San Juan del Sur Sunset

Sandy beach
White froth
Breaking on shore

Heavenly blue sky
Light fluffy clouds
Bright sparkling sun

Hot glistening skin
Salty lips
Foot tracks in the sand

Sailboats anchored just off shore
Bobbing gracefully
Awaiting their captains

Vendors with heavy loads
Plodding along
Anxious for the Córdoba
American green back even better

Ice cream peddler
Rolling wagon with a brisk step
Bell ringing
Cool in the tropical heat

Blue umbrellas for a price
Divan included
Waiter with cold drinks
And local sushi

Christo overlooking
From the mountain
Hand outstretched
With love

Sun slowly setting in the west
Sinking below the waves
Palms waving in that direction
Putting the little town to sleep

-Kate Riley

Playa San Juan del Rio

Smell the smell

It’s not a stench or an aroma or a fragrance

It’s a smell

The smell of hot and rot and life

Good and real – heavy enough to reach out and touch

Breathe it in

Wrinkle your nose

Don’t just smell it, feel it

Heavy and pungent

Like passion and birth

Third world Central America rain and salt water

Clean the air

Life starts over

-Kate Riley

Surfboard Run: Day two

This is the story of our surfboard run down to Mexico. If you missed day one you can read about it here.

Our hotel had free breakfast, so we dined on biscuits, eggs, sausage and potatoes and then hit the road for the border. The line was long coming out of Mexico, but going in was a breeze. We cruised right through and were so pleased with our progress we missed the turn for car permits, a critical stop before going on into the country.

The turn was tricky. We knew we needed to be in the far left lane, but it appeared to have traffic going only in the other direction, away from the car permit place. We made the turn and found ourselves on the wrong path, headed to the checkpoint back into the United States, and right into the lanes jammed with traffic. A concrete wall was to our right, so we couldn’t swerve over into the appropriate lane. We slowed as we considered our options, and saw a man in a yellow vest motioning to us on the side of the road. Our official position is that Edgar and I don’t speak Spanish, but I must say I was considerably impressed when after a quick back and forth with the man Edgar said, “This guy will let us in for twenty bucks.” I did understand when the man shrugged in that “what can you do” sort of way, and explained it wasn’t his doing, it was the jefe. Uh huh.

We were in no mood to argue, having seen the line to go back into the states. We knew $20 was worth it, so we gladly paid our first mordida (“the bite” – i.e., everyone gets one) of the trip, and followed our new friend as he moved some orange barriers and let us cross an empty lot, and merge into the appropriate lane. The alleged “jefe” was a very quiet, older man, who didn’t give off the jefe vibe exactly, but hey, we were across, and headed to get our vehicle permit, so we got over it in a hurry.

The process of getting a car permit involves a number of steps, but if you plan ahead and have the right documents, you can follow the procedure and get it done. Part of that procedure is checking in when you leave the country, to cancel the permit. We had not done that when the Land Cruiser cruised on out of Mexico last year, so we were sent back outside, to go into another line to cancel our vehicle permit. Thankfully, that was a little drive-through area that came with no charge, and we ticked that box, peeled off our old sticker and got back in line. We showed our registration and title, and got our new sticker, good for 180 days in Mexico.

After a few minutes on the road, we had a need for a bathroom and a craving for a diet coke. Even though we knew better, we stopped at a gas station not too far from the border. As soon as we did, we were reminded why it’s not a good practice. A car pulled in next to us, and the passenger was making aggressive gestures before we even shut off the vehicle. He made an exaggerated motion to roll down the window. I didn’t see it at first, as I was busy counting out pesos for the diet coke. He made the motion again and Edgar gave him a hard look. The driver made a more gentle motion, and Edgar rolled down the window.

Passenger: (in English) “Where are you from?”

Edgar: “Where are YOU from?”

Passenger: “We’re from the cartel around here.”

It’s at this point that I made slow motion moves to slyly place the money I’d been counting under my seat.

I don’t know if you’re from the cartel, if you actually say you’re from the cartel, but clearly they had some sort of ill will in mind. Edgar didn’t say a word – just gave them another look like, “and..?” and the driver decided this wasn’t going to be worth the trouble. They tossed it in reverse and took off. A few seconds later we did the same. There was no sense sticking around at the border, when there were such nice places inside Mex to explore, and they were likely to have diet cokes as well.

We ticked off happy miles and not so happy tolls. You have two choices for most routes across Mexico: the toll road, or cuota, or the libre, the free road. The toll road has just that, tolls every so often. But it gets you to your destination a lot faster than the free road, and it’s better maintained, so if you’re not familiar with the area the toll road is the way to go. Just resign yourself to the fact that the tolls do add up. The amounts very from 30 to 270 pesos at each stop, so by the end of the trip we’d paid more than $200 USD in tolls.

Now, here’s another interesting note. Most of the toll plazas are manned by official-looking men and women in uniform, collecting a set amount listed on signs and digital displays. But in a few places, there are no uniformed staff, and the booth is manned by what appears to be locals from a nearby village. Dozens of people stand at the gate, and one is designated as the one to push out an orange barrel, usually on a rope, to stop the approaching vehicle. Another, usually a young girl, is enlisted to step forward and ask for the toll. The amount seemed a little arbitrary. At one stop the girl asked for cincuenta pesos – 50. When Edgar asked again how much, she said ciento – 100. He corrected her that she had just said 50, and she looked back at the group, unsure. An older man stepped forward and immediately showed off his conversational English, “What’s the problem, man?” Edgar explained there was a discrepancy with where we landed on the toll amount. He told the girl that 50 would be fine and we paid and went on our way.

More miles, more tolls. Beautiful country. We snacked on oranges from our pack, and offered some to the attendant when we got gas. All the gas stations are full service, so we learned and practiced the words for “fill it up!”

At one of the stops I had to visit the bano, and was about to let the attendant know they were out of toilet paper, when I remembered the fee. A lot of places charge you to use the restroom, and I found this contraption at the entrance. I gladly put in my 5 pesos and hurried back inside.

We made good time to Torreón so decided to push on to Durango. We arrived in town around 8pm, or what we thought was the town, but we more on the outskirts. We found a gated hotel and got checked in. The place next door served us a delicious meal of shrimp and boneless wings, and we saved room for an incredible apple crisp dessert. There were turtles at the restaurant, and I’m assuming they feed the turtles instead of feeding the turtles to guests, by the way they all swam over to me when I visited.

On day three we left Durango in search of El Salto, and the tales of a world-class bass fishing village. You don’t want to miss our efforts to communicate this to random gas station attendants and customers.

Cheers to Santa


A traveling man, plump and grey
Weary and wrung out on Christmas Day
Jolly and hollies all through the night
Up on the rooftops can cause quite a fright
Zinging around spreading the joy
Packing and tracking and giving out toys
When the sleigh’s finally empty, he gives Rudolph a pat
Scarfs down a cookie in one minute flat
Then you can spot him, softly singing a tune
The wind in his beard, south bound to Cancun

Merry Christmas from TSY!

Rides Around: Big Metal Bird

This Rides Around features a closer look at the methods we use to travel across countries, and even across continents.  This guest post from our friend Kate Riley offers a sincere thanks to the crews and machines that make our adventures possible.

It has available seating for fifty people, and this “red eye” flight from Helena, Montana to Denver, Colorado was filled to capacity.  All fifty passengers sat and relaxed, slept, read or utilized electronics with no burden of responsibility or concerns for snow-packed icy roads this North Western November day.  The United crew who maned the ship were helpful and professional.

We all look forward to our trips and vacations but seldom give credence to the “big birds” that get us from point A to point B. This is just a small thank you to the little jet that took me over eight hundred miles in less than ninety minutes, saving me a long day’s drive.
Time is precious to spend with family and friends or doing business.
These silver birds took me three thousand miles in less than eighteen hours.. that’s two days travel instead of six days of driving and four nights in a motel.

Thank you to our winged friends and crews who are often neglected when we salute our Rides Around vehicles.

The Rig: CRJ 200 Canadair Regional Jet
The Location: in the clouds
The Driver: a pilot spending the holidays away from home
The Special Circumstance: a season of thanks

Kate Riley

When Does a Journey Begin?

When does a journey begin?  The answer might seem obvious – maybe you feel like it begins when you get on the plane, or pack the car, or even make the reservations.  But we might argue it begins much earlier… before you even make a list, or hit “enter” on that first internet search.

Since our journey into the arctic circle (part three is coming soon), we’ve been thinking about our next adventure… and watching videos of other travels into the wilderness.  One that caught our eye was posted by a guy named Justin Gibbins and you can find it here.  His assertion in telling the story of his moose hunt in Alaska, is that the journey began when he was talking with his friend about trips he always wanted to take.  They always thought of the moose hunt as one they would do “eventually” but hadn’t even gotten to the first mark in the actual planning.  But in this particular conversation, something turned.  They began to ask themselves: why haven’t we done this yet?

That’s the moment.  They committed.  That one-second click between “I’ve always wanted to do that” and “I’m going” — that’s when the journey really begins.  That’s when you can first picture yourself on the beach, the lake, in the mountains, or across the globe in a coffee shop surrounded by people speaking a language that’s foreign to your ears.  No tickets have been purchased, and no budgets made.  But the decision is there.  The journey has begun.

 

Rides Around: Aboboyaa

Traffic is interesting away from home.
It becomes a cultural phenomenon.  Think about a New York cab driver’s behavior on the road…see what I mean.


Accra is a city of five million people in the West African country of Ghana, and that is where we are looking in this week’s rides around.


We found an aboboyaa and a fairly disinterested driver.  The aboboyaa is a three-wheeled motorcycle contraption used for the delivery of local commerce.  Take note of what’s in the background of the photos…the goats grazing and the locals toting wares on their heads.
Ghana is no different; to a local it is normal.
For me, I enjoy the aboboyaa, its driver, the goats, and the vendors.
I enjoy learning from the locals about the trike, eating the peanuts purchased roadside, and laughing w/ my driver about the girls he will not marry.

The Rig: A well-used aboboyaa
The Location:  The streets of Accra, Ghana
The Driver:  A seemingly disengaged commuter
The Special Circumstance:  Taking in rush hour in Ghana

Edgar~

Thoughts on Alaska

Thanks to our loyal contributor, Marie, for sharing these thoughts on her recent Alaskan adventure. 

Starting off, there are a few preconceived notions about Alaska that I have found to be exceedingly true. From traditional totem poles to glaciers to the sheer vast emptiness of the land.

By emptiness I don’t mean lack of substance or matter.  I’m referring to the lack of human disturbance of the natural world: buildings, parking lots, houses, all of the things that fill our eyes every single day (Maybe not my sister’s, as she’s been living in a tent clearing trails and building bridges for the Rocky Mountain Youth Core since early summer).  The majority of people take the sight of untouched land completely for granted, and mostly, I think, because they’ve never had the opportunity to understand it or have not been taught the significance of the untouched space.  I was so fortunate to have been raised to love and treasure the connecting beauty that nature, particularly the mountains, holds.  Thinking of the people who have been my mentors in helping me know how precious it is and will always be gives me an unmeasurable amount of gratitude. It makes me who I am.

Alaska holds so much, and it’s one of those rare places that you see and you just think, this is how it is supposed to be.

We took “The Seeker”, a rough and tough landing craft, out to an island one day, and sat on the beach with the sun shining down on us.  The moment was how I picture heaven.

I have seen a few different oceans and there is always some sort of noticeable change between them. I speak just for southeastern Alaska, but when you look down into the water, there is nothing but clarity and life. The forests are the same way!  They look healthy and happy and there is so much diversity when you train your eye to notice the vitality on a smaller scale.  Seeing the unvarnished beauty and strength of nature provides a sense of unwavering hope, and I’ve been able to feel it all day and night and it’s better than any cleanse you’d find at your local, overpriced health foods store.

Living on a boat, there’s nothing else like it. The first few steps in the morning feel like they’re your first three steps ever. I’m sure this is all comical to the ones that have experienced it.  All in all, I have definitely developed a much deeper respect for Alaska, seeing as I was the woman riding a borrowed, squeaky bike in my Xtratuffs.

-Marie

Special thanks to our friend Billy, who helped this trip come together. 

Iguanas and Ice Cream in Costa Rica

The following is part one of a recap of our trip to Costa Rica.  Stay tuned for part two next week!

The hardest part of our adventures isn’t the planning of the trip, or finding a place we know we’ll love, it’s deciding where to go!  There are so many places to see and experiences to enjoy, but since Edgar and I had both been to Costa Rica before we met, we decided to go back together, along with his daughters.

Since we were coming from different places, we all met in Dallas and left for CR from there.  The flight left bright and early at 6am.  We had a layover in Florida, and arrived in San Jose around noon.  We grabbed our rental car and hit the road, planning to check out a waterfall or two, and then a volcano, before turning in for the night.

The roads were decent and we didn’t have too much trouble finding the first stop.  It was actually a little chilly because we were up in the mountains, and we were glad to have packed an extra layer.  We dumped our things at the hotel and went out to explore.

The weather was… moist.  It wasn’t exactly raining, but it wasn’t dry either.  There was a sort of mist that hung around the place, which made it seem a little mysterious.  We took a little hike around before dinner.

We asked the manager about a nearby waterfall and discovered it wasn’t far at all.  It is a little tough to see here because of the mist and the fact that the sun was going down.  We stuck our feet in (cold!) and Edgar even drank a little of it, in case it was the fountain of youth.  (I assured him that’s in Florida, and I had a couple gulps when I was a kid.)

For dinner, we stopped at a French restaurant we’d spotted on our drive through “town”.  It was strange to sit and have a (delicious) French meal, prepared by an eccentric French chef, in the middle of nowhere, Costa Rica.  As we finished our dessert, we were greeted by a little cat who pawed at my leg and then jumped right in my lap!  Word of my feline generosity has clearly spread far and wide.

The next morning we spotted a cow hanging out by herself, and the girls wanted to go say hello.  They pet the cow for a while and then Edgar walked over and gave her the head scratching of her life.  I didn’t know cows liked that but this one was really leaning into it. You’re welcome, cow.  There were some others on the other side of the fence – you can kinda seem them to the upper left of the photo – and they came to the fence and made some noise.  I think they were trying to say they had itchy chins too.

After breakfast and the petting of the livestock, it was time to hit the road.  We wanted to check out the Arenal volcano, since we’d seen some pictures online and it looked like a good place to explore.   We were also told there was an ice cream shop along the way that was well-populated by iguanas. How could anyone pass that up?   We consulted the map and off we went.

Road signs in CR can be few and far between, and our map was not great with the finer details of the small cities.  We weren’t sure of one of our turns so we stopped to ask where the ice cream/iguanas were.  The store clerk didn’t speak English, and our Spanish needs some work, so Edgar helpfully drew this on our map.

Suddenly she knew exactly what we were talking about!  A few hand signals and “directo!  directo!” instructions later, we were on the road again.   The iguanas did not disappoint.  We didn’t know whether the people at the shop fed them, or they were already there and the shop came along after… but there were definitely iguanas everywhere!  Edgar asked the server if they were friendly, and he said, “Well, they have very sharp teeth, but they are nice.”  Okay.

We were all feeling a little unsure about petting the nice animals with the razor-sharp teeth, but we were okay with tossing them some leftovers, and then as we saw more people touching them and walking away unscathed, we felt safe enough to pet them too.

No hands were damaged in the shooting of these pictures.   That’s the remnants of a mango someone fed them.

With more of the wildlife fed and scratched, we headed off to La Fortuna and the volcano… and met a group of German bodybuilders I was certain was pulling our collective legs.  That’s in part two, coming up next weekend!