Black sand, Brown rum

Kate and Katie's Excellent Adventure came to an end just in time to meet Cami at the airport.

Cami is one of the volunteachers who I met in Chile.  Coincidentally, while I was in Guatemala, Cami and her family planned to volunteer in Guatemala City with an organization called ProjectWalk.  With our stars aligned, Cami and I enjoyed a short reunion before she prepared for a challenging two weeks in Guatemala City.  We had one mission: Get Cami to the beach!   

Monterrico is the closest beach to Antigua, but it is not quite like the beaches in Costa Rica or Panama. The black sand from the volcanoes makes the beach unbearably hot during the day.  So hot, in fact, that you cannot walk on it comfortably until dusk.  

Monterrico's intense sunlight and body-crushing waves kept us off the beach almost the entire weekend.  Aside from a few evening strolls down the coast, we stuck to the hostel's hammocks and swimming pools, the latter of which were more like warm baths by noon.

 With no where to go to cool off, we sought shade in the cafe at Johnny's Place, an infamous Guatemalan hostel.  When we walked in, Cami and I were greeted by excitable Guatemalans who insisted on buying us welcome shots of Guatemala's best rum, Ron Zacapa.  The generosity didn't stop there, our new amigos insisted on buying rounds of sangria, cuba libres, and even dinner.  

We soon learned why the Guatemalans were eating and drinking so excessively (if not just for the fun of it).  It is impossible to sleep through a night in the Monterrico heat without a few shots of rum.  We learned this one night too late.  

On our first night in Monterrico, neither jungle-strength bug repellent nor cold showers helped us sleep. Instead, we laid awake cursing the humidity and hungry mosquitoes throughout the night.  By Saturday night, we got the memo, and by Sunday, we were ready to get the hell off the coast and back to the airy mountains.

Before we left though, Cami and I explored the Monterrico nightlife.  With four options for dinner in the one-road town,  we stopped at the first cafe with a friendly face.  No menu to be seen, an older Guatemalan woman greeted us at the door then cooked up the plato del dia before we could change our minds. 

Served with heads, scales, tales and a huge citranella candle, Cami and I forgot about the heat long enough to enjoy a wonderful meal. 

On our way back to the hostel, we heard an acoustic guitar and cheerful singing coming from a local bar.  Unable to pass up live music, Cami and I spent our last quetzales on cuba libres and sat in for a song.

Too soon, Cami and I parted ways.  She stayed on to volunteer at a hospital in Guatemala City while I made my way back to the US of A with my adventures on hold. For now.

Kate and Katie's Excellent Adventure -- Turf

Beach behind, jungle ahead.

To get to the Costa Rican rain forest, we rode for eight hours on a cramped, sweaty bus made for people under 5'2."  Sore and cranky, we unloaded in the underwhelming town of Santa Elena.  

 

Although only 5 kilometers from the nearest rain forest, Santa Elena is a dry, dusty town void of character.  It is a place where low-quality, over-priced restaurants and tourist shops with identical inventories compete for leases and everyone speaks English--just brimming with local flavor.

Eager to get out of Santa Elena and see the jungle, Katie and I scheduled a canopy zip-line tour.  Two hours later, we had our hard hats buckled, and our belts strapped at uncomfortable and unflattering angles. 

Katie was a natural, but I needed a few warm up runs.  The zip line "guides" were no help with their mischievous pranks.  From all corners of the world, each guide came to Costa Rica to work/play on the zip lines all day.

But as it turns out, taking groups of  uncoordinated tourists on the same metal wires ten times a day gets boring quickly.  To entertain themselves, the boys would do flips onto the zip line, ride upside down, or pretend to hit you.  Even though our guides were bored, and probably mocking us in a modgepodge of languages, Katie and I had a howling good time (once I learned how to use the brake). 

Between zip lines, we hiked through the forest, pointed at plants that seemed like they'd be important to botanists, and watched for wildlife.  We heard the howler monkeys, then we saw them!  The two monkeys were hooting and hollering, chatting away while climbing in and out of our sight.

After 16 zip lines and a "superman" finale, Katie and I retired our flight gear and headed back to Santa Elena to eat pizza and sleep.

The next morning, we took advantage of the hostel's free "buffet" breakfast, packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, laced up our sneakers and set off for the Waterfalls.  The walk was a lot longer--and steeper--than we expected.   The hike that we estimated would be 10 miles round trip, easily became 15 miles with a few wrong turns.

On the way, we passed fields and forests, and took many wrong turns.  At one point, we walked down a dirt road in the general direction of the waterfalls and were stopped by the foaming mouth and burning eyes of a vicious guard dog.  For a little guy, he had a big attitude.

We backed away cautiously, only to encounter two more dogs in our path.  Katie kept a tenacious grip on my arm--the only thing that kept me from running.  We stood there shaking, trying to back away calmly.  The angry dogs followed us until we got to the main road.  With the little monsters out of sight, I laughed nervously while my eyes roamed the road for a taxi.  

No taxis passed, but we did come across a man walking with his horse.  He said that we were getting close, and had only a few more kilometers to go.   We walked over streams and through woods until we came to a sign for the waterfalls.  Three more miles.  Damn it.   

Finally, we reached the San Luis waterfalls.  The falls seemed to pour straight out of the sky.  Far from snapping jaws and private property, Katie and I relaxed (or rather, fumbled) on the rocks and swam in the icy spring water.   The respite would have been lovely if we didn't have the 8 mile-uphill trek back to ponder. 

On our last day in Santa Elena, Katie and I got up early to lead the line of tourists to the Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserve.  In this forest, we followed scrawling trails in search of elusive quetzals, waterfalls, and hanging bridges. 

Since we skimped on the tour guide, we missed out on most of the wildlife, but we found a few lizards and many a picturesque landscape on our own.  

Hanging bridge across the continental divide

Are we in the jungle or the secret garden?

Katie, finding her roots.  Si que huevos!

Between seas and trees, Katie and I had a great time exploring Latin America together.  We are planning our next trip, post-grad school--time and resources allowing.  Anyone up for a little ramble through Southeast Asia?

Kate and Katie's Excellent Adventure -- Surf

Since a week of bliss in Belize wasn't enough relaxation for me, Katie Dowd and I started our epic  adventure at the beach.  We beach-hopped from Costa Rica to Panama before heading towards the jungle.  First stop: Puerto Viejo de Talamanca.

On the south eastern Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, Katie and I rented bikes and rode up and down the long, hot, and humid coastline until we found a seemingly uninhabited beach: Punta Uva.

We looked up and down the coastline and there was no one in sight. We were thrilled to have our own private beach until we saw warnings posted on the coconut trees.  Apparently looters and thieves also enjoy sand in their toes, wind in their hair and a casual lurk in the woods.  Who can blame them?  For fear of losing our beloved digital cameras, we took turns in the ocean and vowed not to fall asleep.

But of course, we slipped into sun-infused comas.  We woke up abruptly, not to looters rustling the bushes, but to chunks of sand pelting our faces.  Two huge grey beasts were thigh deep in sand tunnels with no regard for our presence.  As we stood up and gathered our things, the identical dogs looked at us curiously before galloping into the waves.

The combination of sun, salt, and a long, sweaty bike ride sucked up all of our energy and we were ready for bed by an undisclosed, embarrassingly early hour.  To avoid the gringo-hunting mosquitoes, we bathed in repellent and wrapped ourselves in gauzy nets.   In our little cocoons we slept, dreaming of our next stop: Bocas del Toro, Panama.

We hopped on a local bus at 6 am and made our way to Panama.  Customs was...shall I say lax?  The bus dropped us by a decrepit bridge.  We looked around for a building, a sign—anything—but all that lay ahead was a long, narrow bridge.  We followed other passengers over the patchwork of wooden planks, minding the gaping holes that led to the river of phlegm below. 

On the other side of the bridge there were more taxi solicitors than border patrols.  We presented our passports to a tiny little man in a tiny little office and moved along.  After a few minutes of unbearable harassment form the taxi men and no signs of local transport, we agreed to accept a ride to the boat launch, an hour away.  We drove through/around/below/over hundreds of acres of banana plantation before we reached the dock.  From there, we were quickly shuttled into a lancha, or water taxi, that chugged along until we reached Bocas del Toro.

The first two days in Bocas del Toro were beautiful: sunshine, white sand, jade water, etc.  We took water taxis to far away, deserted islands and tanned our hides.  But too soon, our luck turned.  By day three, Katie and I were stuck in the hostel with nothing to do except play poker and drink.  So that we did.  Thanks to my unreadable poker face and a little bit of luck, I won the first round of poker, emasculated the men in the hostel, took their money, and went out on the town.

In a nearby hostel, Mondo Taitu, there was a hopping bar, free hookah bongs, lots of travelers and tropical drinks.  Katie and I had a few too many Cuba Libres and spent most of the next day in bed, not missing much except for more rain.

On the third day of rain, we joined a snorkeling tour with our witty, charming, and may I dare say, adorable, English friend, Simon.   Simon rivals Nick for "favorite person met while traveling." He had the same kind of modest, unassuming nature with an open mind and a great accent.  So, yes, on our last day in Bocas we went snorkeling. In the rain. It was terrible. 

Cold, miserable, and more than a little bit pissed at Panamanian weather, we hung our suits to dry and gave up on the beach.  Next stop: Cloud Forest.

Unbelizable

If you ever want to spend all day every day frolicking with large sea animals, sucking down Planter's Punch, strolling under palm trees, and/or browning your hide, then go to San Pedro Caye of Belize. These pictures don't need explanations.  Just know that I did nothing all week and it was glorious. 

Planter's Punch Recipe

2 oz. Dark Rum 

2 oz. Orange Juice 

2 oz. Pineapple Juice 

1/2 oz. Lime Juice 

Dash Grenadine 

Orange Slice & Cherry for garnish

Combine 3 juices and Rum in a shaker with ice. Shake well, and strain into an ice filled Collins glass. Top with grenadine. Garnish with an Orange slice and a Maraschino Cherry. Personally, I prefer to simply drop the cherry in the punch, thus allowing it to soak up all that great flavor!

For a thirsty crowd, multiply the recipe by number of servings and serve in a pitcher with ice.