Travel in Central America: Begins with a bus and ends with a quad.

When traveling in Central America, one should always be prepared to embrace the culture of slow, because this is a place where you will ride a chicken bus (known as a chiva) with one arm holding on for dear life and the other holding someone’s crying child (literally). It is a place where bus drivers pull over to chat with friends, a place where taxi drivers chug beer while driving you back to your hostel, and a place where a six hour journey across la frontera easily becomes a two-day trek from coast to coast…to coast.  

No doubt, the US news is not covering the state of affairs here in Costa Rica, but in short, hurricane Thomas has wreaked havoc on the Central region of this country as mudslides hurled their way down to the Pan-American Highway last week. This road is the vein of Central America as it runs straight from Panama to Guatemala. When the rains came, they left 27 dead and thousands without homes or potable water. Disaster to say the least, and it is a minute detail that all travel into and out of the country from the West Coast was been halted indefinitely.

 (The bridge to Costa Rica)

The only other way to get into Costa Rica unfortunately is through the port city of Limon, on the Caribbean coast, which happens to be the cocaine capital of Central America. Hence, Aeriel and I quickly put our long eyelashes to work and assembled a team of male travelers who had done the border crossing before and could lead us safely into the country. Inadvertently we also picked up an Aussie couple along the way who both happened to by doctors, so the situation went from dangerous and unsettling to completely fine.

48 hours, 4 taxies, 3 busses, 1 ferry, and one dirt road SUV ride later, Aeriel and I are in paradise on the Nicoya peninsula of Costa Rica.  The country has certainly changed in the five years since I was here last; Century 21 has invaded with real estate signs selling off the last of the untouched land for foreign summer homes and prices have risen drastically for basically everything. However, the lure of Pura Vida, the concept that once enchanted me so much, I chose to write it permanently on my hip, is still here.  

Mal Pais, a small surf town on the Nicoya Peninsula, is no exception. We arrived by chance only after hitchhiking afore mentioned SUV ride through the back roads of Western Costa Rica straight to our very first beach side sunset (in the three weeks we’ve been here, we’ve yet to see a sunset due to daily monsoons).

It’s been just over a day and already we’ve settled into the town’s local tico community. The surf culture, aka: slow talking, fast drinking, anything goes kind of life style is certainly a drastic change from what we’ve experienced thus far in our travels, but the sunlight and free spirit are refreshing. Nothing is planned and each event flows freely into the next.

For instance:

I learned how to ride a motorcycle from hostel owner Ryanà Ryan introduces us to local surfer AdrianàAdrian takes us for 7 mile beach run and free surf lessons where we meet his brother Almon àAlmon takes me mountain quadding where we meet his friend Adià Adi owns a local bar and offers me a summer job. à I now have a summer job in paradise. Fabulous.

(Spontaneous drinking games in Mal Paise, 25 travelers, 8 countries, 1 table)

Be it bus, quad, train or chiva, transport in Central America is an adventure each time your foot leaves the ground, and each ride brings with it a new character. Who cares if it takes you 48 hours to complete a six hour journey. Down here, it seems the destination is ALWAYS worth the wait.