How do I attempt to summarize everything that has happened in the last two weeks when I have slept in a different bed every other night? When you forget what country, let alone what city, you are currently in, you know that you have been hostel hopping just a little too much.
Yet when traveling with an open itinerary, and rough appointment times, you somehow seem to fall in a groove, moving along at a rapid, but completely manageable speed. And although we have not stayed in most locations for longer than two or three days, we haven't had heavy hearts about leaving any of these places either. Somehow each spot we have visited, be it beach or colonial city, has managed to wrap itself up on its own, saying: "Thank you for stopping by, we think we've shown you all there is to see, now you best be on your way".
After our epic journey to cross the border from Panama to Costa Rica, we found our way serendipitously to Mal Pais, a small beach town on the western coast of the tourist-invaded country. It took Amanda and I only several seconds of spotting the beach and also seeing a sunset for the first time (due to the rain in Panama) to both know that we were going to anchor our feet into the sand for quite some time. (Some time meaning 6 days - still our longest stay in any one place.) Yet after a week of tanning, making friends, learning to surf, and rekindling my love of running, we both somehow knew it was time to leave. Over a romantic dinner date, the two of us planned our departure for the next morning. That night, as we wandered back into our hostel, the entire place had an eerie quiet that we had not experienced in the last five days. Perhaps it was our confirmation that our time in Mal Pais had come to a close.
We next headed to Monteverde, Costa Rica, a small tourist town that is nestled near the Monteverde and Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserves. The town would not exist if the cloud forest were not such a major attraction - to scientists, naturalists, and tourists alike. After spending a day hiking through the forests, and the next ziplining above the treetops, we sat on the porch of our mountain lodge drinking Cabernet Sauvignon and realized that yes, it has been lovely, but no more time was needed.
Our next stop, San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua, offered us more sun, and the opportunity to compare another beach to Mal Pais. (Conclusion: Mal Pais really is that pretty. And the people are that friendly. So don't go.) We decided to depart the day before an international surf competition. Gasp! What were we thinking? We were going to miss the biggest surf competition and the best parties Nicaragua has seen in a while! Yes, it was time to go.
Granada, Nicaragua, offered us two days of rest, a cute hostel, a quaint colonial city, and the opportunity to visit a Central American emergency room - which I think just may deserve it's own blog. (No, Amanda does not have malaria, and she is now equipped with some mysterious yellow pills.) But the city is expensive and it was here, that Amanda woke up asking me, "Where are we?"
Everything happens for a reason: be it landing on a beach that wasn't originally part of our plans, or finding our way to a city so that we can unexpectedly pay a visit to the hospital when feeling a little under-the-weather. On the road, ideas for places to stay are born spontaneously and out of the blue. And just as some of these stops bud in a single day or in a flash moment, they somehow find closure and fizzle out just as naturally. To put it, perhaps as cliche as possible, when the bloom dies it is time to move on.
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