The Next Travel Generation
Alright Nicole, its time for you to get your feet wet. Its time for you to cross the border from Costa Rica to Nicraguaga, from your easy, protected travel, into the amazing, challeneing, solo world travling experience. Time for you to learn the very first and very needed skill – Taxi Mafia negotiation.
At every border, airport, and train station they will be there, waiting. They are the fastest and sometimes only, transport option for you, and its time to make aquaitenance with their sly ways.
Read MoreMe, 30 Years Ago
Hi little ones! Whatcha up to in Hostel Central? Is that geometry and creative writing? Are you doing schoolwork here? Does that mean you’re on the road with your parents? Are you traveling Central America for a year instead of sitting in class? Might you be me thirty years ago? Might this be an education of a lifetime.
Yes, Elijah, Chloe, and Jodi, you are having a life changing experience and you don’t even know it. I sure didn’t at your age. I was too young to realize that one day in Granada is equal to three days in Washington, DC. Maybe Pina and Andy know what they are giving you. Maybe they know how it will give your life priceless stories, dreams, confidence. Maybe you’ll be me one day, addicted to travel above all else.
Read MoreGood Morning Granada
Why do I travel now? I have seen so much, been so many places, that now where ever I go is compared to where ever I’ve been. This morning it’s Granada vs. Macau. Both are old and grand Iberian-influenced towns seemingly forgotten in the sands of time, left to mosey from 18th Century greatness to present day quaintness.
Read MoreSan Jan del Snooze
Remember how I said beach towns are the same world wide? I was wrong. There are beach towns and then there are wanna-be beach towns. San Juan del Sul is in the latter category. Nestled in a tiny bay between two cliffs, it would seem at first glance to be a great beach town, except for one small problem: the beach.
Read MoreTamarindo or Tamagringo
I knew this bus ride awaited me, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I even have a seat, but I am not happier. I really shouldn’t complain, because this is the deluxe bus, but I must, mainly at the driver.
Not only does he stop for every single person sanding beside the road, he also stops for any bump higher than a dime. On washboard dirt roads with occasional patches of pavement, this means a maximum average speed of 20 kilometers an hour. A snail’s pace I could beat in a broken wheelchair.