The day following our horseback riding and canopy adventure our plan was to head off to the beach. The hotel gave us a ride back to Liberia and they told us to wait at the corner for a bus. Fortunately we looked around and saw a sign that said bus stop, since Costa Rica actually seems to have assigned stops. In Honduras any where you can flag down the bus is a bus stop and any where you want to get off is okay. This is great since we can walk a block down our hill and wait at the corner near the mini-market and wave down the bus and then once we get to the capital we just ask to get off in front of our office. It delays the bus sometimes and prevents any sort of schedule on a great number of routes, but when we need the luxury to get off when we want and not be forced to take a taxi it is quite nice. Costa Rica is not like that. They have schedules, bus stops, and the driver takes your money as you get on. In some ways it makes more sense, but for all the people who have to get off at the stop in their town and then walk 8 blocks back to their house despite the fact the bus passes their street, that sucks.
While waiting at our luxury covered bus stop I noticed a guy with a bicycle with a cooler strapped to it. In Honduras this usually means the person is selling something, generally ice cream and I didn’t notice what he was yelling, so I assumed it was nothing I really wanted. A few minutes later we found another advantage to the Honduran bus system when the first bus passed. Costa Ricans don’t paint the destination of every bus on the front and instead display signs to inform people where the bus is going. This would seem to make little difference, but it seems the drivers don’t like to change them so most of the buses that passed said Liberia (the name of the town we were in) despite the fact they were obviously leaving Liberia. This means the idiot tourists have to shout at every driver to find out where they are going. Honduras wins point that for sure. Every bus has the 2 cities the bus runs between in the largest possible letters without blocking the drivers view. No shouting. After 2 buses passes the man with the cooler got harassed by some kids and opened his cooler to sell them: Coconuts. He had a machete and hacked off just enough of the top you could shove a straw through the white fruit and sip the cool milk out. Then when the milk is finished, you could give it back to him and he’d slice it in half and cut out the fruit. It was awesome, so I bought one. I don’t think most adults enjoy this as much as I did, since he gave me a funny look, but I really didn’t care.
Finally, we shouted at a driver and he shouted back “Playa Tamarindo” which is exactly where we going, so we got on. We were the only ones with luggage. For most of the journey we were one of few tourists on the bus, which is strange since the bus system there is clean, efficient and comfortable. The bus looked like a normal city bus from the states, not a used school bus. There were a few gringos on and off, which I’ve never seen outside of a luxury bus in Honduras, but not as many as I would expect.
The ride was nearly 2 hours, but Alice and Carmen saw a monkey through the window. I wasn’t sitting with them since the only other open seat was in the back of the bus, so later it inspired the following conversation:
Carmen: We saw a monkey
Alice: Yeah, it was cool
Drew: Really? That’s awesome. I’ve never seen wildlife from a bus in Honduras.
Carmen: That’s because the wildlife there isn’t as well protected.
Drew: They have a pretty decent national park system in Honduras, no worse than Costa Rica’s.
Carmen: That’s true, but how many buses go through national parks?
Drew: I guess none, but there should be some animals.
Carmen: You’re forgetting Honduran eating habits. Hondurans talk a lot about what wildlife there used to be in an area, and usually follow that up with, “but it was so delicious”.
Drew: I don’t know.
At first I thought Carmen was making things up, but since then I’ve confirmed with other Peace Corps volunteers that Hondurans will often tell them what animals used to be in the area, and in what manner they were eaten, though most only talk about the black iguana. So really I doubt Honduras was ever a paradise for monkeys and like animals, but Honduras really do love to eat what ever small critter they can find. One girl in our group went from omnivore to herbivore the day she saw her host family kill an armadillo in the water tank where she had previously gotten water to brush her teeth. After that she used bottled water and will refuse any meat offered to her.
Finding our hotel was harder than planned. The map was a few years old and only half the businesses still existed, so we were slightly off on our estimate on when to get off and we had to stay on the bus until it turned around and pay another dime per person to get back into the center of town. When we got off it still took us a minute to find it, but this should have been more obvious from the name of the hotel: Harry’s Escondite or in English: Hidden Harry’s. Harry’s place is hard to describe as is Harry himself. Harry is a balding man who still wears his hair long like a proper surfer, was born in Indonesia, but was a citizen of North America, and is now applying to be a Costa Rican resident. He obviously arrived on the beach long before most, since he still remembers the day of supermarket price gouging and when most food was local. He has four or five cabins and he always occupies one, though it rotates depending on customers’ requests. When we visited he also had 2 cabins rented out on a monthly basis. One to a Canadian fisherman who works 4 months a year (the fishing season) and the other 8 months seems to travel around. The other was rented to a British competitive sailor turned photographer and general entrepreneur. While we were there the British gentleman was voted to be the executive producer of a short film they planned on taking to film festivals. This is the kind of people he seems to attract all the time, so the place never seems like it would get dull. Our cabin had a queen bed and a sort of sofa bed. It was hard to describe since it didn’t look terribly comfortable for either purpose, but it was Carmen’s bed and she seemed to think it was perfectly comfortable and there were plenty of other places to sit, so I never really used it to be a better judge. It came fully equipped with a TV, DVD player, a small collection of DVDs, a stereo, gas stove, oven, dishes, basic condiments and a full sized fridge with a freezer. The water in Costa Rica is potable and the place had a two knob shower (see next paragraph for a rambling explanation of that phrase). He also had a washing machine and dryer we could use for free (we washed everything we brought and contemplated washing them again, just cause we could). Outside there was a gas grill we could use and a pool. Our Christmas was beginning to feel a lot more like a Fourth of July barbeque, but we were okay with that. Finally, Harry keeps a collection of surf boards and a couple of bikes guests can to use for free. While it is obvious he doesn’t maintain the grounds like a 5 start hotel, and he could care less about changing your sheets, the place feels like staying at a friend’s house in Costa Rica. The place is worth every penny as long as you take advantage of all the features, and we did.
There are three types of shower in Latin America (excluding bucket baths, which are also quite common), though you may not know it. The first is a cold water shower and has only one knob in the bathroom. A room with this sort of shower should never cost more than a few bucks a night. The second is another type of one knob shower where the showerhead has an electric heating element in it that, depending on the water pressure and voltage either makes the water scalding or a little warm or doesn’t really do much. The third is the standard in America and has two knobs one being attached to a hot water heater. There is a fourth type in Europe, and probably additional types all over the world, but in Latin America 2 knobs mean ultimate luxury.
That night we went down to the beach for the sunset and ended up staying for dinner. On the way back to the hotel we picked up some groceries including Italian sausage and bratwurst, both things we hadn’t eaten for over a year. The next day was Christmas Eve. Breakfast was eggs and Italian sausage and lunch was a bratwurst barbeque. In between lunch and dinner we went down and bummed around the beach. Sadly, the waves are usually large and crashing, making for some fantastic surfing, but the waves just weren’t there, so we bummed around the beach and played in the sand. Okay, I played in the sand, the girls worked on their tans. That afternoon we tried to work out our return to Honduras and found out it was going to be a two-day trip. Fortunately we had planned for the possibility of that, but it cut out 8 hours at the beach. Then we shopped around and discovered Costa Rica is expensive. We ended up buying very little, since 90% of the products could be found in Honduras and at much cheaper prices and the other 10% was obscenely expensive. That night we considered three different dinner plans before deciding on fish soup. Fish soup from a shack on the beach is always great and this was no exception.
For Christmas breakfast I made Alice her favorite, biscuits and gravy. That was the only part of Christmas that felt like Christmas. There weren’t even Christmas movies on TV. I suppose in some ways it made passing Christmas without any family easier, but really it felt like Christmas was cancelled, and we had a Fourth of July redo.
We walked down to the beach and stopped to look at a few more shops hoping we could get some presents for people. We didn’t really find anything, but we eventually walked down to the beach. We got to the beach and I saw a few people surfing. The waves still weren’t breaking very well, but there was about 20 meters where a person could stand up and I wanted to be one of the ridiculous if only to say I surfed on Christmas. I turned around and went to get one of the boards at the hotel and the girls found themselves some fruity drinks. Walking with a long board in the wind sucks, but I made it just fine. How did surfing go? Well, let me show you the pictures, as I can describe it, but it will never be as awesome as the visual.
While waiting at our luxury covered bus stop I noticed a guy with a bicycle with a cooler strapped to it. In Honduras this usually means the person is selling something, generally ice cream and I didn’t notice what he was yelling, so I assumed it was nothing I really wanted. A few minutes later we found another advantage to the Honduran bus system when the first bus passed. Costa Ricans don’t paint the destination of every bus on the front and instead display signs to inform people where the bus is going. This would seem to make little difference, but it seems the drivers don’t like to change them so most of the buses that passed said Liberia (the name of the town we were in) despite the fact they were obviously leaving Liberia. This means the idiot tourists have to shout at every driver to find out where they are going. Honduras wins point that for sure. Every bus has the 2 cities the bus runs between in the largest possible letters without blocking the drivers view. No shouting. After 2 buses passes the man with the cooler got harassed by some kids and opened his cooler to sell them: Coconuts. He had a machete and hacked off just enough of the top you could shove a straw through the white fruit and sip the cool milk out. Then when the milk is finished, you could give it back to him and he’d slice it in half and cut out the fruit. It was awesome, so I bought one. I don’t think most adults enjoy this as much as I did, since he gave me a funny look, but I really didn’t care.
Finally, we shouted at a driver and he shouted back “Playa Tamarindo” which is exactly where we going, so we got on. We were the only ones with luggage. For most of the journey we were one of few tourists on the bus, which is strange since the bus system there is clean, efficient and comfortable. The bus looked like a normal city bus from the states, not a used school bus. There were a few gringos on and off, which I’ve never seen outside of a luxury bus in Honduras, but not as many as I would expect.
The ride was nearly 2 hours, but Alice and Carmen saw a monkey through the window. I wasn’t sitting with them since the only other open seat was in the back of the bus, so later it inspired the following conversation:
Carmen: We saw a monkey
Alice: Yeah, it was cool
Drew: Really? That’s awesome. I’ve never seen wildlife from a bus in Honduras.
Carmen: That’s because the wildlife there isn’t as well protected.
Drew: They have a pretty decent national park system in Honduras, no worse than Costa Rica’s.
Carmen: That’s true, but how many buses go through national parks?
Drew: I guess none, but there should be some animals.
Carmen: You’re forgetting Honduran eating habits. Hondurans talk a lot about what wildlife there used to be in an area, and usually follow that up with, “but it was so delicious”.
Drew: I don’t know.
At first I thought Carmen was making things up, but since then I’ve confirmed with other Peace Corps volunteers that Hondurans will often tell them what animals used to be in the area, and in what manner they were eaten, though most only talk about the black iguana. So really I doubt Honduras was ever a paradise for monkeys and like animals, but Honduras really do love to eat what ever small critter they can find. One girl in our group went from omnivore to herbivore the day she saw her host family kill an armadillo in the water tank where she had previously gotten water to brush her teeth. After that she used bottled water and will refuse any meat offered to her.
Finding our hotel was harder than planned. The map was a few years old and only half the businesses still existed, so we were slightly off on our estimate on when to get off and we had to stay on the bus until it turned around and pay another dime per person to get back into the center of town. When we got off it still took us a minute to find it, but this should have been more obvious from the name of the hotel: Harry’s Escondite or in English: Hidden Harry’s. Harry’s place is hard to describe as is Harry himself. Harry is a balding man who still wears his hair long like a proper surfer, was born in Indonesia, but was a citizen of North America, and is now applying to be a Costa Rican resident. He obviously arrived on the beach long before most, since he still remembers the day of supermarket price gouging and when most food was local. He has four or five cabins and he always occupies one, though it rotates depending on customers’ requests. When we visited he also had 2 cabins rented out on a monthly basis. One to a Canadian fisherman who works 4 months a year (the fishing season) and the other 8 months seems to travel around. The other was rented to a British competitive sailor turned photographer and general entrepreneur. While we were there the British gentleman was voted to be the executive producer of a short film they planned on taking to film festivals. This is the kind of people he seems to attract all the time, so the place never seems like it would get dull. Our cabin had a queen bed and a sort of sofa bed. It was hard to describe since it didn’t look terribly comfortable for either purpose, but it was Carmen’s bed and she seemed to think it was perfectly comfortable and there were plenty of other places to sit, so I never really used it to be a better judge. It came fully equipped with a TV, DVD player, a small collection of DVDs, a stereo, gas stove, oven, dishes, basic condiments and a full sized fridge with a freezer. The water in Costa Rica is potable and the place had a two knob shower (see next paragraph for a rambling explanation of that phrase). He also had a washing machine and dryer we could use for free (we washed everything we brought and contemplated washing them again, just cause we could). Outside there was a gas grill we could use and a pool. Our Christmas was beginning to feel a lot more like a Fourth of July barbeque, but we were okay with that. Finally, Harry keeps a collection of surf boards and a couple of bikes guests can to use for free. While it is obvious he doesn’t maintain the grounds like a 5 start hotel, and he could care less about changing your sheets, the place feels like staying at a friend’s house in Costa Rica. The place is worth every penny as long as you take advantage of all the features, and we did.
There are three types of shower in Latin America (excluding bucket baths, which are also quite common), though you may not know it. The first is a cold water shower and has only one knob in the bathroom. A room with this sort of shower should never cost more than a few bucks a night. The second is another type of one knob shower where the showerhead has an electric heating element in it that, depending on the water pressure and voltage either makes the water scalding or a little warm or doesn’t really do much. The third is the standard in America and has two knobs one being attached to a hot water heater. There is a fourth type in Europe, and probably additional types all over the world, but in Latin America 2 knobs mean ultimate luxury.
That night we went down to the beach for the sunset and ended up staying for dinner. On the way back to the hotel we picked up some groceries including Italian sausage and bratwurst, both things we hadn’t eaten for over a year. The next day was Christmas Eve. Breakfast was eggs and Italian sausage and lunch was a bratwurst barbeque. In between lunch and dinner we went down and bummed around the beach. Sadly, the waves are usually large and crashing, making for some fantastic surfing, but the waves just weren’t there, so we bummed around the beach and played in the sand. Okay, I played in the sand, the girls worked on their tans. That afternoon we tried to work out our return to Honduras and found out it was going to be a two-day trip. Fortunately we had planned for the possibility of that, but it cut out 8 hours at the beach. Then we shopped around and discovered Costa Rica is expensive. We ended up buying very little, since 90% of the products could be found in Honduras and at much cheaper prices and the other 10% was obscenely expensive. That night we considered three different dinner plans before deciding on fish soup. Fish soup from a shack on the beach is always great and this was no exception.
For Christmas breakfast I made Alice her favorite, biscuits and gravy. That was the only part of Christmas that felt like Christmas. There weren’t even Christmas movies on TV. I suppose in some ways it made passing Christmas without any family easier, but really it felt like Christmas was cancelled, and we had a Fourth of July redo.
We walked down to the beach and stopped to look at a few more shops hoping we could get some presents for people. We didn’t really find anything, but we eventually walked down to the beach. We got to the beach and I saw a few people surfing. The waves still weren’t breaking very well, but there was about 20 meters where a person could stand up and I wanted to be one of the ridiculous if only to say I surfed on Christmas. I turned around and went to get one of the boards at the hotel and the girls found themselves some fruity drinks. Walking with a long board in the wind sucks, but I made it just fine. How did surfing go? Well, let me show you the pictures, as I can describe it, but it will never be as awesome as the visual.
So, here I am on surfboard in the ocean. I’ve surfed once before and loved it. Carmen just had a 30 minute turn and told me to take as long as I want. I start off away from the crowd, but no waves are coming. I can see a few people on my left having some luck.
I was slightly nervous about the crowd, but I decide to go that way anyways. Now I am closer to the middle of a pack of about 15. I decided to take some time before I start so I sit on my board and watch the surf students. Basically, the lay on the board and instead of paddling the instructor pushes them right before the wave and shouts “pop up”. Now I have a slightly good idea about what I should be doing and it’s simple: paddle, then pop.
Finally, the right wave comes at the right time, I paddle, but I don’t quite pop. This is not a huge surprise, since I don’t do a lot of popping in my everyday life, but I at least get my knee under me. I stand up the rest of the way for about 2 seconds, which is about how long I stood up the entire first time I went surfing. I am ecstatic. Notice the guy on my right in the picture pops correctly, so he is already fully standing. I looked like that half a second later. Sadly, the camera takes a couple seconds before another shot can be taken, and Alice doesn’t get another chance. I’ve already wiped out, and this is the next picture.
You’ll notice that everyone has wiped out at this point. And the people on both sides of me are looking at me. Was I that awesome? Well, no, and lets face it, we already knew that, but in case you can’t see it in that last picture, lets zoom in!
I think they were looking at me because I shrieked like a little girl when the guy next to and slightly behind me fell of backwards and sent his board into the side of my head like a missile. Thanks to the time it takes the camera Alice caught the timing perfect. The board literally bounced backwards off my head following the impact, so she got the perfect evidence. Thanks for the reload time, camera. Instead of the awesome picture of me standing up, the world is forever left with me getting nailed in the head. The impact hit my ear so hard it opened up a little cut that bled for nearly 5 hours and there is still a scar. Don’t get me wrong; this didn’t discourage me from spending another 2 hours surfing (though I was dazed for the first 30 minutes or so), but it made me very aware of the people around me all the time. Lesson learned.
After the surfing we went to a local sushi restaurant and had a great lunch. Afterwards, Carmen took the board and got some more time in on the ocean before what little waves there were stopped completely. When we left the beach Alice, Carmen and I agreed it was a great day, but not even vaguely Christmas. I took the short way since I was carrying the board, and Carmen and Alice stopped by a restaurant we’d been referred to for a great dinner. The reservation was for 8 that night since it was a nice place and most people thought to make their reservation the day before. The girls got themselves made up and I watched some TV. Then we ran by a chic little joint for a cocktail before we went to our reservation. The food was great, but Alice’s fish was more memorable than my I don’t remember. Following dinner, the plan was to go out dancing, but not one of us had the energy. Instead we headed back to Harry’s to pay the tab and prepare for the following day’s journey. We had to get to Managua the next day and judging from how long the line at the border was when we left we wanted to be sure to get there early. The only 2 early buses out of Tamarindo left at 6:00 and 9:00. To be safe we agreed to go at 6:00. That night we ran into what I will call my reason to hate paypal, but thanks to my parents we got it taken care of. I will never use paypal if there is another option. Sorry for the 1am wake up Mom and Dad, but thanks. It won’t happen again.
Five am is a terrible time of the day. If you are up that late, it may have some redeeming value, but in the morning it is something I can live with, but will never like. We got on a bus to Liberia without problem, and onto another to the border. Costa Rica’s border with Nicaragua is the craziest of all the borders I’ve ever crossed. El Salvador-Honduras was the easiest, but I was only going for a swim and ended up in El Salvador, I swam back without a problem also. Costa Rica has so many perpetual tourists that cross the border and the return the next day they make everyone get an exit stamp. So, I had to exit Costa Rica, get inspected, and then be admitted to Nicaragua. The fence makes it feel like I was escaping from jail; since the entrance to Nicaragua was a place someone cut a chain link fence and bent it open.
We had no reason to get up so early after all. The day after Christmas is not a big tourism day. We got a bus to Managua by 11:00 and were in Managua before 2. We hadn’t eaten lunch yet, so after we found a disgusting but only $6-a-night hotel we asked for and received directions to a local mall. It was walking distance, but I would never walk it again. The street, the people, the buildings all made me uncomfortable. We were forced to walk in front of a group of 12 guys who all thought they needed to yell at Carmen and Alice. Usually I make a face or say something, but I didn’t want push my luck. They let us pass with only a verbal assault on my good taste. Inside the mall was like the inside of every mall in the world, so we could relax in comparison to the walk over. We grabbed some fast food and then went to a movie.
After the movie I had one of the most memorable experiences of my life, though I doubt even after I tell you the story you’ll understand why. We decided to have dinner at the food court, since our trip to the internet café didn’t uncover and American style restaurants in the city. (Like TGI Fridays, Chili’s, or Applebee’s, that sort of thing is a traveler’s heaven. The food is exactly what you expect every time and the service is American style, which is exactly what a gringo wants sometimes, and they always have the best drinks available and sometimes a happy hour.) Anyways, food court food sounded like the next best thing, but none of it looked appealing. We walked around 4 times until we decided we would eat at the Middle Eastern place. As soon as we walked in the place seemed different than anywhere I’ve ever been. The painting on the wall was an obviously a Middle Eastern teacher smoking from a hookah with a student looking on in admiration. The walls were dark, and a fruity smell mixed with the smalls of shish-kabobs from the kitchen. They had a special edition of the best Nicaraguan brew, so we ordered a round and a couple plates. While we waited on our food I noticed the light fixtures were little LED lights shining onto colored glass balls being held in the fixture by an inverted tripod. The bar winded through the tiny space and was made of real wood. Everything matched. It all looked like an oasis of Middle Eastern culture. Well, everything except the music. They had on some disco mix and looking around I discovered it was all coming from the TV which was showing the videos. Everything from the Village People to the Bee Gees to early Blondie played. Strangely, even that seemed to fit in. The restaurant’s bar and 3 tables we’re packed and there were people just standing, singing along to American music from the 60’s and having a drink. The whole thing was surreal. The owners were Iraqi and seemed completely indifferent to Americans, which was also great. Too many times I’ve heard the horror stories of the extreme hate, or the extreme awkwardness of the love. After a while we noticed the scent changed and finally we discovered the source or the smell. A couple of young Nicaraguans had ordered a hookah. Carmen and I asked for one and we enjoyed the smooth charcoal smoke filtered through the sweet lemon tobacco for an hour before we went to leave. Outside the restaurant we were immediately reminded we were in Latin America by a howling teenage girl singing Mall karaoke in the food court. We left as fast as possible and took a cab instead of braving the trip back on foot.
From there, the vacation was basically over. We got up really early again and caught the bus back to Tegus. Carmen got lucky and the bus crossed the border in the South of Honduras and she got to get off in Choluteca, which is about 20 minutes from where she lives. We got home 2 hours later.
You may have noticed many things have been compared to Honduras. I guess this is a product of living in Honduras for so long. Often Americans compare things to the US and I feel like they aren’t really comparing apples to apples. While Honduras as a reference point makes for a good comparison in Central America, the fact none of us could escape comparing everything really wore me down after a while. The question was never: is this food good, but instead: is this food better than Honduran food. I never did that to Honduras and that was probably for the best. At the end of the whole vacation I decided I would try to give every country a fair chance from then on, so I don’t miss things. In the end my vacation had a moral. Ugh.
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