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.