My feet are tickled awake by a new travel companion, who reminds me that we leave in an hour. I have developed a strict efficiency when it comes to getting packed, showered and ready to leave. Within minutes, I’m standing by the door demanding everyone else hurry up.
After saying goodbyes to Miguel, who has opted to stay close to his people, we pile out the door and head for the bus station. Travel days are never much fun, but Lotte and Sophie keep my spirits high. This is to continue in spite of the potentially soul destroying news that we’ve missed the first bus, and we need to wait two hours. Regardless my protests, soon we’re singing to the whole station, a hooded top on the floor and a few coins tempting people to tip us. Aided by the very harmonious and beautiful voices of the two girls, we actually manage to make a few colones. Apart from this, the rounds of applause and the smiles on the faces of people otherwise bored at the bus stop make it a very worthwhile couple of hours. Top top it all, we give all our winnings to a local man who needs health care support. I feel morally and spiritually satisfied as I sink into the coaches seat. This is what travel is all about.
And travel we do, for what seems like an age. Normally I wouldn’t mind this, but as soon as the bus pulled away from the station, I needed the loo. For three hours I try not to think of waterfalls. Certainly not helped by the view of the Caribbean sea.
We eventually pull into Puerto Viejoand stumble around looking for a suitable hostel. I’m not particularly happy with the situation, as I feel I’ve just moved to another San Juan Del Sur. I’m not out late, there is nothing of note to write about, and I make the conscious decision to move on as quickly as possible.
Entertaining the locals
My feet are tickled awake by a new travel companion, who reminds me that we leave in an hour. I have developed a strict efficiency when it comes to getting packed, showered and ready to leave. Within minutes, I’m standing by the door demanding everyone else hurry up.
After saying goodbyes to Miguel, who has opted to stay close to his people, we pile out the door and head for the bus station. Travel days are never much fun, but Lotte and Sophie keep my spirits high. This is to continue in spite of the potentially soul destroying news that we’ve missed the first bus, and we need to wait two hours. Regardless my protests, soon we’re singing to the whole station, a hooded top on the floor and a few coins tempting people to tip us. Aided by the very harmonious and beautiful voices of the two girls, we actually manage to make a few colones. Apart from this, the rounds of applause and the smiles on the faces of people otherwise bored at the bus stop make it a very worthwhile couple of hours. Top top it all, we give all our winnings to a local man who needs health care support. I feel morally and spiritually satisfied as I sink into the coaches seat. This is what travel is all about.
And travel we do, for what seems like an age. Normally I wouldn’t mind this, but as soon as the bus pulled away from the station, I needed the loo. For three hours I try not to think of waterfalls. Certainly not helped by the view of the Caribbean sea.
We eventually pull into Puerto Viejoand stumble around looking for a suitable hostel. I’m not particularly happy with the situation, as I feel I’ve just moved to another San Juan Del Sur. I’m not out late, there is nothing of note to write about, and I make the conscious decision to move on as quickly as possible.