes you from clue to clue and leads you deeper into the jungle, to the river, and finally a cave. The last two clues were back at Lost and Found. It ends with a rosetta stone you use to decipher a story in hieroglyphics. And our treasure: a bottle of rum.

 Lost and Found

I didn’t want to leave the eco-reserve, but the boys were running out of time on their two week vacation and we still hadn’t been to the beach. Next stop Bocas de Toro, a collection of islands in the Caribbean next to the Panama-Costa Rica border. The islands are absolutely beautiful and Isla Colon, where we stayed, is the epitome of a relaxed beach town. There was even an older gentleman who followed us around the entire time singing Bob Marley.  At this point Nick and Jon went into full blown Spring Break mode, so it took us three days in Bocas de Toro of drinking and recovering before we made it to the beach.

Jon Post-Party

The first beach, Wizard Beach, is a pristine surf spot on an isolated Caribbean island. The following day we did a snorkeling tour. First we stopped at Dolphin Bay, rightfully named for the many dolphins that live there.  Our boat driver was able to get the dolphins to ride the wake of our boat.

 

Between our two rounds of snorkeling we stop at Red Frog Beach, named for a species of poisonous red frogs that once inhabited the area but are dying out.

 Red Frog Beach

I should probably clarify that by snorkeling I mean I floated around on a life vest with my face in the water. I’m not the best swimmer and I don’t understand the ocean so it freaks me out. I’m constantly petrified of riptides, think every boat I step foot on is probably going to sink and automatically assume everything in the water is poisonous. Nonetheless, put a life vest on me and give me some snorkeling gear and I’ll be a happy camper.

Bocas de Toro is our last stop in Panama. Panama is an absolutely beautiful country that hasn’t yet been turned into the tourist hotspot that I hear Costa Rica has become. The boys and I have also met some great fellow travelers along the way. The first were James (a fellow wizard) and his girlfriend Maddy from Australia, along with another couple from Australia and England. Then there are Lewis from Australia, Marie from Canada, and Johnny from Israel. It’s nice to see familiar faces in unfamiliar spots. I only hope we haven’t given them the impression that all Americans are ASU frat bros on a perpetual bender…just Jon and Nick.

What I'm Going to Miss...

I’m sitting at the airport waiting for my flight to Panama. For the first time in a long time I don’t feel like I am doing what I should. My wanting to stay in Buenos Aires is competing with my excitement of traveling Central America. Looking back it has been a monumental life experience and for that I am very grateful. Even though my Spanish isn’t as good as I had hoped after living in Argentina for four months and classes were a joke, I learned a lot this semester.

I’ve had a difficult time writing about Buenos Aires because everything always felt normal. Even with weekend vacations to Iguazu, Mendoza and Chile, places I never dreamt of going, I always knew I would be coming back to my apartment in Recolta. As it comes to an end these are the things from my day to day norm I’m going to miss:

I’m going to miss how everyday is something new. Even if it’s something small it makes the day seem more like an adventure rather than the same monotonous routines I get sucked into in the States.

I’m going to miss all of the students from ISA who came into my life for what was a brief but beautiful lesson.

I’m going to miss how when you walk down the street there are doormen and dog walkers on every corner. This added touch always made Buenos Aires seem like it was out of a movie. I am also going to miss my doorman Alfonzo who was probably the nicest porteño I met.

I’m going to miss people watching. I love seeing all of the crazy rat-tail and dreadlock combos that the men rock in this country. I also love seeing all of the older women dressed in their finest fur coats now that it’s winter. It’s reminiscent of an older time when Buenos Aires was the rich city it still pretends to be.

Afro/Double Dreadlock Combo on San Telmo

I’m going to miss drinking mate with Nati and the entire culture that surrounds it. Mate is the pastime in Argentina and the best pick me up in the morning. It took me a while to catch on, but now I love it.

I’m going to miss my gym, Megatlon. When I first joined I had to see the in-house doctor and get an EKG. This made me laugh. The classes were my favorite way of learning Spanish. The instructors spoke so clearly and I could actually match the words to the actions.

As much as I constantly got lost and dreaded hoarding monedas, I’m going to miss the colectivos. Not to mention their spontaneous whistle that always caught me off guard. Between the train, bus, and subway system you can get anywhere in Buenos Aires. Not having a car is so much easier than in the States. It seems so strange that I have traveled all around Southeast Asia, Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile without a car, yet it’s an event even to go to the grocery store in Arizona.

 152, My Second Favorite Bus

I’m going to miss my madre screaming “Ladies” in her thick Argentine accent to call Nati and me down for dinner. She was a great host mom and our dinners were always an interesting event of trying to decipher what story she was trying to tell us. She talks more than most people I know, but this meant there was never a dull moment.

And finally dulce de leche... I am going to miss dulce de leche and dulce de leche ice cream from Volta. Luckily there are about 10 lbs being shipped back to the States in my luggage so hopefully this is a reality I won’t have to face for awhile.

Last Ice Cream Cone from Volta

Patagonia

Patagonia is one of my favorite places in the world. The only thing that beats hiking in El Chalten and ice trekking on Perito Moreno is watching the sunrise over Angkor Wat in Cambodia. All things I highly recommend.

By bus it takes two or three days to make your way from Buenos Aires to El Calafate. Needless to say we flew. I had to try really hard not to act like a groupie when I met the owner of my favorite hot dog stand in Boulder, Mustard's Last Stand, on the plane. When we landed it was cold, but the sun was shining and it was beautiful. On the two hour bus ride to El Calafate to El Chalten the sunset was amazing and seemed to last forever. I immediately fell in love with Patagonia.

 

When we got to our hostel we made big plans to get up early for our Friday hike. We were slightly disappointed to find out that the sun didn't rise until 7am. I guess that's what happens when you're only 1,000 miles from Antarctica in the winter. In the end it didn't matter since we finally managed to leave around 9am. With only 12 or 13 hours of sunlight a day racing against the sun was our biggest concern.

The plan was to hike to a lake with a great view of Cerro del Torre. From there Sean, Daniel, Brandon, Sarah and I were going to keep hiking to a refuge in the mountains, while Tiffany, Rachel, and Ani headed back so they could catch the evening bus to El Calafate. We weren't sure if the refuge was still open because it was so late in the tourist season and there were no lines of communication between the refuge and the outside world, but we decided to go for it anyways.

After parting ways at the lake the five of us hiked for almost three hours without seeing any other hikers. After seven hours we finally found a ranger. She told us that she didn't think the refuge was open. Our biggest problem was if we went and the refuge was closed there was no way to make it back to town in time. We would either have to hike back in the dark without flashlights or spend the night in the freezing Andes with no gear. Unanimously we decided neither were outcomes we were willing to risk. Now the question was whether to turn around and go back on the path we knew or cut across to private property and see if we could either spend the night or hitchhike back. We chose Option 2. I was pretty excited about the prospect of hitchhiking.

As we continued hiking the path started getting harder to follow. There was no longer a beaten trail and we were walking single file on precarious cliff that hung over a dried out riverbed. About an hour in we were lost. At this point we decided to turn around and hike back the trail that we knew. This left us with four hours of hiking and roughly four hours before the sun went down.

By the time we made it back the sun was just about to drop behind the mountain. We were all exhausted and happy to be back in the hostel. Pictures don't do it justice and words can't describe how beautiful our hike in El Chalten was. They also don't fully describe how much the hike kicked my ass. I have never sorer in my life, but all the blood, sweat and tears were worth it

The next day I left for El Calafate to meet the rest of the group. We set up ice trekking on the Perito Moreno glacier. Sunday morning the excursion group picked us up early and we drove out to the national park. We took a boat to the glacier for a quick tutorial on Perito Moreno and got fitted with crampons.

Tiffany and I Modeling Our Crampons

Our guides Flavio and Juan led us up the glacier. I didn’t mind hiking up, but walking down freaked me out. We weren’t tied in and I didn’t completely trust my crampons. At one point I panicked when crossing a narrow crossing between two pools of water. Flavio grabbed my hand and all I could think to say was “Tengo, tengo, tengo…scary!” It all worked out though. At the end of the trek we hiked down to a lone table and group of chairs for some whiskey on crushed glacier ice and alfajores (dulce de leche cookies). With the help of some whiskey the scary se fue.

Fútbol

Once when I was in Texas I heard someone say, “Texans love family, God and football, but not necessarily in that order.”  If you replace football with fútbol the same holds true in Argentina. Soccer is a way of life down here, especially with the World Cup. All big cities in Argentina have at least one if not two teams in addition to the national team. In Buenos Aires the rivals are La Boca and River. Both are notorious for having insane popular sections where all of the hardcore fans spend the game cheering, singing, jumping, chanting, drinking, smoking, cursing and screaming the most outrageously complicated and complex insults you’ve ever heard. You can imagine how excited I was to be part of this.

The first soccer game I went to was an Estudiantes game. My friend, Julia, met two Argentine brothers whose mom is from Canada, but who now live with their dad in Buenos Aires. This meant their English was great and they knew their way around the city. Five other ISA students and I met them at the train station to head to the stadium. Honestly I have no idea where we were by the time we got off. I just knew it looked like a part of town I didn’t want to get lost in. We walked towards the stadium with a pack of Argentines who didn’t look like they were going anywhere in particular. When we got closer to the stadium guys started pulling soccer jerseys, shirts and hats out of their back pockets and backpacks. One of the Argentines told us that you don’t wear your colors on the street or you’ll end up in a fight. Once at the stadium I went through five different security check points each time getting my purse checked and patted down. The security to go into the soccer game was stricter than the security when Obama spoke at graduation last year.

When we finally made our way in, we entered into a huge row of cement bleachers with fans waiting for the game to begin. Lining the fence to the field where almost an equal number of riot police. One of the brothers told us that they hadn’t sold many tickets to the game because they didn’t want it to get out of control, so the popular section stayed fairly empty until the second half when more fans started streaming in. The crowd was mostly men with the exception of our group of five girls. Although they had been singing the entire game as the sunset the fans started to get louder, the jumping and movement more pronounced, people climbed the fences to tie on red and white streamers and then ran them up the bleachers. The second half of the game had the high energy I was expecting.

Estudiantes won which meant lots of post-game celebration. It was short lived as the police started to push us out of the stadium. Since we were the visiting team we customarily got to leave the stadium first. You never come in contact with anyone from the other team at an Argentine soccer game. Each has its own entrance and the home team isn’t allowed to leave the stadium until the visiting fans have left.

After a great experience at the Estudiantes game I was excited to go to a larger La Boca game. I had heard stories of insanity about their popular section and wanted to see it for myself. We managed to score tickets for the last game of the season, which was guaranteed to be packed. The security wasn’t as strict and the energy was higher on the streets. People live and die for La Boca.

As soon as we entered la cancha (stadium) I was overwhelmed with such a foul smell. I started dodging puddles on the way up of where men had relieved themselves in the middle of the stairwell. After a few flights of stairs and a lot of close calls we made it to one of the popular sections. I was sad to see that everyone was sitting and watching the game. No crazy diehard fans wreaking havoc.

When I looked across the stadium I saw where I wanted to be: behind the other goal. The crowd was moving as one cohesive unit, streamers were everywhere; there were even blue and yellow umbrellas. Looked like a good time. I asked the hotdog vendor how I got to the section, but he wouldn’t tell me. I asked a police officer, but he wouldn’t tell me either. Finally an expat heard me ask and told me, “You don’t want to go over there.” I tried to convince him that I really did, but he was insistent that I didn’t. I never did find out go to get the other section.

At the end of the game we all waited patiently for the visiting team to leave. Twenty minutes later the masses started moving towards the exit. It was then I realized something was leaking down from the ceiling. The visiting team had been sitting in the bleachers above us and I didn’t want to the think about what could possibly being raining down. But that was the least my worries. The puddles on the way up had expanded to cover the entire floor. As I looked down I realized I was the only person wearing flip flops. There was no way to avoid it. As soon as we got out of the stadium I immediately went home and washed my feet.

And now the Mundial has begun. If this doesn't make you excited for the World Cup, I don't know what will...

Punta del Este

My program began at the end of peak tourist season in South America. Although Buenos Aires was ridiculously hot and humid, it was a great time to go to the beach, mountains, or Patagonia. Unfortunately it took me a while to figure out where I wanted to travel so all of my trips have been during the off season.

My first weekend trip was to Punta del Este, Uruguay. Punta del Este is to Buenos Aires what the Hamptons are to New York City. During the summer hoards of city dwellers make their way to weekend and party in this popular beach town. I planned my trip with a couple of friends the same weekend as Spring Break in the States after most of the crowds had left.

Through my travels I’ve learned that sometimes things just don’t work out; they should be easy, but they’re not. This is how the trip began. Natalie and I had tickets to leave after our friends because she had a late Thursday class. We were supposed to take a midnight boat to Montevideo and from there a bus to Punta del Este. When we went to check-in I was incredibly surprised to find out I had bought our non-refundable tickets for the following day, which would leave us only one full day at the beach. I bought us new tickets for the boat that was leaving that night. Instead of a direct route we had a three hour boat to Colonia, three hour bus to Montevideo, where we had to purchase tickets to transfer to Punta del Este, which was another three hours journey.

This trip was made all the more interesting by my friend Steve. He’s one of those people who has the best of intentions but never manages to get it right. I called Steve as soon as we went through customs to tell him to make sure he filled out the exit paperwork for Argentina before getting his passport stamped. His response: “Passport? We’re supposed to bring our passports?” Yes, Steve. You have to bring your passport to go to a different country. Mind you Steve has been robbed twice in the last three months. After convincing him that there was no way he could talk his way or sneak onto the boat without a passport he agreed to change his ticket to the next day.

By the time we got in the following morning we were exhausted. Our friends, who had arrived the evening before, warned us that our hostel, El Viajero, had two locations and to go to the one close to the bus terminal. After finding an ATM we got a taxi and explained where we needed to go. Something was clearly lost in translation as we arrived thirty minutes later to a secluded hostel out of town. Turns out the hostels did have different names and our friends had given us the wrong one. After an easy bus ride back we finally found our way to the correct hostel.

Chivito

The first day of rain and clouds quickly changed to blue skies and sunshine. Days were spent sleeping in the sun, playing in the Atlantic, and eating chivitos (Uruguayan steak sandwiches). At night everyone in our hostel would play guitar, drink wine, or pile onto the couch for movies. The rest of the weekend passed as a lazy weekend at the beach should. Good hostel, good food, good people.