Granada Granada Granada Granada, then Leon Leon Leon

We arrive at the lovely and welcoming Hostel Oasis, but the first order of business is a nap and then a healthy dose of relaxation/pool lounging.

The next day is Mike Bye's birthday and we feel refreshed so we set out to explore the busy city.  We marvel at the brightly painted pastel buildings and crumbling cathedrals.
We reach the main square and are surrounded by guys trying to sell tours, we politely decline and carry on to the Cathedral of Granada.  That's when we're approached by a suspiciously friendly local who starts fast talking us.  He wants to know who we are, where we're going, and if he can point us in any direction.  We thank him and explain that we're happy wandering the city on our own, we walk towards the church and he follows us  He natters on about how he was an alter boy at this particular church and constantly insists he's just a friendly guy who isn't looking for any type of payment.
He follows us up the bell tower, droning on the entire time.
At the top, he asks again where we're going and please can he show us?  Uneasy, we re-iterate that we wish to explore by ourselves.
"Okay, okay fine.  But before I go, can I have a few dollars for a beer?"
We're not at all surprised.  Mike grabs a handful of change and hands it to him... he asks for a bit more.  What a guy.
We go to leave the cathedral, slightly annoyed, and the security guard calls us over, "That guy, es no bueno."
So we've gathered. 

The next night we eagerly look forward to viewing the very active, magma filled Masaya Volcano.
We all pile into the minivan and drive and drive and drive until we make it to the entrance of the national park.  We wait in a long queue behind other vehicles while vendors offer us beer and other goodies.  We finally get into the park, but we're still in line.  The bus driver asks if anyone speaks Spanish and there is a Swiss girl onboard who speaks it quite well.  She translates for him: apparently there are only 60 people permitted on the volcano at any time so we will have to wait up to an hour.  There's nowhere to wait, no bathroom, and nothing to see or do.  We're all pretty crestfallen, but to our elation, the wait only ends up being 15 minutes.
We pull into the parking lot and all run towards the guard rail to witness the flowing magma waving in a slow hypnotic manner.  We snap a couple pictures and after what feels like a minute, we all get called back to our respective buses as it's time for the next group to come through.

When we return to the hostel, the power's out, so we cook our dinner on a propane stove in the dimness of our headlamps.

Our intention is to go to the Corn Islands the next day, but we waited too long to book our flights and as it's a small aircraft, we have to book a flight for a few days from now.  We have time to kill so we decide to check out Leon.

We take a microbus to Managua and then another to Leon.  When we arrive at the terminal it's an absolute shit show- buses arriving in every direction, drivers yelling destinations, vendors calling out their fares.  We climb out and get mobbed by cab drivers, one grabs at our bags, while another tries to usher us in a different direction, while yet another yells over all of them, "I speak English!  You must trust me!" Okay buddy...
I'm hot and sleepy and entirely overwhelmed.  We manage to break away, but they still follow us for a while.  We're sick of sitting in a cramped bus so we decide to walk the 20 minutes to our hostel, despite the protestations of the cabbies who insist it's impossible.

We check into Bigfoot Hostel and end up in a dorm with only one other girl and we have a huge loft area to ourselves.  Yas!
We hurry down to the Cathedral de Leon and the white sandstone structure is beyond stunning.  We meet a couple American Airlines employees who are also staying at our hostel and we all frolic on the cathedral rooftop, but become concerned when homemade fireworks start shooting in our general direction.

We return to the hostel and enjoy some fresh mojitos and play pool with some more Americans.
It's Saturday and the hostel bar is hosting a reggae night with live music.  I'm excited until I quickly realize apparently 'reggae' means nonstop Rihanna and Sean Paul and 'live' means a guy yelling 'Come on!' into the mic every so often.  It's a nice bar but it's too small to be a club, plus its awkward seeing all the gringos on one side of the room and all the locals on the other.  I opt to go to bed early since we have volcano boarding in the morning.

I rise nice and rested and start getting ready only to discover my running shoes are nowhere to be found.  I'm not sure if they fell out during our bus transfers or if someone jacked them (I keep having flash backs to all the people grabbing at my backpack) but whatever the reason, they're gone and now so are my hopes for volcano boarding.  To add insult to injury, ONE of my walking shoes is also missing, ONE!  There's no way they'll let me participate in flip flops, so Mike and I go on the hunt for an open store but it's Sunday at 8:30 am so our prospects are grim.
I tell my conundrum to the girl at the front desk and ask if they have any shoes in the lost and found that I can borrow.  They say no, but one of the girls, Marina, asks my shoe size and we're close in size, so she offers to run home and grab some for me.  She is an absolute angel and saves my day.  We all hop into the flatbread truck that is our shuttle. 
Our guides, Manny and Archie are both feeling worst for wear after last nights activities and so are the two Americans so they drink beers and smoke while we all dance to beats bumping from the massive subwoofer.

When we arrive at Cerro Negro we're told we can each pay $5 to have a local carry our boards to the top.  Mike and I actually didn't bring enough cash, plus we are used to carrying snowboards, so we don't think it's a huge deal.

The hike itself isn't bad, we stop often for breaks, but as we approach the final stretch across a steep narrow crossing the wind really picks up.  It's everything I can do not to get blown off the volcano every time the wind lifts my heavy wooden toboggan.  White knuckled, we baby-step it to the top.

I was so scared

Now for the equally terrifying part: boarding down the steep, rocky hillside.  Mike volunteers to go first, but I linger back.  When my turn comes, I'm really nervous about injuring myself, so I plant my feet and try to go as slowly as possible (and it's still too fast for my liking!) I clock in at measly 35 km/hr while the fastest in our group hits a staggering 85!  Nonetheless, I watch nasty spill after nasty spill and I am grateful for my snail speed.

Still so scared

Relieved to be alive and with adrenalin pumping, we slam our free beers in the tailgate to old school hip hop.

Happy to be alive

Back at the hostel they present us with free mojitos.  The truck is taking people to the beach for the day, but Mike and I are already burnt so we go back to our search for runners.  I find a cheap pair that look suitable for an 85 year old woman so I select a pair in hot pink.

We have another good night of pool and good company and leave in the morning for Managua.  We see Manny and say bye and ask him where we should stay, he recommends the Backpackers Inn, which is somewhat close to the bust stop.  Perfect!

Isla Ometepe - Scorpions and Tarantulas and Spiders (oh my)

Finally, it feels like time for us to move on so we plan for Ometepe Island and begin sorting out bus and ferry schedules.  Our buddy Alex decides to join and convinces Maelle to come as well.  Now that there are four of us we can easily share a cab to the docks in San Jorge.  There are two sailings for two different boats: 1:30 for the small boat or 2:30 for the ferry.  We're eager to get there so we opt for the earlier, smaller boat.  We watch it arrive across choppy Lake Nicaragua and it's practically sideways.  We pop a couple preemptive Gravols.  They load the tiny boat with people, building materials, whatever else they can cram on and I gratefully pass out.  We finally arrive and hop in a cab to Santa Cruz.  We don't know where to stay, but had heard Little Morgan's is a cool spot so we tell the driver to take us there.  On the way, a massive rooster nearly jumps in front of the truck and narrowly avoids getting hit.
"El pollo es loco!" laughs our driver, "Es suicida."
I laugh, a lot.

We arrive at the hostel and it's a massive property in the jungle overlooking the lake.  They have a pool table, tree house, and restaurant.  They tell us they have a private house available that the four of us can have to ourselves.
They start us a tab and it immediately becomes apparent that the bartenders are excellent sales people.
"Let's all shot gun a beer!" Shal yells after we check in.  He convinces all of us, plus a few other onlookers.  It's easy to forget that none of this shit is free.  On top of it all, they have a bunch of drinking rules including Buffalo Rule which means if you get caught drinking left handed, you have to slam your whole drink.
They talk me into signing up for unlimited rum punch and a pig roast dinner so I don't make it far into the evening and I can't remember who won the Superbowl.

View from the tree house at Little Morgan's

In the a.m. Mike and I rent a dirt bike and explore the island and eventually decide to hike up to the San Ramon waterfall.  The hike is way longer than we expect, plus we're hot and a little hungover, but when we finally reach the pristine pool of water, it's all worth it.  To top it off, we spot a family of Howler monkeys on the way down.

We rush off to get the tank filled before returning the bike at 5:00, but find ourselves stuck in a herd of cows casually meandering down the road, being followed by a 10 year old on a horse.  We make it back to the hostel a mere minute before the guy shows up for the bike.

In the morning we say a sad goodbye to Maelle and Alex who are headed to their respective homes.  Mike and I go to Ojo de Agua which is an incredible natural spring pool surrounded by lush gardens, but we don't stay long on account of the aftermath of the horrible breakfast we just ate at the restaurant on property.

Ojo de Agua

We catch a chicken bus back to Little Morgan's only to discover that there are three different people celebrating birthdays, including the Morgan.  A wild night ensues.
We chat with a Californian named Drew and mention we want to go to Granada in the morning and he decides he'll join.  The 7:30 am pick up time looms closer and closer and Drew starts to hesitate, "Maybe we should stay one more night..." he keeps saying.  Nah, we got this.  Hangovers be damned!

When our alarm goes off a mere few hours later we wonder aloud if Drew is going to ditch.  To our delight, we meet him as he's coming down the path.  We settle up (surprisingly our bar tabs aren't as bad as we expect) and wait for the cab which is already 20 minutes late.  When we finally hit the road we drive at an incredibly slow place towards the ferry, over an hour away.  We originally planned to eat breakfast before the boat, but now it looks like we might not even make the ferry.  Especially when our driver slows to stop and tells us the van is overheated.
No matter, he's called a buddy who has been trailing behind and we're ushered into the awaiting vehicle.  We make it just in time to buy our tickets and get on the boat (the bigger one this time, thankfully), but not before I discover a hitchhiker on my backpack in the form of a GIANT cricket.  We get to San Jorge and find a cheap cab to Rivas right off the boat.
Lucky for us, Drew is a strong Spanish speaker and asks the driver to bring us to a decent comodor that's still within walking distance of the bus depot so I'm able to indulge in my favourite Nica breakfast.

We saunter off to catch the bus to Granada but it seems there are no micro buses, only the infamous chicken buses.  All three of us are hot and hungover, plus Mike and Drew are really lementing the hot crowded chicken bus, so we pool our resources and spring for a cab, off to stunning Granada.

Travels in Nicaragua - Saucy San Juan Del Sur

On our way out in the morning, we stop to talk to the guy at the front desk who advises us to get off the bus at the main highway, flag down the bus to Liberia, transfer to the Puerto Blanco bus, walk across the boarder and then attempt to find two other people to share a cab straight to San Juan del Sur.  Simple enough.

At the station we're approached by a twosome.
"Excuse me, were you guys staying at Pension?" the girl asks in an accent I can't quite place.
Turns out they had the same conversation with the guy at the front desk mere minutes after we did and were told they should try to find us.
Shaz is Kiwi, Jose is Spanish and we join forces with a few other travellers: Michele, Kristy and Vlad and begin our bus journey to the boarder.

I'd heard that this particular boarder crossing could get chaotic, but things go fairly smoothly (other than having to present our passports to about 10 different people) that is UNTIL we get to the baggage scanners.
They begin questioning Jose about one of his bags and pull him aside to begin an intense discussion in Spanish.  It seems to be regarding his drone, namely, that he cannot bring it into the country.  The guy questioning him tells Jose he can have his drone if he directly pays the guy $75.  Jose begrudgingly agrees.  Then suddenly the story changes: $75 and the guy will bring the drone to his house and keep it safe there.  Riiiiight.  Eventually Jose talks to a (hopefully) more credible employee who has him fill out some paperwork and tells him they will hold his drone for pick-up within 20 days, effectively messing up his travel plans and leaving him less than optimistic about ever seeing his drone again. (Side note: he did eventually get it back.)
Nevertheless, he uses his Spanish soap-star charm and talks our cab driver down to $5 a person for an hour drive to San Juan Del Sur.

We arrive in the happening little surf town and after promising to meet up for a well needed beer, we head to our hostel and Shaz and Jose head off to check out theirs.

Upon entering Javier's House our faces literally drop.  It's dark and depressing, the only furniture in their 'common area' is literally rows and rows of uncomfortable wooden rocking chairs (why so many goddamn rocking chairs?)  The 'kitchen area' is small and looks inaccessible as it is currently being utilized as the check-in desk.  There are tons of rules posted everywhere and it is apparent that Javier's entire extended family is living in the hostel as well.

A man approaches us angrily asks us what we want in Spanish and I meekly say, "Tengo un reservation por Francesca..."
He screams for a girl (his daughter I guess) who emerges from another room, looks at us and lets out an audible disgruntled sigh.  We struggle in Spanish for several minutes to ask about the cancelation policy and finally she asks, "Would you prefer is I speak in English?"  That was an option this entire time?
She tells us we can pay on a daily basis but won't receive our deposit back from Hostel World.  She shows us to the room: it's small and dark with crowded bunks with thin, cartoon character adorned sheets... they look terribly uncomfortable.  We can't help but notice several mattresses cooking on the tin roof and when we examine our beds, a bed bug runs along the side of our mattress, hardly trying to hide itself.  The tiny bathroom is full of mould, the upstairs smoking area is full of more rocking chairs and I kid you not, we are the only two people staying there.  We don't even want to put our bags down on the ground.
At that moment, the sky clouded over and our moods plummeted to an all-time low.
"It's okay, we can still salvage this," we rationalize.  "Let's hit the streets and find somewhere else to stay."
We wander around aimlessly, but are having trouble differentiating between good and bad hostels, they all look the same.  We see a poster for Casa Oro, the hostel recommended to us by the amazing staff at Pension in Monteverde.
We enter the lobby and are greeted by a huge open lobby, a cafe, modern decor and a giant tree growing past the winding stairs and up into the rooftop balcony.  The price is virtually the same as Javier's.  We ask to see a room and they tell us to go ahead upstairs and check it out.
We peer into the first dorm (which is gorgeous with its canopy bunkbeds with colourful curtains for added privacy and a private balcony) and who do we see?  Shaz and Jose!
"Are you guys staying here?" we ask.  They tell us that the place they looked at was awful and we all laugh at our similar experiences.  There are two bunks left in the room, so we sprint down to reception and beg for them to be held for us and rush down the street practically giddy with glee.
We expect a bit of a fight when we gather up our things and tell the girl we want to leave.
"Okay," she says, unfazed and she cuts off our wrist bands.  I get the impression she's seen many people flee this establishment in a similar manner.  We drop our things and hurry off with Shaz and Jose for a much needed cerveza or two.

Yowza!

We're seaside, enjoying the sunset and enjoying the two for one margaritas when Shaz recognizes a girl from our hostel and insists she joins us.  Her name is Maelle and she's from Montreal.  We stroll the beach, stroll the streets, pick up some beers and head back to the hostel where we're abruptly told we can't drink them on the premises, we can't even store them on the property, so we go for a walk and try to figure out our next move.
People seem to be drinking openly in the streets so Maelle asks a local lady who tells us as long as we don't gather on street corners in big groups or drink in the parks, then it's fine.  Great news!  We drink a couple and hide the rest in our back packs and purses.
We get back to the room and meet our other roomies: a Canadian named Andrew and an American named Lauren.  They're drinking contraband beers and tell us as long as we're discreet it's not a big deal.  They're both participating in a bar crawl starting at the Canadian bar entitled: The Loose Moose (I couldn't make this up if I tried.)
At first we hesitate, but then realize that we
a) haven't partied yet on this trip
b) are with a cool crew
and c) have no where to be in the morning.
We have an unreal time and even run into Gary and Reed, the Albertans we met in Costa Rica.

I wake up with a splitting headache and manage to drag my ass out of bed before eventually heading downstairs to catch the shuttle to Playa Madura.
The shuttle is packed so the driver says five people have to go in another vehicle.  There are five of us so we happily volunteer and turn the SUV into a massive sing-along, much to the chagrin of our driver.
We stop and pick up even more Canadians, Kevin and Maddy, who are actually from Nanaimo!  Small world.  We all spend the day swimming, lounging and attempting to surf.

The next day it's Maelle's birthday so we figure we should do something special for the day.  We want to rent dirt bikes, but Mike and Jose are the only ones comfortable driving and there are five of us.  Neither of the girls is comfortable driving a scooter so I bite the bullet and volunteer to drive it while they double on the bikes.  I'm a bit nervous at first since I haven't been on a scooter since Bali, but I quickly get the hang of it and we speed off towards Playa Yankee.

All goes well until the flat paved road becomes loose gravel and rolling hills.  My scooter is definitely not equipped to handle these massive stones and steep hills and I slow down, fearful of falling, but wrongly assume we are almost at our destination.
I eventually take a spill and the scooter lands on top of me.  Maelle jumps off the back of Mike's bike and comes running to help.  In her rush to help me lift the scooter, she hits the accelerator and the wheel starts spinning in her direction before flying off out of control.  We surround her and see that she's hurt; what appears to be a massive burn blister is forming on her shin.
We head back to town to the pharmacy and pick up ointment and bandages to attend to her wound.  We all feel awful that she just got maimed on her birthday, but she just laughs and tells us, "It's nice!  I'll just drink lots of tequila tonight and it will kill all the germs."  What a trooper.

Birthday crew

Everyone wants to head back out, but all the beaches we want to visit involve crossing similarly sketchy roads.  Feeling a little sick and a lot shaky from my spill, I tell them to go on without me and I get to work trying to clean and fix my severely damaged rental scooter.  At the end of the day everyone gets back and the time has come to return our vehicles.  I am terrified of the huge bill I'll inevitably be slapped with once they see how fucked up my is.
I sheepishly roll in and they begin inspecting the bike, so I start making small talk and joking around in an attempt to distract them.  It's the end of the day and the guys are obviously eager to close shop, because they barely give it a once over before one guy turns to me, grins and says, "Looks perfect!"  Perfect?!  I grab my credit card and literally speed walk away, feeling as if I just got away with murder.

That night we hit the bar with a few other people to celebrate Maelle's birthday.  We're not sure where to go so a bunch of us are standing on the street, trying to formulate a plan when and older American man approaches us and insists we check out his friends bar.  He says it is the most happening spot in town at this time of night and that the bar crawls all end there.  We thank him for his advise and say we'll maybe check it out, but he refuses to leave unless we accompany.  Normally I appreciate tips, but this guy was insistent to the point of rudeness.  Reluctantly, we follow him for what feels like forever and he leads us into a bar with literally three other people in it, none of whom are dancing and a DJ who appears to be in her 60s (not discriminating, just trying to paint a picture.)
"Oh man!  I guess there's no bar crawl tonight, sorry guys."
We're all thoroughly annoyed so we do a couple shots of tequila, despite the fact this lying shyster just succeeded in getting us to spend money at his friends bar.

We decide we should check out Naked Tiger as it's meant to be SJDS's ultimate party hostel and bar, surely something's going on.
We all managed to cram into a cab and head all the way up there only to find out they're closing the bar early cause it's a quiet night.  Luckily we're told we can jump onto their shuttle and go party at PachaMama with them.  It's a fun atmosphere and we have a wicked night.

The next day we hear rumours that the surf shop down the street is having a massive sale, so Lindsay and I go to check it out.  They're giving out free rum punch and the bikinis are $5!  I desperately need a bathing suit and despite the fact these suits are clearly made for women with no breasts or curves, I manage to find a larger size that gives me some sort of coverage.
I run into Reed who tells me that they had their van broken into while parked outside the hostel and that all of Gary's clothing got stolen.  They're not letting it affect their plans and are headed to Ometepe in the next couple and invite us to join them.

The following day I have a bad cold, so we spend our last day in SJDS chilling at the beach and hiking up to the Christ of Mercy statue to glimpse the 360 views of the area.

Costa Rica

The day comes for us to say 'Adios' to Bocas and we board the water taxi back to Almirante.
We have a plan to cut our travel costs by skipping the commercial buses, taking a taxi to the boarder and simply walking across.
The second we're off the boat a kid approaches us and asks, "You going to the boarder?  Only $10."  We were prepared for more haggling so we happily agree.
The cab driver moves a couple metres, stops, gets out and tells us to wait five minutes.  We're a bit confused, even more so when another cab driver pulls up alongside us gesturing frantically at his watch and shrugging dramatically.  Apparently he is trying to poach us from our current driver.
We finally deduce that our driver is trying to cram in as many tourists as possible to make it worth his while, but he is unsuccessful in convincing anyone else, so we're off.

It's a bit of an anxious drive, especially when he begins taking random backroads and alleys.  He stops at the end of a dirt road and tells us we're at the boarder.  We're weary, but we get out and head towards the bridge.  Some locals begin yelling at us and pointing towards a large duty-free.  The immigration office is past it and down another small road tucked next to a restaurant.  The guy at the counter looks at Mike's passport, looks up at Mike and tells him in all sincerity that his hair looked better when it was long.  From there it's a series of lines and confusion and entry fees, but we make it across and ask one of the boarder guys where we can catch the public bus.
"Straight and to the right," he tells us.
We carry on, but nothing on the right even remotely resembles a bus stop so we continue straight.  We are entering a residential area so I muster up my lacklustre Spanish skills and ask a lady,
"Disculpe, donde esta la parada de autobus?"
She kind of smirks and tells us that it's back where we came from and to the left.
Mike thinks she's smirking at my shitty pronunciation, but I'm certain she's smirking because we've gone so far past the stop.

We head back, still slightly uncertain but at that moment we see our bus heading towards us and wave it down.  Our bus driver is a hoot, he's laughing and joking and although I have no idea what he's saying, I can tell he's a riot.  He accidentally almost passes a girl who is waiting, so he throws the bus in reverse and then purposely passes her a second time and third time before finally stopping and bursting into laughter.  Like I said, total riot.

We make it to Puerto Viejo and instantly fall in love with the chilled out Caribbean Rasta vibes and sparkling blue beaches.  We frolic in the turquoise surf and check out some of the funky shops before heading back to our hostel to relax.  Hostel Kalanui has the absolute CUTEST puppy and when he climbs onto my lap in the hammock and falls asleep, I die of happiness.

My life is complete...

We meet a couple guys from Edmonton, Reed and Gary, who both got laid off on the same day and have spent the last couple months travelling around in their van.

We desperately want to stay longer, but as there's a surf competition taking place over the weekend, our hostel is fully booked and so seem to be all the other ones in town.  Rather than spend our precious time going from hostel to hostel we make the most of the time we do have.  The only bus with available seats is at 1:00 pm, our awesome hostel host already told us we can chill on the property as long as we want so we grab a couple bikes and check out some of the other beaches along the coast.

Puerto Viejo

We meet a woman in her 60s who has nicer abs than I will ever even dream of having.  She's walking an old German Shepherd and she and the other American retirees are all chatting and laughing about the wild previous nights they've had before deciding on tonight's venue.  They are truly living la pura vida and I want to be stay forever and be one them.

We get back and my throat is sore so I go in search of a smoothie, but nothing seems to be open yet.  Right as I'm about to give up, I stumble upon the cutest little rooftop cafe called Como en mi Casa.  The Italians inside are cooking up a tasty storm and the lovely girl behind the counter makes me a tropical coconut smoothie.  I'm ecstatic.

Before long we're on another long bus ride.  At first it's tedious- the bus is smouldering hot and we crawl through busy industrial areas.  The couple sitting in front of us is extremely wasted and they alternate between arguing and crushing beers.

A couple hours before we arrive in San Jose, the scenery changes.  The couple passes out and the bus becomes peaceful.  We ascend into the jungle and are treated to views of lush greenery, sprawling canopies and flowing waterfalls.  We climb higher up in the mountains and witness moisture become clouds.
But before long we've arrived in the sprawling suburbia of San Jose.  The girl in front of us has awoken from her alcohol-induced coma and is losing her shit because she desperately needs to pee.  Our bus is stuck in traffic and it just happens to be right in front of her hotel.
"OH MY GOD! Can't he just let us get out here?" she screams at her boyfriend.  He tries to explain to her that they still need to collect their luggage from under the bus and it's probably wedged in the back behind everyone else's.  Besides, even if they could find it, it's not like the bus driver is going to leave the vehicle idling, jump out in the street in the middle of a traffic jam and start opening up compartments for them.  She fails to understand the issue and continues to yell out at anyone who will listen.  That's what you get for smashing a 6-pack on a bus with no toilet you dumb ass.

We unload from the bus and are surrounded by cabbies yelling, "Taxi?"  Most of them are aggressive, but one guy is polite and soft spoken.  I tell him our hostel name and incredibly, he doesn't try to convince me it's closed and coerce me to go to his friend's hostel instead (a common scam in big cities.)  His name is Gorge and I like him already.  Meanwhile, Mike is trying to grab our bags alongside the other frantic travellers, desperate to escape the hoards of pushy drivers.  One man in particular is right behind Mike, clutching at his backpack.  Mike turns around and yells at him to get lost.  The guy looks over at me, realizes I'm with Mike and starts screaming at Gorge, presumably claiming Mike already promised to go with him.  The three of us have no choice but to literally turn around and run away while the man yells after us.

It's 6:00 and traffic is crawling so Gorge warns us it'll be about a 20 minute drive.  The cabs in the city are metered so it's reassuring to know we'll be charged a fixed rate (although the final total makes me gag a bit, darn expensive Costa Rica!)  Gorge points out the museum and a couple cathedrals.  San Jose is way more visually appealing than I imagined it would be.

We get to Hostel Urbano and it looks, well, closed.  It's dark, the windows are barred, barbed wire covers every surface.  We start to ring the doorbell but someone lets us in on their way out.  We enter the lobby and no longer does it look abandoned.  Our mouths drop when we see chandeliers and a sprawling staircase, not to mention a pool table, posh garden area, fully furnished living room with cable TV and a massive, immaculate kitchen.  It's the nicest (and cheapest!) hostel I've ever stayed in.  We're impressed and really don't have the energy to sort out our bus to Monteverde, plus we're curious to check out the city so we quickly decide to book another night.

We're playing pool and enjoying ourselves until this older America guy with a big scar across his face, who is clearly inebriated, begins angrily yelling and cursing at no one in particular.  We hide in our room along with two American girls who are also uncomfortable, while the receptionist assures us he will be gone by tomorrow.  In the morning, he is gone (thankfully) and Mike and I enjoy a day exploring the city.

San Jose

The next morning we finally leave for Monteverde.  We walk out to the cab stand and I tell the driver in my best Spanish that we want to go to Terminale Atlantico Norte, as per all the bus schedules I read online.  He looks confused and asks us where we're headed and I tell him Monteverde.  He tells us the name of another bus station.  Confused, I repeat, Atlantico Norte.  He tells us to hop in and begins driving a back alley way only to take us to this other station.  Mike and I are nervous, we're running behind and if he's wrong we don't have time to make it to the other terminal, yet everything works out.  To this day I don't know if the schedules were wrong or if it had recently changed or if there were two separate buses, but whatever the reason,
THANK YOU MR. TAXI MAN! 
I'm sorry I ever doubted you.

After a brutal bus ride up and down and all around gravel roads, we arrive in a much cooler Monteverde and spend the day exploring.  Our hostel, Pension Santa Elena is amazing, beautiful big yard, awesome little cafe in the front with FREE local coffee for guests and all the staff are awesome and helpful.

The next morning we take the bus to the cloud forest and spend an amazing day amongst the breathtaking foliage.  We see tons of different birds, a coati and another little creature that I don't know the name of, but it looks like a big guinea pig.  Another highlight is the massive hummingbird feeders where thousands of colourful hummingbirds fight over nectar.

The next day we decide to treat ourselves to a pricier activity: zip-lining.
I must admit, the idea makes my hands slightly shake, especially when they tell us we're responsible for hand braking.  The first three lines are pretty short and not too high up so I begin to relax.  Then we come to the next line which is 100 some odd metres across a massive canyon.  Oh dear God.  

It ends up being a really fun day and at the end of the day we finally get to do the Superman swing where we fly face first down a massive line reaching speeds of 60 km/hr!  We enjoy it so much we hardly mind the specks of rain smashing against our faces like shards of glass.

In the evening we sit contemplative in our hostel.  Our plan was to go to La Fortuna to hike the volcano, but we have the undesirable choice between taking a 9 hour windy bus ride there and back again OR suck it up and pay $40 for a Jeep-Boat-Jeep option which would take us across the lake, rather than around it, effectively saving us a few hours.  With the weather forecast looking nasty and our strong desire to leave Costa Rica as soon as possible (it ain't cheap!) we scrap our plans entirely and decide instead to go straight to Nicaragua.
We start searching hostels in San Juan del Sur.  All the nice ones we find online are fully booked for the week, but we find a simpler spot with a lower rating called Javier's House.  The reviews are all similar [Vague things like: 'You get what you pay for' or 'Simple, but nice!'] so we book it for a couple days and plan to keep our eyes open for something better.

In the morning we'll be off to a new country with new excitement.

Panama

The humidity hits us like a wall as we step off the plane.
As much as we tried to mentally prepare for this moment, it's still a shock to the system.  Especially after sitting on the runway for 35 minutes with the air conditioning on full blast, or considering we flew from Toronto where they were experiencing FREEZING RAIN!
We wander through the airport in a semi-daze and are immediately approached by a man who asks, "Taxi?"
I tell him the name of the hostel and he replies, "Anywhere you want to go miss."  I can actually feel Mike rolling his eyes.
We agree on a price and follow him to his 'cab' - an unmarked white Escalade.  I watch the city skyline come closer into view as his subwoofer rattles in the trunk.

We arrive at Hostel Mamallena and just as my friend Sam warned, the exterior is pretty seedy.  It's compound-style property boasts a triple barbed wire fence and a buzz-in gate; the neighbourhood has seen better days but at least the property is secure...
At reception they give us our room key and tell us to relax and return for check-in when we're ready.  We are overheated, overtired and a little frazzled from 24 hours of straight travel so we pick up a few cervezas and some food from the market and take up residence in a courtyard hammock.
We try to stay up, but our flights were overnight and included a transfer and neither of us did little more than doze, so we don't make it past 8:00 pm.

View of Panama from the plane

In the night we frequently wake up - Mike to nightmares, me to nausea and both of us to the sounds of fireworks, but we manage to catch a few Z's in the early morning before starting our day.  We walk to Panama Viejo to see the historic buildings and then cab to the causeway.  Both of us are struggling in the 30+ degree weather so we stop for frequent breaks and call it an early afternoon.

Panama skyline

The next morning, we're eager to make the most of the day.  We get up early[ish] with intentions of visiting the infamous Panama Canal.  We know there's a bus we can catch from the main terminal, but the metro card we need can only be purchased at the main terminal so we decide to walk.  It looks pretty close on the map, we've got to eventually adjust to this heat and besides, the streets are doted with police presence.

Cut to half an hour later, Mike and I are walking through a sketchy area full of dilapidated buildings and loose pit bulls, where a mysterious dark coloured liquid flows from random rooftops.  We walk a bit farther and suddenly we seem to be at an army base.  Now we're walking alongside a highway and nothing resembles a bus terminal.  I begin to panic, but Mike remains cool and leads us to our destination.  We decide to quickly nip into the neighbouring mall to take advantage of the AC and so Mike can buy some proper shoes for his poor blistered feet.  As it turns out, Mike is a giant compared to most Panamanians, so finding size 11 shoes is harder than expected but we persevere.
Eventually we cross the street to the terminal and buy a metro card, but nowhere amongst the hustle and bustle do we see a schedule or route map, in fact, there is no signage at all.  Buses just seem to be arriving at random and stopping at will and all the locals clearly have it figured out.  We ask a guy who works there where we can catch the Miraflores bus and he simply turns and walks away.
"Do we... do we follow him?" we wonder aloud.  We do and he tells us to wait here at the end.  We see some other fair skinned Europeans who are also going to the canal, so we keep close to them.  Buses come and buses go, but none of them say 'Miraflores.'
Suddenly we hear a gruff voice call out, "Make sure you use lots of sunblock!" and before we know it, we're in the midst of a conversation with an Alabaman who tells us about his army stints around the world, this being his last until retirement.
"I live 120 miles from Panama City but I come down here to go to Costco and 'cause they got Burger King down here.  We got McDonalds where I'm at, but it just ain't the same.  Love me some Burger King!"
That's when I see it, about 3 stops down: Miraflores.  We politely excuse ourselves from Alabama, motion towards the Europeans and run for the bus.  While we wait to board, a very fashionable young Panamanian boy, grasps tightly to his mother's hand and gives Mike the stink eye.  He looks from the glowing white skinned legs, to the top of his head and back down to his feet; his mouth hangs agape and he cannot break his gaze.  This will not be the last time on our trip that someone stares at Mike.

We get to the canal visitor centre, there aren't any boats going through the locks yet so we check out the museum.  It's amazing that the same basic model they created back then is still being used today with some technological additions.
We watch the movie about this history of the canal and it makes me cry.  I didn't know that the US controlled the canal for so long or the amount of Panamanian students who died in protest.  Even when the 1977 Torrijos–Carter Treaties declared a handover, Panama did not actually gain control of the canal until nearly 2000!  It's so shameful, the negative presence America has had in nearly every country and it makes me cringe when I think that many people may associate me with the states and its actions.
I dry my eyes and we join the hordes of other tourists on the viewing decks and watch a couple huge cargo ships enter the locks where the water drops to allow them to descend from the man-made lake and into the sea.  It's incredible.

We return to our hostel and I'm hungry and lazy so I suggest we check out a nearby eatery.  We both get peposas, mine seafood and Mike's chorizo.  Mike tells our 8 year old waiter, "No mayonesa por favor."  So of course it comes out drenched in mayo.  I attempt to wipe it off and Mike tries a bite and his mouth immediately goes numb.  Mine is also covered in mayonnaise and also some sort of thick tomato sauce.  The bread is stale yet somehow mushy at the same time.  It's downright disgusting.  We pay our bill and pretend to take our food and then guiltily toss it when no ones looking.  Mike passes out in a Benadryl induced slumber while I spend another night battling insomnia.

In the morning we're eager to get out of the city and get to the station just in time to catch our luxury double decker to David.  We climb the stairs to the top and snatch the front row seats in order to better enjoy the view. We soon discover that the seat numbers are assigned as we get booted from our prime spots and banished to the back of the bus.  The seats are comfy and the AC is cranked and our butts barely leave the seats for over 8 hours.

We climb off the bus and consider trying to hoof it to our hostel, but David is busy and chaotic so we opt for a cheap cab, and it ends up being the right decision because our hostel is impossible to distinguish amongst the other homes in what is largely a residential area.  Hostel Bambu is a chill crowd comprised of many other Canadians.  We grab some groceries and cervezas and enjoy a lovely home cooked meal and a dip in the pool.

In the morning we're out early and off to Bocas Del Torro.  But first we stop to buy new cellphone chargers because we've both managed to lose ours already (d'oh!)  Luckily there is a cell shop next to the bus depot and despite not speaking English, the girl behind the counter is very helpful and we manage to communicate to her what we need.
We hop in the little taxi bus and we're off!  Through thick jungles and sparse landscapes, the drive is beautiful.  I become slightly fearful when our driver takes off at 90 km in a 50 zone, but at least he seems to know the roads well.  We arrive in Almirante and take a quick cab to the water taxis.  Upon arriving we are rushed towards a ticket booth and pressured to sign something while another guy grabs at our bags.  The whole scenario is reminiscent of a negative experience my mom and I had trying to catch the public boat to Lombok and makes me uneasy, but the ticket price is what we expected, although the guy who forcibly grabbed our bags refuses to return them and demands $1 tip
.
The boat ride is fast and rough but we arrive at Isla Colon unscathed  We wander down the main drag into the first hostel we see.  It's called Selina and it's definitely the place to be, with names of European DJs dotting the marquee.  We quickly discover that private rooms start at $80 a night and that they have zero availability.  We've been totally oblivious to the fact that it's a) the weekend; b) a major tourist destination; and c) a somewhat small island with fewer hostels.
We wander from hostel to hostel to no avail.  We end up at Calipso Hostel where a nice Italian girl tells us there are two dorm beds left and if we book for two nights its only $12.  We take it, drop our bags and stroll the town centre.

We rent bikes and bike out to Playa Punch for a quick dip.  We're already feeling the heat and getting hungry so we have a quick rinse and grab some groceries.  We meet a couple cool Europeans who are all solo travellers, but our hostel is otherwise occupied with a large group of standoff-ish Aussies so we do our own thing.  There's some kind of festival or celebration going on cause the streets are packed and men dressed as devils simulate sword fights.  We watch all of this go down (along with a slightly worrisome display of commercial grade fireworks being launched into the tree tops and power lines) from the safety of our hostel balcony.

The numerous bars serving up shots until 3 am obviously gets the best of some of our roomies because he staggers in and vomits profusely onto the floor (or so I'm told, I sleep through the entire thing... God bless ear plugs!)  Upon awaking, we quickly flee the puke covered room.
It's Sunday and nearly everything is closed.  We opt for a chill beach day, but while walking through the sand, we experience a strange sensation on our feet and toes.  It almost feels like a bunch of slivers, but the pain is sharper and it comes and goes.  The only thing we can come up with is there was some seaweed we trekked through that had little squiggly balls so maybe they sting to protect themselves?
[If anyone can shed any light on this, I would much appreciate it!]
But despite this unpleasantness we have an awesome swim and chill beach day.  Mike even eats some pork grilled roadside over a fire and grate.  I'm super impressed to see Mr. Foodsafe throw caution to the wind.

That night, my dreams are filled with huge bed bugs and when I wake up I'm itchy all over my legs.  I am obsessive about bug spray and wore pants the previous night so I know it's something more sinister than mosquitos.  Mike and I are covered with probably a hundred bed bug bites each.  Knowing what we know about bed bugs we know these bites likely occurred a couple nights ago, plus our current hostel diligently wraps their mattresses in plastic so we're pretty sure they're from Panama City.  To make the situation worse, we're sunburnt as Hell and we have to switch hostels.  We shake it off, store our bags and rent a little electric bike for the day.  The guy at the store doesn't speak English and what I gather with my pathetic Spanish skills is that he doesn't want us to go out to Bocas del Drago if we're doubling.  Why?  That I'm not sure... Maybe it'll hurt the suspension?  In any case, I assure him we won't.  We fly around town aimlessly and enjoying the sights.  We end up down a rural, thickly forested road.  Intrigued, we continue further and further until we notice a sign that says 'Bocas del Drago.'
Nervous, and aware of the fact we are in the middle of no where, I insist that we turn back to the safety of the town.  We finally understand why he didn't want us venturing out there: our battery is nearly dead, any further and we would've been stranded.  We go for a quick dip but quickly retreat to shore when a while jellyfish rubs up against Mike (white jellyfish are the nice ones right?  Right?!)  We stop for a bite and head to our new hostel.  The vibe there is way more chill: there's a grassy yard with trees and a bar, plus there's even a small pool that we gratefully splash around in before relaxing with the other hostel go-ers.  We meet some awesome Swedish girls, one of which is currently living in Vancouver, and a guy from Mexico.  After a few beers they convince us to come out to the Iguana Bar which happens to be right on the water so Mike can't resist the urge for a quick dip.  We call it a night since we have to be up early for a tour.

In the morning we're a bit fuzzy, but ready for our island tour.  We see dolphins and sloths and even visit the island that Survivor was filmed on (Zapatillas).

Zapatillas Island

By the time we get back we're wiped out and ready for a good nights sleep because in the morning, we are off to Costa Rica!