Costa Rica is renown for being a magnet for Americans, obviously meaning it's the last place that I would want to be hanging around for too long. It's also a complete rip off compared to the rest of Central America's countries, which I think proves Americans are the ones who set the Gringo standard, and just love to be ripped off. Despite this, San Jose, the capital, really struck me as quite an interesting place. Streets lined with all types of tranny prostitutes, a whole lot of really cool street art, and a subtle hint of violence looming in the air were just some of the eerie and peculiar things that can turn another boring city into exactly the opposite.

We arrived in San Jose only minutes before midnight, and stumbled into Tranquillo hostel, instantly drawn in by the relaxed and welcoming vibes. A few people from Byron were having a jam in the foyer, with the sound of the familiar but almost forgotten didgeridoo vibrating down the hallway and out into the silent streets. We straightaway felt at home.

Tranquillo Hostel

Another reason why Ness and I fell in love with this wayward city? More Ropa Americana's. In my opinion the only good thing that's ever come out of America, besides Johnny Depp. We spent a whole day frolicking around the somewhat contemporary streets of San Jose, in and out of every thrift store we could find. Every time we walked into a store our hearts would be thumping from desire - there was just too much good stuff to take in. Obviously, this was our version of the finest of heavens, and of course we did go a little overboard with our spendings, resulting in us both leaving a ridiculous pile of old but eternally loved clothes behind at the hostel for others to have a chance to enjoy.

Two days in San Jose proved to be enough, so we packed up our things and were bound again for the bright and beautiful Caribbean coast. Puerto Veijo was the desired destination, another gorgeous coastal town with the right kind of laid-back attitude. Our home for the next three days was Rocking J's, one of those hostels that really stands out from the rest. Covered head to toe in mosaic tiles, enlightening quotations, and more abstract art that you could poke a stick at, this place was hands down my favourite hostel to date.

One of the best things about Puerto Viejo are the miles and miles of beach stretching along the coast in both directions from the middle. Another plus, our hostel had a prime beachfront location. A 10 minute walk through down an ambient shady path lead us to the always picture perfect white sand beaches of the Caribbean. Five minutes at this pristine beach and we all knew how hard it was going to be to leave.


We spent the afternoon doing what all travellers learn to do so well... nothing. We laid on the green grass all afternoon smoking doobies, drinking rum, and having the best conversations about life and its mysterious ways. That's another thing that you often find yourself frequently doing whilst travelling, getting in depth with the best kind of thoughts about life, and reflecting on all it's glory. Unhappy days generally don't exist whilst you happen to be living the dream in paradise.


After a delicious taco dinner at the hostel restaurant, Ness and I set off into town to satisfy one of our many stoner traditions: eating snickers. At about 9pm and half way into town we were stopped by the owner of a Greek restaurant who seemed ready to do just about anything to get us to come into his restaurant for dinner. First he gave us samples of his delicious tapas food, and said we could eat as much as we wanted for half the price, only $6 each. We refused his kind offer, over and over again having to inform him we'd already eaten. ''Ok ok ok, what if I give you free alcohol, and you can both eat for $3 each.'' He obviously couldn't take a hint and we tried apologising again and walking away.

''OKAY,'' he shouted after us ''what if you both eat and drink here for free, and just leave my staff a tip.'' This was evidently an offer that full bellies aside, we obviously could not refuse. So we ate a scrumptious second dinner for the evening, whilst being entertained by a middle aged crazy American hippie who seemed to be on the run from something, who had countless card tricks and lame jokes for our amusement. We left what we thought was a rather generous tip of $2 for the waiter, and set off home. We were so ridiculously full on the walk back that we both ended up leaving a trail of spew behind us... Only to make room for more beer of course.

More updates to come!
xxxxx

Nicaragua

Granada

I left Utila alone, as Ness was already in Leon in Nicaragua so I was keen to catch up with her. I arrived in Granada a day before Ness and Eddie, and was totally exhausted from over 25hrs of travel, and a sleepover in a hostel that looked more like a psych ward in the dirty capital of Nicaragua.

Nicaragua was the first place that I stumbled across a Ropa Americana store - they are Latin America's version of op shops, and all the clothes are sent down from America as donations. Because there is not one trendy local getting around Nicaragua, all the amazing op shop finds must have been sitting there for years, and are just waiting to be snapped up. Such a gold mine for the best vintage finds, and it's all so ridiculously cheap!

Granada is a really gorgeous little city with a whole lot of charm. When Ness and Eddie finally arrived we did a bit of exploring, but decided we were definitely overdue for big catch ups, and an equally large night out on the town. One bottle of Rum down and Eddie was destined for bed, so Ness and I went out to take on Granada alone. We'd read in the lonely planet that there were some nice bars by a lake, so we tried to make a cab driver take us to there. The little Spanish we scraped together between us didn't do us too well at all. We would have been saying something along the lines of 'fiesta' and chucking in a few swimming motions. Even though Lago is Spanish for lake, Ness was throwing out some word starting with K, so the cab driver ended up taking us to this strange place called Kayak, which was completely dead bar.

Next to it however we heard some pumping music so decided to very drunkenly stumble into this hilarious bar full of locals. We pretty much didn't get off the dance floor the whole night, and made dancing partners with some 40-odd-year-olds, who teared up the dance floor with us til the early hours of the morning. The music at this place was probably the best part - it was the ultimate mix of 90's cringe songs mixed together by a terrible DJ who obviously didn't even pass grade two.

A local chick must have been off put by my enthralling dance moves, after thumping into me with her over sized booty a few times I was sure she was ready to smack my face in, so we decided it was time to leave. The cabbie taking us home took us down the most dingy unlit dirt road, and Ness and I both thought we were done for. We drunkenly and half jokingly screamed at him several times that 'We're gonna fuck you up motherfucker!!' In fits of laughter I told Ness to zip up her bag cause it was on, and we were totally ready to cause some damage to this creep. Luckily it was a false alarm and we made it home safely at sunrise, ready to nurse the following day some of the worst hangovers of the trip.

Next stop in Nicaragua was San Juan, which didn't really float our boat all too much. Nonetheless, we met up with the Aussie guys I'd met in Utila and together we explored what San Juan had to offer, and found the most amazing pool that overlooked the whole town, and had the best views of the ocean. We spent the afternoon there drinking beers in preparation for another one of those a little to large but always the best nights out on the town.


With the beaches being overly average and the locals almost creepy, we decided to head to the American filled land of Costa Rica. More on that later..
xxx

Utila

After hearing about Utila, the drinking island with a diving problem, I couldn't think of anything better than escaping solo for a few days to get my diving ticket in paradise. A 4am wake up and 2km walk with my oh-so heavy backpack, I was bound for Honduras. This was going to be my first taste of travelling alone, and I was excited to see what was to come.

My bus over the boarder was something I won't forget. The second class buses are always packed to the rafters, and on this trip I found myself with a 6-year-old Honduran beauty perched on my lap, next to her mum and little brother. Language barrier aside, I found myself in fits of laughter for the whole trip, simply overjoyed with the company of her adorable self. We eventually made what I consider a mighty trade: she gave me some of her marshmellows in exchange for one of my ipod earphones.

I don't think she'd ever seen an ipod before, and she instantly fell in love. Trying to think of what music she would enjoy the most, I obviously firstly chose Spice Girls, which was a big hit. I found myself travelling for the next 3 hours listening to an array of horrible yet hilarious 90's pop songs, the kind I myself even wondered why in god's name where they even on my ipod in the first place! I was sad to see the little beauty go, but on departure she gave me the most compelling hug and kiss, saying more than any language could ever interpret, and sending goosebumps down my spine.

I arrived on the coast of Honduras, and had to wait overnight before catching a ferry over to Utilia. I somehow found myself wound up with a half-tard 30-something IT German weirdo, who made claims to me that 'Alternative music has killed the live music scene,' even though the stupid dinosaur he couldn't name for me one alternative band, besides Nirvana, that he has listened to. I was so close to poisoning his soup with ratsak that night.

So after a somewhat large amount of travelling, I finally made it to Utila! I chose Alton's dive school for my week long diving adventure, simply for it's jetty. Rolling out of bed pretty much onto the boat was also a plus, but the jetty really topped it. Words can't quite describe this, pictures can speak these 1000 words for me:

Utila was nothing short of amazing. On arrival I instantly sunk into one of the hammocks, only to hear a familiar accent coming from behind me, belonging to four Aussie guys. Jarrod, Mitch, Ben and Troy, all from Sydney, were my company for the next week. There's something about Australian's that as a fellow Aussie you just can't not love. I'm pretty sure it comes down to having a laid back dry sense of humour, plus being able to give and take a joke without qualms. I laughed how stoked they were to hear things come out of my mouth that reminded them so much of home. Just little things, like 'No biggie,' 'Old mate' and 'Ohh have you got sand in your vagina.'

Diving is one of those things that you can't help but fall madly in love with. It's your ticket to explore the unknown world that lies beneath the ocean bed, full of creatures that live a life we could never fully understand or even try to imagine. The colours, the corals, the fish, everything about this contrary world never ceases to amaze me, and every dive I did I fell deeper and deeper in love with the oceans mysterious ways.

I enjoyed my week with these guys nearly as much as I enjoyed diving itself. From getting stoned and daring each other to 'eat a dog and shit a kitchen,' to doing flips of the end of the jetty, we partied pretty hard, and had a lot of laughs. One particular favourite day was out on the Keys A chef from Altons had organised this day for months. $25 dollars bought you unlimited food, alcohol, weed, and a shitload of fun on a beautiful little Caribbean island off Utilia. The staff had the day planned perfectly, with reggae music pumping and the sun blaring, we bathed in the pristine waters, eating the most delicious fish and pork whilst drinking ourselves to a new level of stupidity. We all agreed it was easily the best Sunday we've ever had.

The best Sunday ever.

After a fabulous week away in a little slice of Caribbean paradise, I was off to meet Ness and Eddie again in Nicaragua, for some more wonderful adventures. More on that later.

Adios x