Back once again...

The next day I began my long journey back to San Jose involving, as with any other in Panama/Costa Rica, many a bus (5 this time). It also involved another night in David (which had already lost its novelty), and a nostalgic revisit to several of the bus stations that populated my previous travels, including - best of all - the beautiful, chilled out and not a bit confusing border town from before (Paso Canoas).

Playa Venao

After finally arriving here I decided that Playa Venao is a bit too cool for school. Chilled out to the extreeem - free camping (which I opted for after seeing both a bat and a huge crab within 10 seconds of checking out the local cabina), lots of surfers, pretty much only one building (which is mostly only a roof) and, of course, a beautiful beach. But lets go back to the surfers - why do they have to be such unfriendly, up-their-own-culo posers? (Excluding, of course, all the surfers I know, and yes, I see the irony). Every time I tried to say hola to people (normally easy elsewhere) they didn´t even look at me! So it was totally full of these people and then (on the Sunday), after I sat on the beach and listened to a couple of albums, I turned round and they had all gone! I don´t know if they got my unfriendly, up-my-own-culo vibes, but suddenly the whole place was empty save me and an Israeli guy.

So it was that for my final surf of the trip I had one of the best surfing beaches in Panama (almost) all to myself - absolutely amazing, as only that morning I had been lamenting how Playa Venao suffers from the same annoyance as Pavones - too many surfers.

September 22, Rio Mar

This is one of several beaches spread across about 10 miles of coast. It´s extremely beautiful, with black sand that glitters like a night sky, and pretty clear water. The surf, however, was poobum whilst I was there, so I only stayed one night. Being little more than an hour from Panama City, it was empty whilst I was there (during the week) but at the weekends gets packed like Linford Christie´s pants, with both Panamanians and foreign tourists rocking up the over-priced resort (the cheapest place was $25 - like 3 times the norm - and only by virtue of having a tent did I enjoy a $5 pitch).

I decided to go to Playa Venao instead, but things are never so easy... a 5 hour wait at various places in and around San Carlos (the nearest town) and I eventually found myself on a bus to Chitré, where I was forced to stay the night through lack of buses and light. That evening I made friends with Nikli, who was learning English - so I offered my services. We talked mostly in Spanish though, about Ouija boards (popular, but highly frowned upon in a 90% Catholic country), "Satanic Rock" (Death Metal), religion, and how the prices of things compare in our countries: #25,000, for what I thought might be the cheapest house available in Britain, was shockingly expoensive to her, as one might expect.

Santa Catalina

Made a lengthy trek (3 buses, 2 taxis) to Santa Catalina, meeting a friendly painter on the way, who lived in Sona and got the bus every day to Santiago to sell his paintings.

The 2 Swiss-Germans that i met in Pavones, Simon and Evelyn, happened to be in the same hostel, so it was with them that I spent most of my time here. We went surfing at Playa Estero everyday, with waves soemtimes reaching 1.5m (although Simon reckoned 2m). Here we met Sean-Paul, a nice kid at first, who showed us where to surf (although he was only 8 he was certainly in the know, being as this beach was his back-garden). However, his insistence on mindless violence (in an 8 yr old kind of way) got a little grating, and he got especially annoyed when I called him a cucaracha or a niña traviesa.

Also met 3 American guys who exactly represented all bad things you might have heard about American tourists. They talked to the locals as if to someone fluent in english, and as if they were their boss. They were very loud, shouting both late at night and at 7 in the morning, literally waking up everybody in the hostel. They were bigoted ("You know you guys should just throw each and every Muslim out of your country. Mass-murdering fucks"). They were Bush supporters - would you believe? In this day and age! Needless to say I didn´t share with them my views on patriotism (see August 25). They were constantly boasting about the Colombian prostitutes they had just had in Panama City (prostitution is legal here). Guys, it´s not something to be proud of if you had to pay them to do it.

I also met Jaime, an interesting guy technically from America, grew up in Puerto Rico, and who had lived in various places in his time. He identified, within 30 seconds of meeting the yanks, the excellent quality of their character. That evening, my last in Santa Catalina, was spent with him, Simon and Evelyn and 2 guys from Barcelona with who I reminisced about Sonar. Most of the conversation was in Spanish - too hard for me to follow, but it´s fun and useful trying.

David

Yep, thats m´name. And it´s also the name of the city i´m currently staying in, the first major city over the CR-Panama border. Getting through immigration is a pain in las nalgas and I suppose I was looking confused - a small kid came and almost insisted that he helped me through the process (like several other people who had already offered my taxi rides to almost everywhere in Costa Rica, money-exchange deals, etc. I felt like I was in the Tokyo Stock Exchange). It really annoys me when this happens: he was clearly only doing it so that I would tip him something, and surely the process is fairly simple. Not so, amigo. After the event I realised it was absolutely necessary and I never would have made it on my own. I gladly tipped the cheeky rapscallion before he packed me onto a rather cheap bus.

My first impression of Panama was when, in a similarly spoonfed style, a kind lady walked me about 500m to a hostel recommendation. It seems she was doing it out of the kindness of her heart, as she refused any money as thanks. What a strange country.

Dia de la Independencia

Lena and I walked about an hour and a half each way to a secret surf spot that a local woman (who I suspect was on a large amount of coke) let slip to us. When we asked in the local surf shop for directions the guy threw his hands up and, with a knowing smile on his face, said he couldn´t possibly tell us anything about it. He later said there was a pact amongst the locals not to spill the beans. When we got there I was slightly worried the locals might give us jip but, after reminding us it is a lugar secreto, one pointed out where the dangerous rocks were, reassured us that there were no crocs and was helping us to catch the best waves. This spot is amazing - it basically catches the left of Pavones but without all the rocks - AND without all the tourists. They´re all the same, them.

Later we went to a BBQ at one of the other hostels, as we had met a couple of people staying there. On our way we heard the strangest sound, apparently from the frogs (although I suspect the toads). Make a gun with you fingers, pretend you´re a stormtrooper and shoot the person nearest to you with a laser gun. The sound you just made was probably a good rendition, except you have to do it constantly.

Pavones

Move over, mushrooms - I have a new pet hate. Rocky beaches. It hurts to walk on, and therefore to get into the water, it hurts to fall onto, it injures your board (don´t I know it), cuts your feet (while the saltwater won´t let you heal), and looks horrible. Where are you, Mr Erosion? When will you rear your much appreciated, rather dull head? I´ve decided that from now on, if it´s not sandy i´m not interested. I really am a surfer through and through.

Pavones is an amazing surf spot - if you know how to surf. Like Dominical, there was a huge swell whilst we were there, causing waves in excess of 2 metres. These I tried to surf, but the few times I caught one (sometimes competing with 20 other surfers, with room for only one lucky contender), I could not turn quick enough to get to the side of the wave (if you dont get to the side then the wave breaks after a few metres onto the aforementioned rocks, whilst if you do you have a potential 3 minute surf off one wave. My back hurts).

September 11

First up I was waiting for a bus to Golfito, when a couple (Brigitte and Randy) asked where I was going. They were going to San Isidro, so no luck. Then they reversed back: "The bridge is closed on the way to Golfito". So they took me to San Isidro instead, for an alternate route.

Here I had a strange coincidence: only that very morning, after considering the problem for weeks, I decided to name my board Stephanie (after a chica rica I had met in the place I bought it). Then, waiting for the bus, 2 Ticos asked me what she was called - the first people to do so.

I got the bus with only minutes to spare in the end, and before long ended up waiting for about 3 hours because of, guess what - a collapsed bridge. I dont know whether coincidence or crossed-wires, but after waiting for ages we just turned round and went back, so it was all fruitful.

On this bus I met Lena, a German girl who also happened to be going to Pavones (my final destination that day) to surf - naturally we stuck together for my time there...

September 10

I changed hostels to a campsite instead. I almost stayed on the beach for free with Taylor, Javier and Bob - three Texans I met who had travelled overland through Mexico and Central America (which takes a minimum of a week), and with whom I spent much of my time in Dominical, always pretending I was about to surf in half an hour. But I was worried about the security as my board won´t fit in my tent.

Later that day I had 2 near-death experiences. First I was electrocuted by a fridge because - stupid me - I opened it barefoot. Isn´t that just the classic schoolboy error? This precipitated fits of laughter from the Ticos watching, in a silly-gringo-doesn´t-know-better kind of way, mixed with a bit of let´s-wait-and-see-who´ll-be-got-next. I naturally played the passive Englishman and didn´t get as annoyed as I should have, mixed with a little wait-until-an-american-sues-your-ass-off.

Immediately after that (although after waiting some time for my right arm to calm down) I went for a surf. After missioning it out to catch a wave, as is par for the Playa Dominical course, I suddenly found I had gone too far, and was behind where the waves break - in a rip-current forcing me out to sea. I battled for about 45 minutes, sometimes finding myself closer to shore, sometimes only getting further out. Even when I got close to where the waves were breaking I had various mixed feelings: thank god I'm getting close; oh my god the waves are huge; please don´t break whilst I'm on top - I was literally pleading with the waves to break before they got to me. I was generally struggling to get on the breaking side of the waves, being in a position to catch a wave, and then realising they were too big for me (chickening out) - then being pushed a little further back, and regretting my momentary yellowness. After a bit of this, I eventually found the nerve to just go for one whatever the risks, and even managed to ride it for a short time. After this (as soon as I was on the breaking side of the waves) I knew I was safe, and rode 2 or 3 back to the shore. When I eventually crashed out on the beach I was over a mile from where I had started, which I had to walk without glasses, barefoot across painful pebbles (adding to my vitriol in the "Pavones" blog). Being without glasses I actually had no idea in which way to walk, and simply guessed (luckily, correctly). The thought crossed my mind, as sometimes does, that if I were stranded in a survival situation I would be significantly more powerless without my glasses, and without them could not realistically envisage my survival.

After that I had an incredibly nice meal and several beers to celebrate my still being alive.

September 9

I am now in Playa Dominical, which is another of them surf havens. This one, however is hardcore. Apparently it´s only because there´s a large amount of swell at the moment (get the lingo), so maybe it´ll die down. But I am generally struggling for 10 minutes just to get out there, to ride one wave back to shore and repeat the process after another 10 minutes rest. However, each of the 6 or so runs I have had here have been the fastest of my career to date, so I guess it´s all good.

Rashvests are great - for the uninitiated, they stop your chest and stomach rubbing on your board. However, the waves constantly push them up, like a half taken off t-shirt. Also, I sometimes get a rubbing between my thighs, which saltwater exacerbates. So i´ve decided the only logical solution is leotards. They´ll solve both of these problems at once in one stylish number. And, as has been evident in recent years, seeing as extreme sports often lead the way for fashion, leotards are sure to be the next big thing. So I recommend you get to the shops now and get your hands on one while they´re cheap, before Quiksilver and the like corner the market and charge 80 pounds for one doubly-endorsed by Kelly Slater and Mr Motivator. Don´t say I didn´t warn you.

Manuel Antonio National Park

Despite my misgivings about the town, the associated National Park is a beaut. I walked all the footpaths with my eyes wide open in wildlife-related anticipation. Most visitors see 3 types of monkeys, pizotes, iguanas-lizards, sloths, many types of birds, giant rats, squirrels, etc. However, it seems my luck had run out in Fortuna - I saw a monkey, a giant rat and 2 big iguanas. I feel cheated!

September 6

Met 2 Spanish guys in the room next to mine, both really nice, and one of them lent me his mp3 player, so the other night I mainly spent listening to Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (which I failed to bring with me and was missing like a friend). Jorge continued to feed me well, apparently for free, although I have become very cynical about this town...

I also met a guy called Oscar, who has been in Manuel Antonio for a while selling tours to tourists. He´s from Buenos Aires, used to work as a flight attendant, went to a British boarding school in BA, is set to marry a Tico lady, and various other interesting things like that. At first I really liked him, we were talking about music and politics, and either agreeing or disagreeing interestingly. But before long it became apparent how much he was simply after a tip for the information he gave me about the area. He kept pointing out that he hadn´t sold any tours that day, and that people always tip for his ¨good¨ info. That info included that Musmani is the cheapest place for food (it is indeed, but it is obvious to those who have been in the country for any length of time), the wrong bus times, an expensive and low quality batido recommendation, etc - basically he did not know his onions. It annoys me so much because it kind of typifies Manuel Antonio - a friendly place on the face of it, but entirely phony and quickly see-through. He also told me that I, as part of the young generation, need to be the one to make a difference and change the world (as many old people say). Frankly that is a load of cojones - everyone has a responsibilty to act responsibly, and practicing certainly comes before preaching.

Quepos and Manuel Antonio

After staying in Quepos for a night (where I had been promised good surf, only to find a scutty port-town full of ladrones), I moved to Manuel Antonio (or at least, at the top of a hill miles from Manuel Antonio) for what is reputedly the best National Park in CR. First up I did a day of Scuba diving - two 40 minute dives where I saw an octopus, loads of crazy fish, a starfish and held a pufferfish in my own two hands. They feel very strange. Between the dives I also saw dolphins, who swam for a moment with our boat.

A day or two later I decided to move hostels, to get one closer to the beach so I can get back on the surfing bandwagon. As I was walking the 2 miles in the heat with all my stuff thankfully 2 guys took pity on me, picked me up and took to an amazing place really close to the beach (with a fridge!!!) run by a really friendly guy called Jorge (which is impossible to pronounce in Spanish) who has already fed me twice. Met some really friendly Costa Ricans (David, Alfredo and Montserrat) and (after playing a ridiculous drinking game involving clapping, sore thighs and animal impressions) went out with them to a club called "Coconuts". I met the owner, who bored me to death with his extensive knowledge of rock bands I had never heard of. Apart from that though, a top night.

I´ve just surfed all morning and am now absolutely knackered, but have a large grin on my face.

August 30

We got up at 6:30 in preparation for a 5 hour drive, which took us less than 3, to San Jose. This would complete the 5-day odyssey of Team Enferma, and would be the last time I would see Anna and Wendy. It was real fun travelling with these guys - choruses of loud singing, tour guide bonuses, jacuzzis and hot springs, volcanoes (well, just one), their amazing taste in music (queso) and sweet Cariño, although at times it was like travelling by myself, due to my complete inability to speak Dutch.

After finding a cheap hostel in San Jose, I ended up going to a casino (for the first time in my life) with an Israeli guy I met. I went in with $20 and left with... $20. But I got nicely drunk off free Rum n Coke, and even had a small bit of tapas. Now that´s a bargain.