Chichicastenango and Antigua

Hitting the Market

After a wonderful day and night in Semuc Champey, I hitched a ride and then caught a bus to Guatemala City. This is where my longstanding luck started to wear thin.

The trip from Coban to Guatemala City was the coldest bus ride of my life. That's right; in one of the poorest countries in the world they feel the need to blast the A/C like electrons are going out of style. I arrived in Guatemala exhausted and cold and went to bed around 7pm.

The next morning I got an early start and headed to the famous Chichicastenango market. I continued to feel sick throughout the day, but I was able to pick up gifts for all the remaining folks on my list.

Here's a areal shot of the indoor portion of the market:


And here are the woman and daughter I bought some coffee from:


Racing to the Finish Line

In the early afternoon, I caught a bus to Antigua, the place where it all began. I was hoping to stop in and say hi to the Monterroso family, who had hosted me so graciously when I was studying Spanish more than six months earlier.

Well, as the bus pulled into Antigua and everyone was getting off, someone stole my wallet. After hardly ever being sick on this trip, and no incidents since the tragedy at Valparaiso (where my camera, iPod, etc. were stolen), I was getting a hell of a send-off in my last three days.

But, I arrived at the Monterroso's house and they were happy to see me. Here's a picture of the family (except for Carol, the oldest daughter):


In a stroke of good luck, one of the students the Monterrosos were hosting was also leaving the next day and she took me out to a nice dinner. Unfortunately, I can't remember her name because I'm now writing this nearly two months after my trip ended; but I remember it was a pleasant evening:


The next day I caught to bus to Guatemala city and hunkered down for my early morning flight home. On the afternoon of August 28 I touched down at good ol' La Guardia Airport--and my six and a half month adventure had come to an end:

Semuc Champey, Guatemala

From Las Marias to...Las Marias

Having escaped near-death in Honduras, I high-tailed it back to Guatemala. I now had less than a full week before my flight home--and I wanted to hit Semuc Champey; the famous market at Chichicastenengo; and a night back in Antigua to see my host family.

Several people had told me that Semuc Champey is one of the most beautiful sites in all of Latin America--which is strange because I never heard about it when I was in Guatemala the first time. So, I traveled for a ridiculously long time to get from the indigenous community of Las Marias on the Mosquito Coast to a hostel called Las Marias right outside of the waterfalls and caves of Semuc Champey. Here's the hostel:


Semuc Champey, which means "sacred water" in the local indigenous language, was worth the travels. On the first day I went exploring a set of caves. We started out by swinging Tarzan-style into the river.


Then we headed down into these cool caves. They were dark and filled with water, and at times we had to swim with one hand while holding our candle with the other. Here we are entering the caves:


Here's our guide posing under a mushroom-looking stalagtite (or stalagmite, whatever):


And here's our group under the same protrusion:


After we came out of the caves, we went tubing down the river back to our hostel:



That night, I met some cool women from Barcelona at the hostel. Here I am with Gemma, Yolanda, and Laura:


Someone was playing with a pet tarantula (that's definitely NOT my hand):


The next morning my new Spanish friends and I headed down to the main attraction: a set of beautiful, crystal clear limestone pools formed by the submersion of the Cahabon River.




The water was georgeous and the perfect temperature--and I wish I could have spent all day hanging at the pools. But, I was in a hell of a rush; so after one night and one full day in Semuc Champey, I caught a free ride back into the closest major town (Coban) in the back of a pickup truck.


From Coban, I was off to Guatemala City for the night so I could hit the market at Chichicastenengo the next morning.

Mosquito Coast, Honduras

Crossing from Coast to Coast

By the time I got to Nicaragua, my trip was quickly coming to an end and I had to prioritize. I decided that I couldn't miss an excursion into the jungle on the Mosquito Coast of Honduras. The Mosquitia region covers the entire Northeast of Honduras, including much of the Caribbean Coast. It is populated by a few indigenous peoples, but mostly the Miskito.

I always assumed that the Mosquito Coast was named as such because there were a ton of mosquitoes there. Well, there are plenty of the little buggers; but the region is actually named for this indigenous tribe (although the spelling is confusingly different). Just to add another layer of confusion, the Miskito got their name because they were especially facile with the muskets with which the British armed them in order to fight the Spanish.

The Mosquitia region includes the Rio Platano Biosphere Reserve, a world heritage site with pristine jungle that provides habitat for jaguars, monkeys, crocs, and more. I was hoping to see some dangerous critters.

So, I caught a 4am minibus out of Leon on the bumpiest roads i´ve ever been on; switched buses 2-3 times and arrived in the north-central Honduran town of La Ceiba at 8:30pm. La Ceiba is on the Caribbean Coast and the closest city to the Bay Islands, which has some of the best and cheapest scuba diving in the world. But, given my limited time, I had to skip diving in order to get into the jungle.

After more than 16 hours on the road, I sprung for a hotel with air conditioning and went to find an ATM. I tried at least 8 ATMs, none of which would accept my card. Finally, after walking around the city for 1.5 hours I was able to take out what I thought would be enough money to fund my jungle adventure.

The next morning I decided to get on plane instead of taking a 4 hour bus ride and 3-4 hour ride on back of pick-up on beach in order to reach the Moskitia region. I got to the airline office at 8:30, but the Lonely Planet was out of date and only flight was at 10am to a different locale and costing nearly twice as much as LP said.

I had to make quick decision and decided to jump on the flight (I was very lucky because there are only flights MWF and this was Wed). So, I flew in a puddle jumper from La Ceiba to the town of Brus Laguna with no real plan as to how I would get into the jungle. The LP had recommended setting up a tour in advance, but I hadn't had time to think about it in La Cieba.

Here's my plane:



Luckily, I met two nice guys from the U.S. on the plane, John and Robert, who were hooked up with La Ruta Mosquitia, an indigenous-run collective that arranges tourist trips. A woman named Dorka met them at the ¨airport¨ (a mud strip) and she helped me find a boat to take me to Rio Platano (where I had lunch) and then a car to Reista where I was to ask for a woman named Melisa who would help me find a way up Rio Platano (the river, not the town) to the town of Las Marias.

Here's my ride to Reista:



This was already quite an adventure, but I decided to make it a bit more interesting. While on the boat to Reista I began to realize that the guidebook wasn´t kidding when it said things were expensive around here. I didn´t have nearly enough cash on me to get up the river to Las Marias, take a guided tour of the jungle, eat, and get back to La Ceiba; and there were no ATMs anywhere in this region of the country. I couldn´t accept that I would have arrived here through such trouble and expense only to not be able to get into the jungle, so I started to think about what I had in my bag that I might barter with.

Getting Lucky in Reista

I walked into Reista and found Melisa. She had room to put me up, but told me there were no "collectivos" going up the river. This meant that I would have to hire my own private motor canoe--exactly what I couldn't afford to do in my cash-strapped state.

This is where I was bailed out in a way that would make my mom crazy (but happy for me of course b/c she's my mom). She's always saying how I just roll through life without planning or preparing and things just seem to work out. Well, this was a great example. By all rights I should have been screwed. I hadn't thought through how much money I'd need and now I couldn't afford to do exactly what I came all the way across Central America to do.

But, the fates shined down upon me in the form of Jeffrey. Jeff is a guy from the U.S. who was staying with Melisa and her mother Elma; had already booked a canoe for the next day that I could share; and had even taken out more cash than he needed--so he could lend me money. He was also a cool guy who had just spent a few months chasing iguanas around Latin America.

Here's Jeffrey on the porch of our place in Reista:




So, we chilled out in Reista, played some futbol with the kids, and had a fantastic lobster dinner in Elma's kitchen (see "La Comida Tipica"):


The next morning, Jeffrey and I headed out onto Rio Platano into the jungle and towards the town of Las Marias.



Las Marias

We arrived upriver in Las Marias and got settled in at Rutila's.




Las Marias' head guide came over to greet us and talk about what jungle tour we wanted to take. The head guide is elected by the members of the community and rotates every year or so.


Meeting the head guide was fascinating because he was incredibly effeminate--in a way that would suggest to most people that he was gay. The fact that he appeared gay and was elected to represent the community to foreign tourists raised a set of fascinating questions.

Was being gay just fine in this community? This seemed unlikely given the state of gay acceptance in Latin America; and given (I later found out) that the guide's father is the local Catholic priest.

Was being gay simply so out of question that no one would even conceive of it no matter how effeminate someone is?

Or, is being effeminate something that we have been culturally conditioned to associate with being gay in the U.S., but is actually totally unrelated--i.e. the strapping football player is just as likely to be gay as the effeminate hair dresser, but the hair dresser is just more likely to be open about it.

I didn't think it was my place to ask the head guide these questions. And, I'll spare y'all my philosophical musings at this point.

Jeff and I settled on the three day tour to Pico Dama, which requires the services of three guides. The next step was to stock up on provisions for our adventure. Our guides were to do all of the cooking, but we were responsible for bringing our own food. Here's the little store where we bought a ridiculous amount of rice, beans, flour, shortening (especially shortening) and snacks for just a few bucks:


I tried to tell the head guide that we would gladly have paid double for the food if the guides would have brought it for us, but he didn't seem to understand that they were missing an opportunity to make more money.

The next morning, we started with a brutally hot hike across the rather large village and then met our guides, Noe, Corbin, and Abelardo at our canoe, which we needed to take further up river. Here are our guides, with Jeffrey:


After these guys busted their butts pushing us up the shallow river in our canoe, we began a pretty tough hike uphill into the jungle towards our cabana. Here are some shots from that first day's hike:



Our head guide had us moving at a brisk pace, so after a pretty tough (and hot) walk, we made it to the cabana in just a few hours. I'm not an experienced hiker, but this was the toughest hike I'd ever done. Here's what our new home looked like:



This guy was hanging out right near our cabana:



We were all so exhausted that we ate dinner at about 4:30 and were in bed by around 6pm. The next day we'd set out on the coolest hike I've ever done.

To Pico Dama

We woke up early (not hard after going to bed at 6) and made some breakfast:


Then we got an early start on the way up to our destination. This ended up being a combination hike and mountain climb. We had to work our way up through thick forest at steep angles.











Here we are at the peak:








And, here's a view of the Rio Platano (the river we traveled up to reach Las Marias and Pico Dama):


Heading Back to the Modern World

The next morning we hiked back to the canoe, and got to Las Marias in time to make the trip back to Raista. We spent the night with Elma and then headed our early the next morning to get back towards Guatemala. Here's the sunrise we saw as we took a canoe out of Raista:


Instead of taking a plane, this time we hopped into one of the 4x4s that drive supplies (and people) into the various villages along the beach. Here we are on the back of the truck, driving down the beach:

They had rigged up a crazy raft system to get the trucks through some wet parts on the beach. They actually drove the trucks up onto the rafts and then pulled them across using ropes anchored on each side:



While I didn't see any jaguars, the trip was a fascinating experience both naturally and culturally. Our guides were cool guys and Noe was pretty talkative and engaged.

One of the most interesting experiences was trying to teach them a card game. I would have thought that these guys would play a lot of cards in their village since they don't have electricity to distract them in their downtime. But, they said they pretty much only play with tourists. It was pretty much impossible to teach them a relatively simple game. I think this is because the concept is so foreign to them and their education was so fundamentally different than ours.

Adam, a thoughtful Arizonian (in spite of being a Republican--only the second or third I'd met on my trip, and he was Jewish!) Jeff and I met in Las Marias (he's the guy on the truck with me above) suggested that perhaps the very concept of playing a game to occupy one's mind when you might otherwise be bored is not within their experience. So, they might not only have been thinking "how do I do this," but "why am I doing this silly thing."

Bottom line--the trip was well worth the difficult (but sometimes fun) travel it required. Also, I was even luckier than I realized. It turned out that a major hurricane was expected to hit Honduras while I was in the jungle. The folks in the coastal village thought we were screwed staying in the wooden cabana pictured above. Much of Honduras had been devastated by Hurricane Mitch in 1998. But, the storm touched down to the north and missed Honduras all together...and I emerged unscathed.

Leon, Nicaragua

After my ordeal trying to mail my purchases from Masaya, I gathered my strength and headed to Leon. I had wanted to see Lago Nicaragua and Islas Ometepa, but ultimately decided that I should keep heading north towards Honduras rather than double back south.

Leon was founded in 1524, but destroyed by an earthquake in 1610. It served as Nicaragua's capital from the time it was rebuilt until 1857 when Managua took over. Today it is a politically progressive town that houses the nation's first university, founded in 1912.

I arrived in Leon in early afternoon, put my bags down at Hostel Via Via and got some very helpful advice from the Belgian owner Bart about how to get to the Mosquito Coast in Honduras from Leon in two days.

Then, I headed out to explore the town. I headed first to the largest cathedral in Central America. Heading inside, I met Nubia and her aunt Nubia (yup, same name) and we explored the nooks of the cathedral together.




Here's a shot of the central square in front of the cathedral:


Then I checked out Ruben Dario´s old house, which now houses a museum before returning to the hostel to chill for a bit. Dario is credited with greatly simplifying written Spanish--making it clearer and more concise.





On the advice of a great Dutch couple who work at the hostel, Harry and Macha, for dinner I headed behind the cathedral for some great typical Nicaraguan street food. You can see pics of the food in the "la comida tipica" post on Costa Rica, Nicaragua, and Honduras.

After dinner I headed to a bar with live music. I didn't see nearly enough live music while I was traveling--one of my biggest regrets. This band was really fun and the whole place was having a good time.


At the bar I ran into Pilar, who was also staying at my hostel. Unfortunately, all of the bars closed pretty early, so here we are back at the hostel drinking with my little mp3 speaker set.


I only stayed in Leon for one night--well, really half a night because I left at about 3:30am. It was a whirlwind tour, but quite fun.

Granada, Nicaragua

I hopped on an early morning bus out of La Fortuna to cross into Nicaragua. Here's what the border looked like. Charming, huh?


I was thinking at some point that I'm always posting photos of the beautiful tourist attractions in the various Latin American countries I've visited; and have hence given an unintentionally skewed view of what life is like in these places. For every active volcano and sparkling beach there are probably 10 vistas like the one above--dirty, garbage-strewn places that remind one that this is a very poor part of the world.

The garbage is particularly noteworthy. For whatever reason, Latin Americans have no problem throwing everything and anything out of a bus window. At one point I was at a filthy bus-stop looking for a garbage. Two locals asked what I was looking for. When I replied "una basura," they laughed and pointed to the ground. "Aqui esta la basura" (here is the garbage). I certainly wasn't going to throw my half-eaten taco all over their country. The whole thing was kind of sad.


A Bit of History

Granada is Nicaragua's oldest Spanish city, founded in 1524. It became a rich trading port due to its easy access to the Caribbean Sea. But, the conservative city perpetually struggled with more liberal Leon for political control. This rivalry intensified after independence from Spain, and culminated in an strange event that would be humorous if it wasn't so tragic.

There was a crazy American guy called William Walker who was constantly trying to conquer Nicaragua. The Leonese actually contracted with him to subdue Granada. When he was eventually forced to flee, he torched the entire city leaving only a famous placard reading "Here was Granada."

Here are some shots of the central square:



I've included this last photo because it's a continuation in a series of pictures of phallic monuments I've posted over the trip. Some may recall that I've developed a theory--the more arrogant the country, the larger the phallic monument they display. The U.S., of course, takes the top slot with the Washington Monument. Argentina (known as especially "arrogante y orgulloso" to other Latin Americans) is not far behind with a large display in Buenos Aires. Well, here is Nicaragua's--appropriately modest for a nation its size.

My First Day
I arrived in Granada on Sunday, 8/12. I had come on a good day, as the annual festival del toros, featuring a running of the bulls through the streets of Granada and bull-riding at night was that day. Unfortunately, I was a bit too late to see the running. I got showered and changed and headed out to get some street food at about 5:30 pm.

After dining at a kiosk in the central square on vigarones, a local delicacy, I wandered around the square.


I heard a commotion coming from a large balcony overlooking the square. I inquired and was told this was a private residence having a private party, not a bar. There was music playing and a young crowd appeared to be having a good time. What the hell, I thought, and yelled up to the folks at the balcony, ¨Soy de Nueva York, puedo venir a tu fiesta?¨ (I'm from New York, can I come to your party?)

They invited me up and I soon discovered that the oldest person at the party was 20. Oh well, they were very friendly and introduced me all around.


After drinking some beers on the balcony a group of us headed out to the bull ring, which is used only once per year for this occasion. There we drank more beer and watched as locals rode and taunted bulls. It was nearly impossible to get a decent shot of the ring in the dark, but here's the best I could do:


And here's a shot of the revelry in the stands. Notice the charming hat on my new friend in the yellow:


The following day I headed out to Laguna Apoyo, a laguna formed inside an old volcano. It was a very pretty spot, but not a great day weather-wise.




Masaya

Here's an email I drafted to myself about the next day. I'll post in pictures where appropriate.

I had a classic Latin American day today, so I just had to write about it. It seems all my craziest adventures down here involve the mail.

I woke up early today determined to get my laundry done, go to the post office, and then head out of Granada to Lago Nicaragua to see the huge lake and its islands. I was on my last bit of clothes (no underwear today) and I´d been carrying around a bunch of heavy books I´d finished reading.

My first stop at about 8:30am was the laundromat. I was hoping to get my clothes back by around noon and hit the road because the last ferry to the islands leaves at 4pm and it´s a two hour bus ride and then a 30 minute cab ride away.

Well, turns out that isn´t possible because the city of Granada routinely has water outages during the day. The water had just gone out and wouldn´t be back on until 2pm. So, I could pick up my laundry at 7pm. So much for leaving today.

But, being a flexible and experienced traveler by now, I did some quick re-planning and turned a negative into a positive. I could hit the famed market in the town of Masaya, 30 minutes away, today instead of after the islands. Then, I could go to the post office this afternoon or tomorrow and send everything home at once--my books and my new acquisitions.

But, before I left, I wanted to find out for sure exactly when the post office closes--that way I could get back in time this afternoon if I moved quickly. So, I returned to my hostel, had some free breakfast, and asked the dude at the desk ¨donde esta el correo.¨ He told me, drew me a map, and I went looking.

Well, it wasn´t there. So, I stopped into a store. They didn´t know where it was, but they looked it up and pointed me straight down the same street about three blocks. On the way, I asked a third person, just for confirmation, and he told me something totally different. So, I asked a fourth, a woman who said she didn´t know. I was just through thinking ¨how can you not know where the post office is in your town¨ when I asked a fifth guy. He gave me a fourth location. When I protested that everyone had given me a different answer, he asked his friend for confirmation, who came up with a fifth response. So, I asked six people where the post office is in a relatively small city and I got six different answers. It turns out the woman who didn´t know was the only one who knew what she was talking about.

I decided it wasn´t worth trying to find it this morning and asked the two guys what time it closed. Four o´clock, they said. ¨Estan seguro,¨ I said (are you sure). Absolutely, came the reply. As I headed back to my hostel, I couldn´t help but laugh. I had spent half hour searching unsuccessfully for the POST OFFICE in a major city.

So, I headed out to Masaya. The trip was smooth, the bus came where the guy at the hostel said it would, and I ended up buying a shitload of stuff and getting back on the bus by about 1:30--in plenty of time to hit the post office this afternoon.

Here is the entrance to the market:

When I got back to my hostel overloaded with gifts for family and friends who´ve recently been married or had babies, I asked the dude to call the post office so I didn´t lug all that shit around the city aimlessly. He did and gave me a map of where to go (a decidedly different locale than he´d given me this morning).

So, I loaded up my backpacks with books and gifts and headed out. On the way, I stopped to make some CDs of photos so I could send them home as well.

I made it to the post office at about 3:40. It was not what I expected in one of a country´s largest cities. It was about the size of a college graduate´s NYC apartment. As soon as I walked in, I had a strong feeling they would not have a large box to pile my shit in as I´d hoped. Of course, they didn´t.

This, however, was the least of my problems. It turns out that Granada not only has routine water outages, but power outages as well. After about 2pm, there´s no power. Since the post office only has an electric scale, they are unable to weigh my yet-to-be-packaged package and therefore I can´t mail it today. I can´t mail it tomorrow either because it´s (of course) a holiday and ¨no hay trabajo.¨ So much for my well-laid plans to head out tomorrow.

Well, the only thing I could do was at least find a box to stuff all the shit into because I certainly wasn´t going to lug it around loose, and when I finally got my laundry back I´d need my big backpack for clothes.

It turned out that they are open until 5pm, not 4, so they let me leave my crap with them and directed me around the corner to buy a box and some tape.

When I returned, I started to tape up the boxes and began a conversation with two employees about my best course of action. Veronica took pity on my and agreed to come in tomorrow morning at 7am ¨solo por usted¨ (JUST FOR ME) to weigh my package and send it out, so I could leave town.

Wow. For all the efficiency we take for granted, can you imagine a U.S. postal worker opening up the office on a holiday so a foreigner can mail a package home to mom?

Here's Veronica:

It turns out there may be power at 5:30 this afternoon and if so I can come back then. So as I write, the story continues to unfold. It is already, however, a pretty good metaphor for life down here. Shit is whacky, but sometimes people´s kindness will amaze you.

UPDATE: The power was working by 5:30 and I was able to send my packages. The two packages I sent arrived about 2 weeks apart (making me extremely nervous about the second one) but ultimately I received everything--including a women's jacket that wasn't mine (must have opened and repackaged it all in customs.

La Comida Tipica de Costa Rica, Nicaragua, y Honduras

This is a very special installment of "La Comida Tipica" for three reasons. First, it's the last one.

Second, it combines three countries. I would like to say that there's a good reason for this, but really it's because I drafted all the remaining blog posts for the trip already and forgot to draft "comida tipica" entries for Nicaragua or Honduras. Because as far as I can tell Blogger doesn't allow you to insert an entry before the end (thanks Sergei and Larry), if I were to create them now they would be all out of order--and we just can't have that now can we.

Finally, it's special because I would like to dedicate this entry--and the whole series--to my good friends Adam and Susie who got engaged in Costa Rica while I was away. Adam and Susie are a fantastic couple and, as serious foodies, are the inspiration for this series. They're going to have a delicious life together.

Costa Rica

Here is a typical Costa Rican breakfast, called gallo pinto:

Some tacos for lunch:


Casado con bistec:


A typical variety plate:

This is a "soda" which is a typical Costa Rican fast food restaurant:

Nicaragua

This is the most typical food of Grenada, called vigoron. It's yucca with fried pork skins and slaw served on banana leaves.


And, here's a fried stuffed taco:


This is tamarind-flavored juice, modeled by Jaser and Guadelope:


And, this is the kiosk where I got the vigoron and juice:



Here's some real legit Nicaraguan street food. These two I got at the famous Masaya market. A pork taco-type thing with some chocolate drink in a bag:



This was an entire meal I got behind the big church in Grenada. It was dirt cheap and delicious, and they even had tables set up outside.


And desert:


Here are some typically Nicaraguan drinks. This is Flora de Cana, a rum-like drink made from sugar cane and drank with coke.



Here's one of the two popular Nicaraguan beers, Tona. The other is called Victoria and the joke is that every Nicaraguan guy has at least two girlfriends.



Honduras

My primary activity in Honduras was a trip to the Mosquito Coast to canoe into the jungle. For the first night, I stayed in a coastal Moskito village called Raista. The proprietor was named Elma and she served us the most delicious lobster in red sauce with rice and fresh bread:


As you can see, it came from Elma's Kitchen:


After Raista, we took a motorized canoe up the Rio Platino to another indiginous town called Las Marias. From Las Marias, we hired guides and hiked into the jungle.

We had to purchase all of our provisions before the trip, even though our guides were going to bring their own food and do all the cooking. The food was incredibly cheap and we tried to explain to the head guide that tourists like us would gladly pay double for the food if the guides just brought it themselves and took care of everything; but he didn't seem to get it. Anyway, here's where we bought our food:


And here's the breakfast our guides made for us in the jungle. Rice and beans are essential elements of every meal. They fry the uncooked rice in shortening before cooking it in water. We also added a packet of chicken soup mix for flavor. On the right is a pancake-like thing made of flour and lots of shortening (they love the stuff). It was a bit bland, but certainly weighty.



And, here's some fish I had in Las Marias:


And the family that hosted us in Las Marias and served our food:


Finally, here's the popular beer in Honduras. Like most Latin American beers, it was unremarkable.

La Fortuna

After a full day in Monteverde, I booked a combo trip the next day--a bus and boat ride to the city of La Fortuna; a hike and view of Volcan Arena (an active volcano); and a few hours at the local hot springs.

The Journey

Here are a couple of shots taken during the bus and boat ride:





Volcano

The town of La Fortuna is beautifully situated beneath the volcano. Here are some shots of Volcan Arena during the day and at night.

Hot Springs

After viewing the volcano at night we were dropped off at a beautiful resort featuring natural hot springs. The water varied from cold to scalding hot; and there were a few cool bars in the pools that served pina coladas out of pineapple skins. If you fall off your barstool here, no big deal...



A highlight of this day's adventure was meeting a great crew of women from the Peace Corps who were just starting their two years in Costa Rica.


Alexia and I are still in touch. I call her "mi mexicana linda pero republicana." She's actually from Texas, but she has Mexican heritage and speaks fluent Spanish. And, yes, she's a Republican AND in the Peace Corps. I'm working on that first part...


Here's our whole crew outside the resort: