"Gringa":White chick
April 3rd at sundown marked the beginning of the Jewish holiday of Passover. Most people associate this holiday with the “weird tasteless cracker thing,” that Jews eat during the period of Passover instead of leavened bread. For others, Passover (known as Pesach) represents chewy gummy orange slices in all different colors, macaroons, chocolates, good food, and good company. Simply put, Passover is the time when the Israelites left the enslavement of the Pharaoh in Egypt. We remember our enslavement and celebrate our freedom while remembering the 10 plagues that G-d set forth to help us escape. For me personally religion in general has not always been the easiest thing to grasp and understand as words and stories written so long ago are not always relatable now. However I enjoy the traditions, customs, and company that Judaism brings. Traditions vary over time and place, however some things remain the same. Every year at the end of the Passover seder, everyone says, “Next year in Jerusalem.” However in the past 4 years I have celebrated Passover in 3 different countries. In Costa Rica, I found my way to a small temple that hosted around 50 people for their seder that was in Hebrew, Spanish, and English. In the United States, we have had small family seders and seders with other families and friends, sometimes Jewish, sometimes not. This year I found myself in Cusco, Peru for the first night of Passover. I searched online to see if there were any synagogues in Cusco, not expecting to find much. However, Google immediately spit out tons of articles about some of the largest Passover seders in the world. One of those being Cusco, Peru. Apparently the Chabad group in Cusco hosts a seder with hundreds of people from all over the world every year, undergoing days of meticulous preparation, and even recruiting the help of rabbis and rabbinical students from all over the world. I met some rabbis from California, New York, Canada, Uruguay, Israel, and more. I was at first very nervous to attend this seder. When I went to get my ticket, I talked to a man that knew very little English, and I know no Hebrew. My extent of Hebrew is probably limited to 10 very insignificant words, including the 3 numbers I could say in Hebrew. Therefore, I knew that it would be a cultural rollercoaster, but that it would be a rollercoaster worth riding. I arrived and felt like I had just walked into a square in Tel Aviv or it very well could have been a bus in China. Everyone was speaking Hebrew, and I had not a clue what was going on. The streets were packed side to side for as far as I could see. Those of you who have run races especially like the Cooper River Bridge Run know this feeling, a group of people for as far as you can see running in what appears to be one unit, the motivation and excitement bursting out from the large crowd. The crowd in front of the Chabad was just like this. As I waited in line, the 400 or so people from the previous seder walked out as the next 500 people waited to enter. In total, at least 900 people attended the two seders. Where did all of these people come from? Many are Israelis that are traveling throughout South America after their service in the Army. In addition, there were people from Peru, Chile, Argentina, Canada, and the USA, just to name a few. The feeling of being at this seder was like none other and almost indescribable. About 98% of the two and a half hour seder was in Hebrew. I understood practically nothing, but I somehow felt extremely connected to every person in the room. Everyone was excited to be sharing the Passover experience with the person sitting next to them, stranger or long-time friend alike. The prayers may have been said or sung slightly differently, but when the room sang, everyone sang loudly and full of excitement, clapping and banging their feet or hands against the table and the floor. When the Israelites were leaving Egypt we learn that Miriam led the group in joyous song. The singing at this seder, I believe, is the closest experience to what it would have been like singing with Miriam. Regardless of country, language, or sect of Judaism, It was unifying. It would be like celebrating Christmas with hundreds of people, pastors, and priests from all over the world. Imagine the amazing vibe of connectedness you would find. One guy even stood up and spoke of his experiences of traveling and not knowing what will come next and how he was at a crossroad between traveling and beginning work upon his return to Israel. This is a feeling of which at least 80% of the room could relate. I have never felt at home in any place of worship to be honest. Many, clearly not all, people dress up to show off the latest fashion or their new cute outfit, and I’ll admit I have been guilty of this as well. This to me does not define a place where I would ever be able to pray comfortably. Instead I find that I feel most connected outside of a building whether that be at home running, in Patagonia feeling miniscule next to incredible mountains, or the Amazon rainforest. But there we were, together travelers, many of us in whatever clothes were clean out of our pack, likely jeans, a shirt, and a pair of hiking boots. It didn’t matter. We were all together celebrating a journey that is both past and present. This will surely be a seder that I will never forget. Chag Sameach. (Happy Passover) Next year in…? L’chaim. (To Life)
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Icebreaker: An awkward game that introduces yourself via name, state of origin, school major, and “fun” fact about your life in order meet and hopefully bond with a group of people over embarrassing smiles and laughs.
Icebreakers may take various shapes and forms. Some will have you converse with the person sitting next to you followed by you introducing that person to the group (as you pray that you don’t pronounce their name wrong or say that they played the cello instead of the guitar in 6th grade not 8th.) Others will have you name a food or item that starts with the first letter in your name. In case you are wondering, my food is always jelly beans or jello as I don’t have a lot of options…how original. My personal favorite awkward get to know you game is the hypothetical yet completely realistic game of, “What-one-thing-would-you-bring-with-you-if-you-were-stranded-on-a-desert-island?...-and-oh-by-the-way-that-thing-has-to-start-with-the-first-letter-of-your-name.” Have fun. Recently I had to play my own game of “If-you-were-going-to-the-rainforest-for-a-year-and-you-only-could-bring-what-you-can-carry-in-two-backpacks-what-would-you-bring?” This time it was not an icebreaker; it was real life, and luckily every item did not have to start with the first letter of my name. Regardless, my room looked like a tornado ran through it as I narrowed down what to bring and what not bring. Clearly, only the necessities made the cut. I was very proud of myself as I was able to fit everything that I needed into my 60L hiking backpack and one other backpack. Let’s hope I didn’t forget anything. As I start this next year, I will have the great opportunity to play icebreakers with people from all over the world as we work united in our mission to help conserve the rainforest and further educate ourselves and others on its importance. I look forward to writing more about upcoming daily adventures! Please follow my blog so that you will be updated to new posts, and share with friends! Talk soon! Today I headed to the airport to visit my grandparents who live in Delaware, and I have to admit that it was strange to be in an airport where English is the primary language. For the past 7 months traveling within Costa Rica, Chile, and Argentina, I have become accustomed to walking into an airport or a bus station and immediately speaking Spanish. In fact I almost reverted back to Spanish upon walking into the airport. That’s what 7 months will do.
7 months. Writing that down seems unreal to me, and quite hard to believe. Regardless, going out on a limb and travelling solo was the best decision I have made so far in my life. Now when I say best I don’t mean that it was the easiest; it most certainly was not. It was challenging, new, exciting, stressful, scary, but most importantly rewarding. I won’t lie to you, I once did face-time audio with my mom in the center plaza of the smallest “town” I have ever seen in my life, that somehow miraculously had free Wi-Fi crying about how I was tired of traveling on my own and that I hated the city I were I had been dumped. That was my low point. I give my mom kudos as she talked to me calmly and told me I was already brave for being alone and traveling for as long as I was. I didn’t feel brave as I sat in that plaza for probably two hours, disappointed that I had wasted my precious traveling time going to a town with less inhabitants than my high school where I couldn’t do the hike that I had planned because there was no bus in or out for a week and all of the hiking outfitters had so kindly not opened that day. The point is, not every day is your best day, and some may down right suck, but even the low days will end up making your trip worthwhile making the best experiences seem even sweeter. One of the days when I doubted myself, wondering if it was normal to be a little homesick, I turned to a friend who had been living in Puerto Natales, Chile for years now after arriving as a tourist and just never going home. I asked him if he ever missed home. He told me, “No, not once. I love it here and only went back home after I felt like it had been a while since I had seen my family and that I probably SHOULD go back.” This shocked me as I thought it was impossible to never, not once miss home. I am not this “never-miss-home” traveller. There are many blogs that may pop up on your facebook newsfeed describing the “5 types of travelers” or the “5 American things you’ll lose when you travel to China,” as if we are all going to have the same experiences traveling. I find these blogs to have some truth, but in reality, I don’t buy these descriptions. Travelling solo you have the luxury to reinvent yourself every day in every hostel and every town. One day you may be the traveller who likes to wander solo, and the next day you may crave to travel in a group and go to the “party hostel” instead of the “chill homey hostel” tucked nicely away into a cute neighborhood next to a coffee shop. Most importantly, it’s okay to be homesick and its okay to miss the comforts of your own home. It just means that you not only love and appreciate where you are and whom you are with in the moment, but you also love and appreciate what you left behind. My neighbor and close friend recently gave me a bracelet that contains a quote that describes this feeling perfectly. It reads “ Be grateful for what you have and mindful for what you can become.” The bracelet is made by a brand called Trust Your Journey. Every time that I travel, the “what you have” grows as it is enriched by stunning views, amazing experiences, and people who truly have left a mark on me, challenging the way I think and approach future endeavors. At the same time, the “what you can become” part widens with every new opportunity. A new opportunity was recently thrown my way that more that expands what I can become. I am thrilled to announce that I have accepted a job that will be taking me back to Peru at the end of this month. For the next year I will be able to call the Amazon rainforest and the CREES Manu Learning Center my home. I am excited to reunite with friends and work for an incredible organization whose mission is to support a sustainable Amazon by helping people from all over the world understand and value the importance of the rainforest. It would be unnatural to not be slightly nervous. A year will be the longest that I have ever been away from my home, my family, my friends, and my comfort zone. But I trust my education and my past travel experiences, and I trust the values that parents have taught me. Whatever my future holds, I trust my journey. Please trust my journey as well. I left for my new adventure in Chile at the beginning of the Jewish new year, starting off with a bang! After three different flights, finally arriving in Punta Arenas, I had a slight "oh shit" moment, or in Spanish, a "Mierda" moment. This Mierda moment hit me upon arriving in Punta Arenas when I realized just how cold I was feeling. 35°F was quite a change from the tropical flip flop weather climate that I was used to. I literally went from summer to winter in a matter of hours and my hands and lips immediately began cracking in the cold. Additionally the taxi driver from the airport to the hostal spoke about 1000 miles a minute. I began to question if I had actually been studying the same language for the past 2 months.
Though I did have a Mierda moment, there were many magnifico moments that quickly took over. The plane ride into Punta Arenas at sunrise was enough to take your breath away, not to mention the gorgeous costal views from the taxi on the way to the hostel. I was still in shock that I was actually in Chile and that only two days later I would be heading off to one of the most spectacular parks in the world, Torres del Paine National Park. In the meantime I had three days of exploring the cool port town of Punta Arenas. I arrived at the hotel around 9:00 a.m. since I had an early morning flight which meant that my room was not quite ready. I knew ahead of time that my room would not be ready so I arranged to have my bags locked up so I would be free to off and explore the city. While exploring, I felt like Dorthy from the Wizard of Oz when she realizes that she is no longer in Kansas. I was definitely not in Costa Rica anymore. First off, wool socks and hiking boots took the place of flip flops. Second, I realized that "Pura Vida" was no longer the answer to "Cómo estás?" nor was it a reason to walk slow and take your time getting from point A to point B. I almost laughed out loud when countless people much shorter than myself were passing me on the sidewalk. I felt like a southerner in New York all over again. The sun here is just as bright as Costa Rica but incredible hulk winds have taken the place of the afternoon rainstorms of Costa Rica. This quick change of environments had awakened my senses to observing and comparing everything that I saw. I noticed that here the emergency service is the Cruz Verde (Green Cross) in place of the Cruz Rojo (Red Cross) in Costa Rica. The drivers here in Chile are better than the drivers in Costa Rica, but the population of stray dogs compared to Costa Rica is basically the same. While exploring and taking some selfies with the gorgeous views of Punta Arenas, my hands were craving a hour mug to hug. I of course had no problem with this and made my way to the nearest coffee shop. It happened to be a German coffee shop which was interesting because one lady on the plane, a native to Santiago, had told me that there is apparently a large German population in the south of Chile, where Punta Arenas is located. Anywho, I quickly narrowed down the hot drink menu to two items, an Irish coffee or some hot chocolate drink with whiskey. The one thing these drinks had in common besides the hot mug, was an extra layer of warmth, a small licquor blanket. I chose the chocolate drink, and when it came out the war an extra side of chocolate drops and a clear mystery shot. I was amazed. I had just recieved the best drink, spiked hot chocolate with extra spike and a side of chocolate. I decided it would not be very lady like to throw back a shot when drinking by myself so I daintily tagged the shot instead. Unfortunately when I tasted the "shot" it was merely club soda. Why club soda was served in a shot glass I have not a clue. And was I supposed to do something with the club soda and the chocolate together? I had even less of a clue. None the less I definitely enjoyed my pit stop. While I could tell you all about my other pit stops of my self proclaimed food tour, I won't bore you or make your mouth water. Next up was my journey to Torres del Paine, which consisted of riding in a bus full of middle school students to arrive in the park. More to come soon about my first days in Torres del Paine! Gringa girl out. I'm currently sitting in the San Jose, Costa Rican airport and finally taking a chance to breathe after these past couple of busy days. Packing, no matter how many times you have done it before, never gets significantly easier. You learn new strategies each time, but your methods are always changing, and for some reason or another what fits in your bag one day may very well not fit the next day. You have to get creative. For example, if your sweatshirts don't fit in your backpack, no problem. Simply layer two different colored sweatshirts or jackets and stylishly tye them around your waist just above your belly button to rock a trendy 90's look. A scarf can also become a nice decoration for your backpack by tying it in a bow on the outside. Yes, every square centimeter matters. The waist pockets on your hiking backpack become a perfect compartment to roll up underwear and sports bras, well my sports bras at least. Until yesturday, I don't think I fully appreciated the honor of being an active member of the tiny titty committee. When trying to pack and fit everything for 3 months into 2 backpacks, I had 1 lonly bra that just had nowhere to go in my bags. After a long sigh and some self brainstorming, I figured out that if I rolled up my bra just perfectly and carefully, it would fit nicely inside of my mess kit bowl that I could then put into my hiking backpack without taking up any additional room. Thank goodness for tiny titties.
Well folks, I fell in love with Costa Rica. Any surprises there? My tica family took me by storm, and it will be impossible to ever forget them. Whether I was hanging out with my tica sister listening to Taylor Swift (get the reference now?), learning every bad word in the costa rican spanish with my tica brother and his friends, hiking to the top of the mountain for HOURS to see the windmills with my tica brother, or laughing for hours with my tica mom, there was never a dull moment. Leaving this morning was an extremely difficult goodbye. Luckily there are many words and phrases for goodbye. I always choose see ya later. I am so thankful for every second that I was fortunate enough to have in Costa Rica, and I hope that I will be able to return in the future. Living in Costa Rica for 2 months I was able to realize all of the reasons that I love the states, but I also learned that Costa Rica will always be a very close second home.
Today at 3:45 I start my 24 hour journey to Punta Arenas, Chile. In the meantime, I will be hanging out solo in the airport, so get ready for some rapid fire blog posts! Thanks for reading! First of all, let me apologize for my lack of posting this last week and a half. The good news is that in the last two weeks my spanish has drastically improved from hanging out with my tica brother and his friends and the rest of the family. Not to mention my costa rica slang, otherwise known as pachuco, has definitely gained some words. The bad news is that the more I talk, the more I talk, and don't write. So please bear with me as I find a balance! Today's story is about my most recent adventure to Corcovado National Park. Since the last time I was in Costa Rica two years ago, it had been my dream to make it to Corcovado National Park to go hiking in "the most biologically intense place on earth" according to National Geographic. Corcovado National Park is located in the south of Costa Rica in the Osa Peninsula. Because much of the Osa Peninsula is protected, it is very difficult to get to the town right outside of Corcovado, Puerto Jimenez, by car or bus. For this reason, in order to take advantage of my limited time, I flew to Puerto Jimenez on a Thursday morning and then flew back to San Jose the following morning. So the logical place to start in my story is the planes... Many people have a fear of planes which some would argue is irrational since you are more likely to get struck by lightening than it is to die in a plane crash. My argument here is what are your odds of getting struck by lightening while in a plane? I think that's just where luck comes into play. Anyways I arrived at the airport with plenty of time to catch my plane which is commonly referred to as a puddle jumper. Picture one of those creepy white vans we normally stray away from, and the interior of the plane was no bigger than that. It was a enough room to"comfortably" fit 6 people plus the pilots, but instead it is called a 12 seater plane with 2 pilots. While I am scared of cars and blood, I am not scared of airplanes, so typically I'm just dandy regardless of the size of the plane. I must say though that these pilots have a special talent to be able to take off and land so quickly and precisely without a problem. The take off in San José was not bad, but the landing in Puerto Jimenezfelt like we were going to land on top of the trees, or rather give the trees a trim. Just to give you an example I have included footage below of both the take off from San José and the landing in Puerto Jimenez. Take off in San Jose: https://www.dropbox.com/s/xpwa21jmh1pjs58/IMG_0353.MOV?dl=0 Landing in Puerto Jimenez: https://www.dropbox.com/s/pm51tjf7n1k526j/IMG_0377.MOV?dl=0 After landing and making it to my lovely hotel, Cabinas Jiménez, I took a relaxing nap while listening to the daily afternoon rain in order to site up energy for the following days. The three day hike in Corcovado would consist of the following: DAY 1: Hike from Carate to La Sirena, 20 km = 12.4 miles DAY 2: Hiking around La Sirena biological base station, 10 km = 6.2 miles DAY 3: Hike from La Sirena to Carate, 20 km = 12.4 miles TOTAL: 50 km = 31.07 miles I was all packed and ready to go, though not completely ready to wake up at 4 a.m. In order to meet up with the guide and start hiking. Meeting up at the bakery at 5 a.m. I meet the 2 others in my guide group. It was a couple from Portugal and myself. The two spoke Portuguese, Spanish, and English. The guide spoke Spanish and some English, and I speak Spanish and English. Therefore our common language was Spanish. Needless to say, 3 days of only Spanish was excellent practice. The day started off after our breakfast at the local bakery by jamming into a jeep like car with 4 wheel drive and stuffed or packs in the back by folding up the jump seats. The 4-wheel drive should have been the first indicator that we would be doing some light "puddle jumping" in this jeep. By puddle jumping I really mean ducting through rivers sometimes up to knee height or more. The ride was an hour and a half and was off to an amazing start as we saw a sloth, "perezoso" on the way. Suddenly the driver drove up onto the sand of the beachand said, "We're here!" I thought he was kidding at first, but when the guide steeped or of the car and said, "vamos," I knew that he was not. At 7:00 a.m. the sun was entirely too early for work. It felt like it was 95°F with no wind and it war only going to get hotter. That first day we walked on the beach for the majority of the day. There we were, walking on this gorgeous beach that was truly a paradise surrounded by trees, boulders, caves, scarlet macaws, toucans, monkeys, and plenty of other animals, and it felt like we were waffling in the middle of an abandoned desert. The only sounds we heard were the crashing of waves and the sounds of the jungle. The beauty of our surroundings is what made the entire trip and drop of sweat worth it, and trust me there was a LOT of sweat! Those of you who know me, know that I am a hour weather summer gal. The hotter it is, the more I love the weather. Well this trip took hot to a whole new level. The most disappointing thing was that we were walking just meters away away from the surf, but due to the heavy current, swimming was NOT an option, not to mention that there were tons of not-so-smooth rocks protruding out of random spots of the ocean. When there were small pools of water that seemed perfect for a dip, they were so hot you could have boiled an egg in them. Now it may seem like I am complaining, but in reality, I was more in awe of how real and raw the nature was. I was experiencing the environment for everything that it is, not taking the good with the bad but instead soaking in the intensity of true nature and everything it requires of its trespassers in order to soak in its treasures. Though a trying hike, it was beyond worth every blister, but bite, chafe, sunburn, ant backpack attack, crocodile river crossing, and step through loose sand. Raw nature at its finest. I think it is safe to say that just about every girl has a little black dress that she can turn to for any event. I on the other hand have opted for a "Lucky Black Dress." My black maxi is ready for a walk in the town or a fancy night out. In Costa Rica my lucky black dress has met fútbol superstar Michael Umaña as well as the president of Costa Rica, Luis Guillermo Solís Rivera. So how exactly did I meet the president you may be wondering. The last time that I was in Costa Rica two years ago I was able to visit the gorgeous Teatro Nacional and see the grand foyer but I never saw the inside or went to see a show. This time I knew I could not leave without going back to the Teatro Nacional. About a month ago myself and two other ladies at my Spanish school bought tickets to go see the Vienna Choir Boys. Sunday rolled around and we are beyond excited to go to the show! We arrived about an hour and a half early to pick up our tickets and of course to enjoy a classy pre-show coffee. It was a good thing we arrived with time to spare because the spelling of my last name on the ticket was barely recognizable..... After straightening out the last name fiasco and finally receiving our tickets it was time for a coffee. For "Johanna Narkieuuitz" this coffee needed to have a nice spike of Baileys, but an Irish coffee did not exist on this menu. Luckily I was wearing the lucky black dress, so I described what I wanted to the server and we quickly coined this drink the Cafe Johanna. Point 1 for the lucky black dress. Two "Cafe Johanna's" later we decided to make our way to our seats with plenty of time before the doors opened. As we waited in line in the theatre foyer there was a man filming the crowd. We were joking around about smiling pretty for the camera when the guy actually walked up to us and asked if he could interview us about why we had come to the show. He asked us to respond in Spanish and English where we were from, why we had come to the show, and what we were most excited about. Being nervous we responded in more English than Spanish, half laughing our way through the interview. Possibly making it onto costa rican television... point 2 for the Lucky Black Dress. When we finally made it to our seats we realized that we were in the 4th row! We were so close to tne front that had this been a live showing of Magic Mike, we would have seen each individual cut of Channing Tatum's abs. It was a beautiful theatre and we had an incredible view throughout the entire event. (See pictures below) At intermission the chior's conductor announced that President was present at the performance and that the rest of the show would be dedicated to him. Though I had not a clue where the President was, I was extremely excited to be in the same building as him. At the end of the show he came onto the stage to make a quick speech but I couldn't get my phone out and turned on fast enough to snap a photo. I was totally bummed. ... little did I know we would soon be taking a selfie together. As myself and my two friends exited the theatre it was easy to see where the president was since people were swarming to take pictures with him. I decided to take a picture from a far because I felt bad bothering him. Apparently I shouldn't have worried though because as soon as we were out in the street and I was on my tip toes holding tight to my phone and watching the president about to get into his car, one of the his body guards pushed me forwards and told me to go! Now having been forced into the clearing between the crowd held back by guards and the president I had the choice to run back into the crowd or to quickly approach the president. I decided I had to meet him, so I quickly ran forward and asked if I could take a photo with him. He said yes, but after quickly scanning the area around us, there was no one within arms length to take a photo. Therefore I had to rephrase my question to ask if I could take a selfie with him. Luckily he smiled and said yes. I took a selfie with the president of Costa Rica. Point 3 for the Lucky Black Dress. I took a selfie with the president of Costa Rica....enough said. Find out how in tonight's blog post! This past weekend I had the pleasure of visiting Manuel Antonio beach located on Costa Rica's Pacific Coast. I stayed in a gorgeous hostel, Hotel Plinio, and the most frequent question that I recieved was, "Who are you traveling with?" or, "Oh so you're travelling in you own? That's awesome." While you would think that my answer would be yes, yeah, or si, the one thing that I consistently learned from this weekend is that traveling alone most certainly does not exist.
On the bus on the way to the bus public bus station you are not traveling alone because having been lucky enough to find a seat, you have the pleasure of having a stranger's butt, backpack, or crouch invade any personal space that ever existed. On the taxi ride from the bus to the next bus you're definitely not alone as you become the taxi driver's newest confidant in a matter of minutes. In the common occurrence of the taxi driver asking the very non invasive question of whether or not you have a boyfriend, I'll have you know that I am never alone. In fact, though my "boyfriend" (though I don't actually have one) lives in the states, he just started an amazing new job and will be coming to visit soon. In the meantime we find time to skype... Thank goodness for technology! Once on the bus on the way to your destination theres a 50/50 chance you'll sit next to a talker or a sleeper. On the way there I sat next to a sleeper, but on the way back, well that's another story. After finally having arrived at the hostal the first night, I didn't do much since it was already way past my dinnertime. The next day while I did go to the beach on my own, I was accompanied by hundreds of beach goers of all shapes and speedos. The second night I started talking to two other girls that had been traveling together, and we ended up going into the town and getting dinner together. Sharing food with two new friends, again not traveling alone. The following day I had time to kill before my bus so I got some postcards in town, went to a smoothie place, and began writing. (Don't forget to send me your address via the gringa girl mail section of the blog! ) As I was writing, up walked a clan of 6 very obvious gringos. One of the guys looked like jersey shore had thrown up on him, while the others had just walked out of a vinyard vines catalog. When they came and sat down at my table I realized they all had one thing in common...they were manscapers. Their chests and arms were recently shaven, but their stubble was still obvious. Now I understand the need to shave for swimming or for triathlons, but after talking to my fellow travelers for quite some time, the closest that any of them got to a water sport was that one of them kind of surfed. Therefore these became my wonderfully nice group of manscaping friends. The last friend that I made on this trip was Brian. After a long weekend of "traveling with friends," when it was time for my bus on Sunday I was pooped! I was one of the first to get on the bus, and as I sat and waited to leave I thought to myself, "There is no one that could sit next to me right now who I would want to have a conversation with. Even if it was a very attractive tican I don't think I could talk to him. " I quickly made up my mind that the only exception would be if Channing Tatum walked onto this $9 public bus and sat down next to me. Then I would talk to him. Unfortunately, I was not given a choice as my not so dear friend Brian came and sat next to me and literally did not stop talking the entire four hours...with stop and go traffic. After asking me how long I had been in Costa Rica, and I said 2 weeks, his response was that I looked very clean. He told me that he looked clean because he had showered that day. After nodding my head since I was semi speechless, he proceeded to tell me that even my backpack and clothes were clean. Suddenly he saw two small stains on my shirt and proceeded to point them out as if he was proud that he had found them. In this case I definitely had a travel partner, or rather a travel leech. As you can see, though I may make my own travel decisions, I never travel alone. I always have a wide array of travel buddies. |
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Photo used under Creative Commons from Felipe Arias U.