Bocas Del Toro

Bocas looks exactly like what you’d expect a pirate town to look like. The whole atmosphere makes you feel as if you’re a scurvy swashbuckler and you’re on your way to Davy Jones’ locker. The only bad part about this place was the weather. It was overcast and rainy ever day. The rain would come in spurts, and last for hours sometimes. The streets were wet, and large puddles were everywhere. This wasn’t just rain, either; it was tropical downpour. The drops were like grapes hitting you, and my laptop got a little wet. The keyboard stopped working for a few days, and it wasn’t a fun experience. John and I had to run from place to place looking for a decent room, but everything was booked. We eventually saw some people we had known from Puerto Viejo and sat down with them and had some beers in the restaurant they were eating at. They wanted to change their hotel to a different place, across the water on another island, and gave us their room at “Mondo Taitu,” a pretty cool hostel. I just liked it because they had guitars, but the rooms were pretty small and shitty. I couldn’t tell what it was before it was a hostel, but it must have been something really bad.

We ended up dodging rain, eating beef sticks off the street cart, and drinking “Cerveza Panama” in front of the grocery store all night with some other people from our hostel. I was pretty much owning it, and John and I snuggled all night because there was only a full sized bed in our room.

Not even gay,

Seamus

New Year's Days

I’m have been reduced to writing from memory now, since I had been lazy and suffered technical difficulties on account of rain and laptops not playing nicely together. Unless I remember something really important, I’m going to write about multiple days in a single entry, starting with the remainder of my time in Puerto Viejo.

The first was all about recuperation. I woke up, and all of my roommates were gone. This was probably due to my actions the night before, as none of them left any contact info of any sort. I found my Canadian friends, and we grabbed some food and hung out. Our main goal of the day was to go to the bar with the really cold fridge and grab what I dubbed “the coldest beer in Costa Rica.” Little did we know that everything is closed on the first, and we had to settle for warm, super Mercado beer. It may sound bad, but they are perfect for shotgunning and that’s how many of them met their fate. I don’t really remember what happened for the rest of the night, but nothing eventful happened until the next morning.

We ate breakfast, with the usual shitty service. They had to harvest the beans to make my cup of coffee, but the food was awesome! We all got these rockin’ bacon and egg sandwiches, and were going to head down to Panama to see Bocas Del Toro. Kurt, who had done an entire gram of cocaine earlier that day rather than waste it, became even harder than fuck. It was when we left the restaurant that Nate realized he had forgotten his man-purse, and when we went back to look for it, it was gone. The people in the restaurant definitely stole it, and we filled out a police report. It took the guy fifteen minutes to write about ten sentences, and that’s when you realize why the drug problems and thefts persist. It was a long and boring process, and in the end he just stuck the copy in a drawer to rot. We ended up staying another night to see if anything turned up, and I told them that I was going to Panama regardless in the morning.

Nothing turned up, and I went to the bus stop to find John sitting there. I was stoked that I’d be traveling with him, as he’s a fun dude to hang out with, and we took the bus to the border together. Talk about crazy third world bullshit. You have to cross this long wooden and steel bridge that looks right out of 1874, which everything that crosses the border has to cross, and avoid falling in to one of the many holes in the bridge. You then have to go to a small office where they stamp your passport, spin your around three times, point you in the right direction and let you go. From there, you had to avoid people trying to shove you into their friend’s taxi, which would probably lead to some field where they mug you, and find your own taxi that takes you to a boat.

I think it is illegal for anyone to carry change in Panama. It took three taxi drivers to give me five bucks back, as none had any more than two dollars, and the boat booking place required me to get change so I wouldn’t have to pay twenty bucks instead of fifteen. It was worth it, though, as the boat ride was awesome.

We probably went about twenty miles in the boat, from river, to estuary, to ocean, and finally to the island. It had a big motor on it and just clipped through the water like it was a fish. We went about 30 the whole way, and it was a blast flying over the ocean waves when it got choppy. We finally arrived in Bocas Del Toro, and proceeded to make ourselves at home.

PANAMA!

Seamus

Ano Nuevo

This is where I start to lose it a little. During the next thirteen hours, I somehow got completely wasted, offended the entire Caribbean coast, and passed out on the beach. I remember bits and pieces, something about throwing a banana at Nate and Kurt, who is hard as fuck, shaving a slit in his eyebrow to become so. Also, somewhere in there I shotgunned 4 beers, threw a girls drumsticks down a hallway because of her unappreciative attitude towards live music, specifically mine, and ran from la policia. I also immediately became a regular in every bar! It was amazing, and a great New Year’s Eve. I usually have a good time in San Francisco, but this was so different and full of excitement that I had to have a good time. I didn’t spend it with the most important people in my life, but the people I did share it with are special to me and I’m glad we had the opportunity to spend our New Year’s together.

Like I said, I woke up on the beach, and was covered in ants who surely thought I was dead. I think a Sloth was eyeing me, because they’re either eyeing you or scratching their ass for 15 minutes, and I’m sure there were other animals that had me on their menu. I felt like 750k that someone took a shit on. I did not die, and went back to the hostel and crashed out in my bed for a couple hours.

Making it happen,

Seamus

Puerto Viejo, Again

Waking today, Isaiah and I got the fuck out of “Rockin’ Jay’s.” Whilst walking down the road, I hear “Hey Seamus!” It was Nate, one of the cool Canadian guys I had met in Tamarindo. It was great to see them, and Isaiah and I sat down and had breakfast with them. If there could only be one striking difference between the States and Costa Rica, it would be the food service. It’s impossible to get a coffee before your breakfast, when you order it, you get what you didn’t order, and most places are painstakingly slow.

At this restaurant, the waitress was alone, with one guy in the kitchen, and it was full. She couldn’t get her head straight, and it just might have been due to Puerto Viejo’s legacy of pot smokingdom. Yes, that’s a new word. When asked for a café, she would reply “si” but not bring you a coffee. I asked her for a “mixto de jugo,” a mixture of juices, and she brought me four apple juices and a moment later realized her mistake and exclaimed “gratis.” Nate, a good shit, got a free plate of breakfast out of one of her blunders. He and John Forge, a good fisherman, split it and were both stoked on the casado. We were served a fried egg, a rice and bean mixture we’ve come to know and love, and a slice of cheese. When it takes twenty minutes to make that, you appreciate it twice as much.

After breakfast, we walked down to a beach with larger waves to the south. Our aim was to bodysurf, but the waves were far too choppy to get out. There were eight flags marking severe undertow and riptides at the beach, seven of which were red, and only a sole green flag. The lifeguards would actually blow their whistles when we would be carried too far over by the current. It was fun, and the water was warm, so we stayed in there and were beaten by the waves for a couple of hours. Once thoroughly beaten, we walked back to town and ate lunch. We found a soda with Caribbean style chicken, which would become our staple soda for the remainder of our time in Viejo.

We ended up staying in the same hostel they were staying at, because of the unappealing aspects of “Rockin’ Jay’s,” and it turned out to be a pretty decent place! The rooms were clean, although crab-infested, and there were some cool people staying there. They had three guitars, and I played for some of the people at the hostel for a couple hours. We shotgunned some beers, and went out to Johnny’s for the first time.
Johnny’s is a good time, but gets a little crazy. Considering this was the night before “Ano Nuevo,” we thought people would be taking it a bit easy. They weren’t, and we joined in. The bar inside was loud, and Isaiah and I danced with the German and Czech girls. It was a good time, and we ended up by the bonfire outside watching these tourist-appeasing fire-dancers around the bonfire outside of Johnny’s. I got pretty wasted, and we went and fell asleep in our new rooms.

Rockin’ again,

Seamus

Smoke Em’ if You’ve Got Em’

Today, Sam and I chilled at the beach and smoked the rest of my pot. It was a nice interruption from shotgunning beers, plural, and I caught some sleep and watched some surfers slice some big waves. We saw the most impressive swarms of leaf-cutter ants, even better than on those nature special shows, and a couple of sloths. One sloth scratched what looked like its ass for a good ten minutes, and we watched in awe of its laziness and ability to do so. What a life!
This night also ended up at Johnny’s Place, and was redundant as ever. I think I even went home a bit early, played a little guitar, and smoked pot with the owner of the hostel. He was all fucked up on some pain killers, and had to hit it early. That was my queue to pass out and save it up for the next day.

Takin’ it easy,

Seamus