Are Costa Ricans really the Happiest people in the World?

Many an international study and op-ed claim, Costa Rican's are the happiest people in the world. Even the government of Costa Rica proudly displays billboards advertising how happy the people of Costa Rica are. So why is it I found myself questioning the supposed happiness of an entire country? Is it my own skepticism regarding happiness or is it my first hand experience in Costa Rica and the rest of the Central American region? I imagine at the core it is both and I saw this with good reason.

After seeing unprecedented poverty in Hondouras and the rustic simplicity of Guatemalan life, I can see how Costa Rican's(Ticos) more modern and less impoverished life style can lead to an increase in happiness. However, I question whether or not this happiness is universal among all Ticos. I heard about and saw more petty crime against travelers in Costa Rica than anywhere else in the region. I felt less welcome and less safe in small villages and on public transportation. I experienced the dollar sign effect, where a local would see me and assume only one thing, I had money and was stupid enough to spend it naively. I question the level of happiness of any society that has high rates of crime, particularly petty crime, which is often associated with poverty; poverty in turn is linked to unhappiness.

An entire population that in the past thirty years of tourism has lost its cultural identity to a westernized hospitality culture, dependent on tips for their income. Tour buses wind up and down the narrow roadways showing visitors only the chosen sections of the country, glossing over the real Costa Rica. After visiting Nicaragua and Panama, a few years behind, but developing economically along side Costa Rica, the Disneyland-ifacation of the country is all too apparent. Tourism is the main industry leaving traditional farming and crafts aside. I found many supposed Tico crafts that were made in Guatemala or worse yet, China. Those working in service, hospitality and tourism are less than thrilled by their daily existence. I overheard one woman telling her coworkers in Spanish, that if she had to help on more fat American book a jungle tour she was going to vomit, again making me wonder, how happy are Ticos?

My skepticism and perhaps jealousy, questioning the reality of Costa Rican happiness does nothing to change to numerous articles, reports and billboards claiming the happiest people in the world live in Costa Rica. So, here is something everyone can be happy about. Sloths, they are amazing and if something in Costa Rica is truly 100% happy it is probably this slow moving furry tree dweller.

Its Not Always Easy Getting to Costa Rica

The eastern border between Costa Rica and Panama is a stereotypically Central American sight; divided by a river, travelers are asked to walk cross a "bridge" all luggage in hand and if they make it to the other side, are allowed to immigrate onward. The following photos tell the story better than words.

Below: the river that provides the natural border between Panama and Costa Rica.


Below: the "bridge" between Panama and Costa Rica.


Below: an example of the rust on each segment of the bridge.

Below: the wooden slats one must step over and across to make it to the other side.

Bocas del Toro

Central American rainy season was in full swing when I board my bus to Bocas del Toro, Panama. The overnight bus dropped me off just before sunset at the boat doc where I waited for a small speed boat ("taxi") to take me to the Bocas del Toro archipelago. The questionably stable boat, took sharp turns and whizzed past many house on stilts and many houses whose stilts had failed. The sun began to rise as the boat bounced past one very tiny island after another until we slowed down to dock at the main township of Bocas del Toro. The town still asleep (it was only 5am), had an odd calm as it looked out across the green water. I found a hostel that would let me check in very, very early and immediately went to sleep.

I woke up a few hours later to the sound of my hostel roommates, packing their ridiculously large suitcases and speaking very loudly in Hebrew. I decided to get out and explore the island that so many of my fellow travelers recommend. I soon found my way to a local dive shop where I asked several questions about diving before finding myself on a boat headed to a "really awesome" drift dive. My first dive was not a drift dive, it was merely a shallow reef dive complete with jellyfish and not much else. Disappointed I was not convinced the second dive would be much better and then as the boat pulled us to our departure point I noticed something i've never seen before, I could see the drift current in the water. The fast moving current of very warm water was a slightly different color than the surrounding water. I could tell that this dive would be an adventure. I jumped in and was immediately taken into the current. I relaxed my body and decided to see where it would lead. I did something I never do I let the water have control. The surges in the current shot me back and forth over the beautiful coral and marine life for at least fifteen minutes and then suddenly the ride came to an end as I was shot out of the current into a sand bed about 18 meters deep. There I waited for my fellow divers to join me before exploring the cave that was starring at me and calling my name. The cave was amazing because it was home to at least twelve nurse sharks all resting in neat stacks. On the cave floor were several large lobster and a dead infant hammer head shark. Indeed, one of the coolest dives I've experienced and the reason that I am buying an underwater dive camera when I get home.

I returned back to my hostel on an adrenaline high and very hungry. Hoping I to make some friends, I began to make a very large bowl of pasta hoping I could share with someone, but nobody would talk to me. I felt like the kid picked last for a sport. Then I began to notice something odd. Everyone, and I mean everyone in my hostel was speaking Hebrew. It was as if every Israeli in Panama was staying at this hostel. I tried to start a conversation with a few people but they quickly moved away favoring spending time with other Israeli travelers. It was so peculiar, nobody would talk with me or eat with me, because I was not from Israel. I still can't figure out why. But the social isolation was the reason I chose to switch my hostel the next morning to the Aqua Lounge, a hostel on an nearby island built entirely over the water, with a view from a postcard.

The people at the Aqua Lounge were friendly and laid back and with easy swimming access I stayed for 3 days. Relaxing and doing nothing felt great. But after three days another problem arose. Sand-flies, my little buddies from Honduras, except these sand-flies were more itchy and more painful than their Honduran cousins. My legs were covered in bites and after 3 days of them feasting on me, I felt like I was on fire. It was time to say goodbye to Panama.

Obligatory Tourist Trip to the Panama Canal

I'm just gonna say it, the Panama Canal is boring. It takes hours to move one boat through a large square box filled with fresh water. This water is then wasted as it is pumped out to the ocean moving the boat another box forward. This goes on until the boat reached the other side of the continent. I'm glad I went because its one of those things to do in your lifetime, however my overall impression of this world engineering marvel was boredom. Here are some pictures from my visit, in case you want to see what I saw or if you need to fall asleep.

This photo is of canal construction in the early 1900s. Anybody notice anything interesting in regard to race and gender in this picture?

Panama City Downpour

I arrived in Panama city exhausted and shaken from my eventful bus ride. Rain was pouring from the sky, making it impossible to find a cab or any transportation for that matter to my hostel. I decided to wait it out and in the process meet two fellow solo-female travelers, both heading to the same hostel. We chat for a bit and then finally found a taxi, willing to drive in the late afternoon downpour.

As our cab float through the streets of Panama city I knew Central American rainy season had begun. It rained non-stop for the next three days, making sight seeing and other activities near impossible. The hostel had a movie room, packed with backpackers ridding out the weather and several other common areas where people were having drum circles, sing-a-longs and planning their next destination. Sick of hanging out in a hostel all day, I decided to find someone to brave the rain and walk the city with me. Diane, a Canadian backpacker was more than happy to join me on a walk through the Casco Viejo. Surrounded by decaying and very old buildings and slogging through rain puddles was an adventure and visually spectacular. Although soaking wet i was enjoying myself. The rain was just a part of the experience.

The next day, I woke to cloud filled skies and more rain. Diane and I decided to visit the Panama city mall, do some shopping and see what it was all about. I am confident this mall is the largest mall I have ever been to; it had numerous food courts, copious vendors and a store for everything ever made. I enjoyed looking through the many cigar shops and even bought a few to try. The mall interior was filled with strange fiber glass statues of animals and famous movie icons, an excellent chance for photo ops. An opportunity Diane and I took full advantage of, posing with various animals; kangaroo, orca, king kong. It was a surprisingly fun day at the Panama city mall, and in its own way a cultural experience.

That night while drinking at the hostel bar and complaining to my fellow travelers about the rain situation, someone mentioned going to one of the many casinos in the city. It was one of those good ideas that was actually not a good idea. It was a typical casino, gamble and get free drinks, or gamble and drink til you run out of money. I did neither, instead I chose to watch my fellow travelers attempt to strike it rich, playing black jack and poker with wealth Panamanian men. I must admit it was hard not to join in, they had a craps table, but nearing the end of my trip i knew i didn't have money to waste on stupid things like gambling. That's when I noticed how many of the people playing poker was casually using cocaine at the game table. Cocaine is illegal in Panama but for some reason people just don't care. It was a rare culture shock.

A Bad Feeling

I climbed on board my sixteen hour bus to Panama City, with a strange feeling, I knew something about this bus ride was going to make it worse than any of my previous rides. I had an odd anxiety as I took my seat, in the back of the bus next to the bathroom. The first bad sign. Less than one minute later my premonition began to reveal itself, a very, very heavy Tico(Costa Rican) man sat down in the seat next to me and also in half of my seat. Sixteen hours squished between him and the window, was gonna be uncomfortable, then things got worse. As the bus pulled away from the station the man, now more or less on top of me began snoring.

I awkwardly tried to get to the earplugs in my bag now wedged below my seatmate, but was so constrained physically by the Tico man I soon gave up. Unable to sleep I sat uncomfortable and frustrated for hours. The air-conditioning on the bus had reached arctic levels, the winding road were making me nauseous, I started crying out of shear frustration. Then I had one of those moments, where I remembered that this was all a part of my adventure and that with budget travel you take a chance at this kind of stuff. I laughed it off, turned on my ipod and envisioned the fun adventures ahead in Panama City.

Then three hours into the bus ride my now requisite, Central American bus ride - back pain kicked in, as did the man next to me's creepy wondering hands. First I felt his big sweaty hand brushing by my thigh; but given our proximity I ignored it thinking it was an accident. Then the thigh brushing slowly became a breast brushing. As I squirmed to readjust myself his hand landed between my legs. I screamed. He "woke up" and looked at me acting confused as to why I was screaming.

I demanded he let me out of my seat and as I pryed my way past him he pinched my behind! Feeling violated and angry I informed the bus attendant of the problem; the bus attendant met my concerns with total apathy and left me to deal with the situation alone. I searched the bus for an empty seat there was only one. I felt terrible waking up the young Argentinian man comfortably occupying both seats but there was no way I could stay in my seat. As I explained why I needed his extra seat in middle of the night incoherent Spanish, the young man started to look very angry. He asked me where I was sitting and I pointed a few rows back, he then let me take the window seat next to him and said he would help me "deal with things" when we got to the border in the morning.

At the border I emerged from the bus, afraid to encounter the large Tico man. My new Argentinian friend, Raul, exit the bus walked up to the creepy man and punched him in the face! Then reported him to the police at the border and the man was pulled into a room. An officer then came to me and asked what happened the night before, I told him my best Spanish version of the story and he told me, "they would take care of it." I then saw Raul and two officers speaking with the bus attendant, who came over to me, apologized for not helping and said that the large Tico man had been kicked off the bus and was not allowed to cross the border at this time.

I went through the rest of immigration, re-board the bus with Raul, thanked him for his help and took back my original seat. Raul told me I reminded him of his sister and when he thought about some random man treating his sister the way the Tico man treated me, he got really angry, that's why he hit the guy. It was nice to finally feel like some one was on my side, when it comes to creepy men and their wondering hands. I slept the next eight hours of the bus ride, safe and comfortable and had it not been for Raul I might have given up on all Latin American men.

Party like a Norwegian

I head to San Juan del Sur planning to relax and soak in the lazy surfer vibe. I found an amazing group of people ready to have fun, party and make the eight days(I planned three) I spent there, the best of my trip. I arrived at my hostel with my Nicaragua travel buddy, Ty, just as the sun was setting. Hungry we went looking for food and night life. We found both. San Juan del Sur had many places to eat that served local and other food, huge portions for almost no money and several bars and clubs with good music, cheap drinks and fun people. Only there three hours I knew I was going to stay a while.

The next day I woke up to rain but didn't care because the little beach town was such a chill place. I walked down the beach in the rain, laid in a hammock and read a book. I relaxed and for the first time since I arrived in Nicaragua, I felt safe and back pain free! That night "the Norweigens" arrived and with them the brought a wild and exciting atmosphere to the entire hostel. Two young girls Marte and Anette, full of a sense of adventure and a love of fun raise everyone's spirits and the volume level of what was other was a small and chill place to stay. Somehow, they got everyone staying there to play drinking games and go out together every night. They party lasted for hours and these two girls didn't seem to have an off button. Then during the day trips to the infinity pool on the hill above the town, beers on the front patio and communal pots of Guacamole-mole courtesy of Ty helped pass the time until the party could begin again.

I knew I wasn't the only one having way too much fun, nobody at the hostel left for an entire week. In fact, the lack of turn over allowed everyone there to really get to know each-other. Shared experiences and funny moments among an entire group, Ty cooked epic family style dinner, the Norweigans waged never ending games of kings cup and "yee-haw". I document the fun with my camera. Our international backpacker family was fun, friendly and eclectic. Everyone seemed to bring something to the table

May 17 was the Norwegian national holiday, so of course the two Norwegians as well as all the other nationalities in San Juan del Sur found themselves a part of the celebration. We had a parade throughout the streets of the town, The party lasted a week. I had one of those "time of my life moments" in San Juan del Sur. O and if you know me well, ask me to tell you about "the corner store".

tagging along to Ometepe

Spur of the moment, although mostly fleeing the machismo of Granada. I found myself on a boat to Isla de Ometempe*, with five guys who did not invite me. My new friend Ty seemed pleased, I had joined their journey; but his four Belgian friends were less than thrilled some random American girl decided to tag along. I made it my mission to win them over by the end of the boat ride, it almost worked as three of the four Belgians were warming up to me by the time the boat docked. Then it came time to find a taxi and my status as the only Spanish speaker of the group made my presence much more appreciated.

We head to the Charco Verde area of the island, to a hostel, Chico Largo, located right on the beach. Location is about the only thing this hostel had going for it as, it was in the middle of nowhere, had almost no food or drink for guests and the dorm room wins the most disgusting dorm of my trip award. But with the sun setting and my "travel buddies" not bothered by the filth I decided to stick it out for the night.

We met another girl staying in our dorm room, Jackie, who was as disgusted as I was by the condition of the room. When she and I made plans to move to the other side of the island the next day, I discovered Ty was just as disgusted by the hostel and wanted to tag along. The tree of us then decided to hunt for the witch of Laguna Charco Verde in the morning. Here is what Lonely Planet Nicaragua says about the lagoon and its "witch":
"Not only is this a lovely spot for swimming but also it's the home of Chico Largo, a tall, thin and ancient witch who often appears swimming or fishing on the lagoon. His primary duty is to protect the tomb and solid-gold throne of Cacique Nicarao, buried nearby, He may also offer you a life of luxury in exchange for your soul, which would then become a cow on Isla de Ometepe. Incidentally, Chico Largo doesn't like people to take pictures of his pond, either. Just so you know."

We never saw the witch and I even took a picture of the lake. (O Lonely Planet, yet another way you've failed me.) But on the hike to the lagoon we did see a snake eating a gecko, some crazy trees and tiny frogs.

We then headed to the Santo Domingo on the north side of the island, to a much nicer hotel, our taxi driver offered to take us on an island tour the next day, I explained to him, that I was recovering from a back injury and couldn't do anything strenuous. He then reassured me the day would be simple and we decided to go the next day.

Our driver lied, first thing that morning I found myself hiking three kilometers to a waterfall. At first the hike was manageable, on mostly solid ground and just slightly up hill, but after two kilometers I found myself, starring at boulders and steep, slippery, narrow "trails". Frustrated I had pushed myself so far and needed to turn back, I pushed through the pain and made it to the waterfall. That's when the adrenalin and crazy Nicaragua pain killers wore off and I found myself at the end of the hike and unable to walk. Fortunately, we encountered a group from Georgia, who had brought a four-wheel-drive truck most of the way up the mountain. With the help of Ty, Jackie and our new Georgian friend, I made it down to the truck and back to our "guide".

When I informed him the hike was not simple with a pinched nerve in my back, he just looked at me confused (my guess is something was lost in translation), then assured me the rest of the day was very easy going. He was right, the petroglyphs he promised us were a single stone under a tin roof thing, that we could drive up to in the van. Then it was on the "hot springs", which were ice cold but refreshing, before dropping us at the boat back to the mainland.

When we arrived at the boat the money hassle began, he was trying to over charge us, converting his price (US dollars) way too high in Nicaraguan cordobas and refusing to provide change. After some creative change making, we overpaid the "guide" and he was gone. Our group of three prepared to part ways, Jackie was heading to Costa Rica, Ty and I were heading on to San Juan del Sur. We laughed about our crazy three days on Ometepe as the boat slowly pulled away from the dock. I was grateful to have met two of the coolest people on my trip.

*Formed by two volcanoes, Isla de Ometepe is the largest of the islands on Lake Nicaragua. The island is a destination for hiking, swimming, kayaking and nature.

getting there, getting ripped off, getting hurt, getting harrassed, getting away

Boat, taxi, bus, bus, taxi, hotel, taxi, bus, missed bus=taxi, Granada. My epic thirty-seven hour journey to Granada was a lesson learned about many things, including my physical limits and my travel savvy. My journey began early and solo, knowing the next 2 days would be in solitude brought mixed emotions; a part of me was excited for the time to think and reflect, while my other more social/practical half was considering how boring and expensive solo travel is.

Day one although, long boring and very hot went well. I made it to Tegucigalpa without a problem. I decided to treat myself to a more expensive air-conditioned hotel with a big bed and a hot shower. I fell asleep at 8pm and got some much needed rest. I woke in the morning to a call from the front desk, my cab was over thirty minutes early to pick me up! I rushed to pack, get dressed and get my cab. The taxi went across town to the bus station barreling down alleys and almost hitting several pedestrians along the way. I arrived at the bus station in one piece but so early, it was not open. I reluctantly got out of the cab and the drive proceeded to demand I pay him twice the agreed price. "What?" I said, then in my best broken Spanish I attempt to negotiate the price once again. He finally agreed to $13, five more than we originally agreed. I paid him with $20 and asked for change, then rather than give me change he drove away!!! What a creepy, nasty jerk.

Sitting in a very sketchy part of the city I sat and waited for the bus station to open. Not two minutes after I arrived a strange drunken man was pushing himself against me and asking me if I wanted to have sex. A bit worried, but mostly disgusted I began knocking very loudly on the gate of the bus station. Luckily, someone came to the gate, told the creepy man to go away and let me in to the bus station ten minutes before opening time. I shook it off thinking, I'd rather that creepy old man than someone with a knife or gun.

On the bus I found myself very uncomfortable, the seat was not at all supportive and my lower back was throbbing. I remember thinking, "I must have slept funny last night." As we made our way towards the Honduras-Nicaragua border the amount of pain in my lower back and left leg was increasing. I kept getting up to stretch but it did nothing to alleviate the pain. The border crossing took forever, the lines were very long, but over all it was a simple hassle free crossing.

Back on the bus I realized the time spent at the border was going to make the bus arrive late and make me miss the last bus of the day to Granada. After debating the pros and cons of staying in Managua vs. taking a cab to Granada; I decided my exhausted and sore body needed a cab to Granada that night. My feet barely on the ground in Managua, I was surrounded by taxi drivers fighting to take me to Granada, I went for the least creepy for the best price ($25) driver and jumped in the car. The one hour drive was spent chatting with my taxi driver, Raul, in Spanish. Raul said I spoke Spanish very well, but I think he was being nice; the two weeks I spent in Utila not speaking Spanish were catching up with me, my grammar was terrible. At some point during the taxi ride the pain in my leg went away and left a numb feeling in its place, I mistakenly assumed this was "healing".

As I limped into my hostel I noticed the numb feeling was now turning to a throbbing feeling, shooting from my lower back down my left leg to the heel. I checked into my hostel, hoisted myself into the assigned top bunk and passed out, hoping I would wake up in the moring without pain. Around 3am, I woke up in extreme pain, my leg felt like it was on fire. That's when I noticed I wasn't alone in my bed, there were at least six bed bugs feeding on me while I slept. In sever pain and disgusted by yet another hostel with bed bugs, I painstaking climbed out of the bed and went to lay in a hammock.

When I got in to the hammock, I began to cry, I had no idea what was wrong with my leg and in my middle of the night-quasi dazed state, I started worrying. Crazy, crazy thoughts went through my head. "What if something bit/stung me?" "What if they have to cut my leg off?" What if I hurt like this for the rest of my life?" Now hyperventilating from pain and panic, the hostel security guard came over to me. As I tried to explain in Spanish why I was freaking out, he started giggling, he said he knew what was wrong with my back, my leg was not falling off, his mother has the same problem and if I wanted he would help me find an English speaking doctor in the morning. He then got me some ice for my back/leg and a pillow for my hammock.

Early the next morning (I didn't really sleep), I went to see a doctor for what I now know was a pinched sciatic nerve. The doctor didn't do much but verify my nerve was pinched, tell me to ice my back, stay off my feet for three days and give me some wacky Nicaragua pain killers. Expecting a sizable bill I was shocked my doctor visit, including the pills, was only $8. Yay cheap healthcare!

Back at my hostel I was presented with a challenge. I told the reception, my room had bed bugs and they said, "still". This made me very angry , "still", implies they knew the room had bed bugs but put people in there anyway. Had I been able bodied I would have looked for a new hostel but unable to walk, let alone carry my bag, I opted to stay; although they did give me a new room and an easier to access bottom bunk.

I spent the next three days watching movies and laying on my back. Had I not overheard a negative sounding conversation about lobbyists, I might not have met anyone at my hostel. Two American guys, Tyler (Ty) and Cameron were speaking poorly of lobbyists and I couldn't help myself, I felt the need to remind them some lobbyists, lobby for good things and the many horrible aspects of politics were not solely the result of lobbying. Our conversation then took on many forms and we spent a great deal of time talking politics, history and travel.

Finally able to limp my way through the city, I went for a small walk. On my very short walk, several Nicaraguan men called at me, yelled at me and chased me down the street. Dressed conservatively and limping; I was horrified at the intensity of their behavior. That's when a jerk on a motorcycle pulled up next to me and grabbed my backside, my still throbbing backside!!! What is wrong with Nicaraguan men? Women are not yours to grab, hiss at or cat call!!!! Arrrggghhhh!

I rushed back into my hostel, and one of the men who was following me for several blocks, followed me inside. The woman at the front desk greeted me by name and then told the man to leave. Two hours later, when I tried to leave my hostel again, standing directly outside the door, was the guy who had followed me in! Now calling me by name and chasing me down the street as I tried to go to the ATM. I stormed back into my hostel (without going to the ATM); angry, frustrated and feeling like a prisoner. I saw Ty packing his things and asked where he was headed. Then packed my things and informed Ty and his four Belgian travel mates I was going to follow them; I couldn't spend another minute in Granada.*

*please do not let this discourage you from visiting Granada, it is a beautiful city. It just happens to have some very ugly citizens.

Do I like it enough to do it for a living?

It happened again, I spent way longer than I planned in Utila, Honduras. At $25 a dive it was addictive and I really couldn't help myself. SCUBA diving is one of my favorite things in the world and has been for more than 14 years. The water in the Bay Islands is calm, warm and filled with colorful marine life. Diving in Utila is phenomenal and not yet so popular it is crowded or causing damage to the reef system. I saw multiple wrecks, unique and diverse marine life and did an epic drift dive along a beautiful coral reef wall.




I love how I feel when I dive; I feel at peace, euphoric and alive in a way that I only feel underwater. Although, I received my initial certification just after my 13th birthday and my advanced at age 18; I always assumed I would be a recreational diver, doing it when and where I can. But in Utila I found myself surrounded by PADI professionals and people training to become PADI professionals. People who love their lives, live by the ocean and get paid to dive! How had I never thought of this before? Taking something I have loved since childhood and making it into a job.



I spent the next two weeks diving, diving, diving and finding out if taking my diving to the professional level is for me. I am still not sure, as I feel I need more time to consider the costs and how long I would like to work as a Dive Master or Instructor. However, in the past year it is the first thing which appealed to me as a means to make money and travel the world. Hmmmm...looks like I have some food for thought.


::view more photos from my time in Utila and Copan, Honduras::

Ruined on Ruins

Getting from Guatemala to Copan, Hondourus was an arduous journey that began at 3am. Packed into a tourist shuttle with 18 other tourists and 15 seats. I bumped and bounced my way to the border, asking myself why I paid extra money for the direct shuttle only to be crammed in like a sardine for eight hours. Three hours into the journey the sun began to blaze through the windows of the van, increasing the temperature of the van, myself and its fellow occupants to a sticky 36C/96F degrees. The border crossing was shady and some but not all of the people crossing the border were forced to pay a "tax" (bribe) to pass through. I was lucky my new found Spanish skills seemed to save me the extra $3.

Back in the van with the outdoor and indoor temperature increasing our driver began playing a CD with only four songs (Total Eclipse of the Heart, Time After Time, Eclipse Total del Amor (spanish version), and What a Feeling - theme from Flashdance) on repeat. I thought my head was going to explode on the third time through, but it played for another nine full cycles before the driver decided he was bored with it. Around cycle eight I just started laughing uncontrollably.

When I finally arrived in Copan I was thrilled to peel my sweaty, exhausted and totally eclipsed self from the van. I was immediately accosted by locals trying to sell me cheap hotel rooms. None of which were actually cheap. The first room I looked at had no sheets or windows and was $24 a night. The second room was nicer but had a $35 price tag. I declined both rooms but the hotel owner would not take no for an answer and he proceeded to chase me down the street as I searched for a place to stay. I ducked into the first hostel I saw, to avoid the crazy man, and when I read the hostel rules, I decided this would be a cool place to stay. Rules include: "there's no sex in the dorms, unless we can film it", "nudity policy: maybe you think you have a great body, but unless the staff agrees please keep clothes on", and "Copan already had ruins, please don't turn our hostel into one". Also, all of the beds were named after random famous things, I was given the "Ugly Betty Bed", with 85% of the hostel beds available it was a total ego boost...


I went out to explore the city of Copan and to find some lunch. After finding the only air conditioned cafe in the whole city (it was now well over 40C/100F) I figured out I could probably see the Copan ruins that afternoon, maybe even go for a horse ride, and leave by the hot sweaty windless town by morning. Once at the Copan ruins and after I paid the $15 park entry fee. I realized I was ruined on Mayan ruins. I've just seen too many of them. Some of the structures and art were unique to Copan but I was just over the ruins and the hot weather, so after only an hour at the park I decided to look for a horse ride to the hills surrounding Copan.


I eventually found a nice, elderly local man as a guide and began to explore the hillside's local villages and farms. In one of the villages little girls began to follow us around begging me to buy little corn-husk doll handy crafts, at first it was cute but after over an hour its was annoying and eventually they wore me down and I bought a doll, thinking it would make them go away. Instead they continued to follow me and beg as if I never bought the first doll.


The views from the hills were spectacular. I could see the Copan ruins in the valley below as well as the town of Copan and the river winding its way through the valley.


The ride overall was fun and a great chance to practice my Spanish with my guide. I finished my day in Copan with dinner and drinks with some of the people I met at my hostel. Two of them, a couple Brandy and Ryan decided to travel with me the next day to Utila. At 6am, way too early in the morning, the 3 of us were in another sweaty bus and on our way.

words and pictures don't begin to explain it

I can't believe I didn't originally plan to visit Semuc Champey. However, I am thankful I decided to listen to the recommendations of others and go. I don't know if I have the words to describe it. It is so beautiful and so peaceful that words and pictures don't even begin to show you how striking it is. During my stay in Lanquin and Semuc Champey I was in a state of jaw-dropping awe.

About one hour into the very bumpy eight hour shuttle to Semuc Champey I began questioning if the journey was worth what I would see. Five hot cramped hours in I decided it probably was not worth the journey and began to get cranky. When I finally arrived in Lanquin, my mood changed. I looked out onto a valley and saw the little hut by the river, where I would sleep for the next few days. My hut at the El Retiro lodge had great view and my own hammock on the porch. The lodge itself had an all you can eat dinner every night and a great bar. As a solo traveler this venue was great as it provided me the chance to meet others and have a great meal. Three hours away from the horrible shuttle and I was felling good.


The next morning the trip to Semuc Champey began packed into the back of a pick up truck with 20 fellow travelers. At first the truck ride was fun, but as the road got bumpier and steeper, I got nervous. I was standing in the back of a pick up truck with almost nothing to hold onto as it bounced and flew down unfinished mountain roads.

When I arrived in Semuc Champey I decided to take a tour of the limestone cave system carved by the same river that created the pools of Semuc Champey. The caves were dark and filled with cold deep water. The group used candles to light our way through the cave as our guide showed us geological formations, encouraged us to climb up waterfalls, through insanely small holes into complete darkness and jump from high ledges into pools so deep they seemed to have no bottom. It was physically demanding, sometimes cold and so awesome. I loved seeing how the river formed different areas inside the cave system.



After the caves it was time to go river tubing. Simple and relaxing it sounded like a nice break after the cave tour. As I hiked upstream with my tube, my legs were weak from the cave climb. I'm still not sure what happened but I slipped, fell and lost my tube. I just sat in the mud as I watched my tube roll down hill after hill. Finally stopping near the river. I awkwardly climbed down the slippery side of the mountain in my flip-flops to retrieve my tube and jumped in the river rather than climbing back up.


Finally, it was time to see Semuc Champey. I was so excited as I hiked to the limestone bridge that sends the majority of the water in powerful river under the pools. The limestone pools were filled with clear blue water and were wonderful for swimming. The picturesque waterfalls and jungle were a stunning back drop as I floated in the pools.




The truck ride back was bumpy and scary, but I felt so calm from my afternoon in the pools, I hardly noticed. That evening I relaxed in my hammock looking at the river and started to see why people said it was a magical place, time and stress do not exist at the El Retiro Lodge, in the town of Lanquin and at the pools of Semuc Champey. I spent 3 more days in that hammock.

the best thing i've done

Today marks the official one year anniversary of my purposeful unemployment. I sugar coat my departure to my professional contacts and co-workers; but the truth is I left my job because I am a human-being not a punching bag. I left my job because my supervisor and I could not communicate effectively. I left my job for my mental and physical health. I left my job because my employer deserved an employee who wanted to work 80 hour weeks/weekends, to do the work that needed to be done, to sacrifice their life and health to a job which paid terribly and received little recognition. I was not that person. I believe in a work life balance and my time with my employer was never balanced. My life, my education and my relationships suffered, I had enough. So, I made a plan, I saved my money and I quit my job. I promised myself the next year would be about me, about healing and about finding the balance I was missing.

As I look back on the goals I set for myself, those I accomplished and those I have yet to work on; I am conscious of my state of mental and physical health and how leaving a position which made me terribly unhappy was (so far), the best decision I have ever made! The past 365 days have been for reflection on my work-self and my personal-self. What went wrong and how do I recover me, and the future work me from the wounded soul who emerged one year ago? What actions have I taken to better myself, discover a new career field or further my education? What have I done with this year?

I began my one year journey with the completion of my masters degree. I finished the course I had been neglecting during the last few months of work and began researching and writing my thesis. I knew it would be a difficult challenge but post employment I found myself with more time than activities to fill it. I woke up every morning, worked on my paper, napped through the heat of summer mid-day, went to the gym, did something social-nurtured social/familial relationships, played classic Nintendo, read books and watched TV. All of the things I was neglecting working long days and most weekends. I had fun, I stayed up until the sunrise on many occasions. I did what I wanted when I wanted. It felt good.

Nonetheless, I set goals for myself, big and small. I challenged myself to do things I had never done. Silly things like beating Mario Brothers, Mario Bros 3 and Super Mario World without cheating. Healthy things like going to the gym and watching what I ate. Research paper goals; finding one new source, outlining a chapter, writing 2 pages. Reconnecting with a friend or taking a moment to understand me. The thesis thing happened and was easier than I thought. I re-took the LSAT and improved my score. In fact, with the time and energy I needed to do my work, things that seemed difficult or impossible only a month or two prior were simple and fast.

I traveled. First to visit friends who I neglected during the course of my employment, then to see places I wanted to see and was unable to take a proper vacation to do so, when I had my job. Reconnecting with people was empowering. My trip to Portland, Oregon even inspired me to take charge of my weight. Traveling with my mother and aunt rebuild family relationships, strained by my continual (work induced) absence from family events. Time spent on buses, trains and planes was time to reflect and plan next steps to re-order my priorities and just be.

I gained over fifty pounds during the time I worked for my previous employer. My physical health was in peril, I was very unhappy with my body size and prior to leaving my job could do very little to change things. I worked so much, I lived on fast food. I was so unhappy I made bad food decisions seeking comfort and happiness from the food I ate. Leaving changed that. On a budget and with time to spare I could focus on my body and my health. I could go to the gym, join weight watchers and prepare my own healthy food. I promised myself when I quit my job I would spend the time gained becoming healthier. I am thrilled to tell you I succeeded!

Central America was my primary travel obsession for years, leaving my job meant traveling here. Almost everyday I spend in this paradise I think, "this is one of the greatest moments of my life." The annoyances; bugs, heat, humidity, etc...are merely stories to share and in my way more relaxed than usual state of mind, these problems are easily pushed away for adventure and knowledge. I learned the basics of Spanish conversation in only a few weeks. I have improved my scuba diving skills and started this blog. This trip is an adventure and an education. I am learning about other cultures, about myself and about others. Travel in Central America and the rest of the world is a chance to open my mind, the hillapinnia blog is the chance to share that with others.

This blog has been a source of healing as well, writing my experiences and my thoughts, sharing the good and the bad is therapeutic. My job made me depressed and angry. The past year has been spent letting go. I promised myself at the one year point I would let all of my anger and frustration with my former employer go. Today is that day, I hope I am ready.

I wonder where the next year will lead. I am having a hard time deciding the course. I love diving and could see myself as a Dive Master or PADI Instructor. I have acceptances to Law Schools that I still don't know if I want. I have a degree in a field I no longer want to work in. To be honest other than travel, there are very few things I want from life. This quixotic indecisive feeling can be bothersome. My life was on track, I had a plan. But, I didn't want that plan. So I left it behind. The lingering question of "now what", is scary. Deciding what the next step should be is scary.

The last year of my life has been filled with ups and downs. Positive moments and some negative ones. Quiting my job is the best thing I have ever done and I have no regrets. The next year will be as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. I am looking forward to my happy and healthy future no matter where that is.

flying by the seat of my pants

One of my personal goals for my Central American journey was to plan less and do more on a whim. I am very proud to say I am succeeding with the challenge. So far, my best experiences have been those which happen last minute, with little or no planning. The places I decided to go an hour before I left, with no reservations for a hostel or hotel when I got there, are the best places I've been in Central America. Giving myself this flexibility in travel makes it easier to find unique adventures and even stay somewhere longer than intended.

On my last day in Xela I made one of these decisions. This time I decided to change my travel plans from Antigua to Lake Atitlan. I got on the bus headed for Panajachel, the largest city on the lake, not knowing which lakeside town I would stay in or where I would sleep that night. On the bus I asked an American couple heading the same direction for suggestions. They were the right people to ask, not only did they live at the lake, but they were good friends with people who owned a hostel in Santa Cruz (one of the smallest lakeside towns). They gave me their phone and told me to call ahead to book a bed and reserve a spot for the family style dinner.

When I arrived at the boat dock in Panajachel it began to rain, I climbed into the little boat, or launcha, which functioned much like a water taxi, and waited for others to fill the boat. At first only five people were in the boat then suddenly massive groups of locals began to fill the boat with people, sacks of vegetables, animals, anything, everything; it seemed as if this boat, the last boat leaving that day, was the "chicken bus" of the lake. I'm pretty sure the boat had way more weight and people than it was equipped to handle, this concern was proven by the less than two inches between the rim of the boat and the surface of the water, as it's little engine struggled to push us across the lake.

After a loud crack of thunder, the rain became a downpour and several people on the boat were getting soaked. Including a young pregnant woman holding a baby. Nobody seemed to offer her their seat and her baby was screaming as the cold wind and rain assaulted them. I decided to give her my slightly covered/dry seat, and shield her baby with my rain jacket, I then stood in the center of the downpour.

When I arrived in Santa Cruz I was soaking from head to toe, even my water resistant hiking boots were soggy. I looked like a wet rat/bag lady as I walked up to questionably constructed dock towards the hostel. The trash bag I wrapped my backpack in was covered in mud (how it got muddy on a boat still baffles me) and as I carried it, I became covered in mud as well. I was very thankful my hostel, La Iguana Perdida, was directly in front of the dock and I only needed to walk a bit further in the rain.

When I arrived soaked and leaving puddles of water everywhere I stood, the staff were friendly, helpful and immediately offered me a beer to relax after my eventful and wet journey. I had just enough time to change before dinner and trivia night began. I knew at this moment I had made yet another wonderful last minute decision and my one night stay at the lake might become a week or longer; right on the lake with spectacular views and a spectacular atmosphere, so many friendly travelers and a huge dinner, all for very little money.

When I woke up in the morning the views of the lake were spectacular. The sky was clear and previous nights rain left a calm feeling across the lake. I decided to hike around the lake and see what the other towns had to offer. When I reached the second small town past Santa Cruz, I was stopped by two locals who warned me to turn back, apparently many tourists had been robbed along the path in the past year. The local couple then insisted on walking me back to Santa Cruz so they knew I was safe. It totally freaked me out, how could such a quite and relaxed lake have a problem like this? So I did some research (asked more locals), and not only is there a problem with robberies on the hiking trail but, last year some of the local (Maya) caught a few of the robbers immediately after they had mugged some backpackers, and they brought them to "Mayan justice" (tied them up, and lit them on fire in the middle of Panajachel). I decided my future trips around the lake would be with others and without valuables.

That night the hostel hosted a cross dressing party (not in the mood to gender bend I wore my regular clothing) and I meet an older couple from New York. They mentioned they were headed to Antigua in the morning and offered me a ride. I decided it was a good chance to get to Antigua for free and accepted the offer. Again the chance to fly by the seat of my pants and see what happens.

I woke up the next morning to an earthquake, at first it sounded like someone was running across the tin roof, then I felt my bed begin to sway, at that moment everything shook violently and the door of my cabin flew open. It was a medium earthquake by Guatemala standards and as far as I knew did no major damage. Nonetheless, it was the biggest earthquake I've felt and the power was out at the hostel for about an hour. The couple from New York was a bit freaked out and ready to go to Antigua so, I packed my things and said goodbye to the pretty little lakeside town, then climbed into the smallest car I've even seen for my free ride to Antigua.

Pajas

My new favorite Central American Spanish slang word is, paja, a loose translation is, lie although the actual word means straw. How I came to know this word is a funny and pathetic story. Laguna Chicobal, a scared Mayan lake in the middle of a volcanic crater; my lack of physical fitness and some misinformation lead to a very interesting day in the Guatemalan highlands.

The night before, my school had a new student dinner party and many of my fellow Spanish students brought "fire water" (Guatemalan moonshine/everclear like liquor). After many drink offers I finally had some kind of soda and firewater drink and followed that with a small amount of beer. Compared to my fellow students I was taking it easy. In fact, I was thrilled they were drinking the fire water, like...well...WATER! I hoped their impending hangovers would even the physical fitness level for our hike the next morning. Unfortunately, it seems I underestimated the ability of the Swedish to recover from a night of drinking.

When morning came I was the one with a headache, everyone else was fine! My immediate reaction was shock, then as I walked about a mile through Xela to find the "chicken bus" that would take us to, San Martín Sacatepéquez (the village we needed to hike through to get to Chicabol), I realized I was going to have a very hard time keeping up on the hike. I was being out walked in a mostly flat urban environment. The one hour ride on the chicken bus made me sicker and when we finally got off, it was all I could do not to pass out in the middle of the road.

San Martín Sacatepéquez, was a beautiful farming village located on a very steep hillside of the Guatemalan highlands. Getting through the village was painful. Each step uphill felt like I was running a marathon. My breathing was shallow and short. The others flew past me as my slightly nauseous, achy, overweight and asthmatic body fought its way up each progressively steeper hill. At first I was only a small bit behind the group, then further and further until I was so far behind the others had to wait for me. I was by far the week link on the hike.

It was about this time when I started flashing back to the dinner the night before, when so many of the teachers and students at the school were trying reassure me the hike was easy and I should have no problem. I screamed "bull****" towards the sky; causing our guide, Kurt, to look back and notice my struggles. As he walked towards me down the mountain he was yelling words of encouragement, it was nice, but my anger with those who convinced me to do the hike was the only energy getting me up the hill.

With Kurt walking along side me trying to push me to walk faster, I was only angrier still. I asked him and the others to go on ahead. I just needed to do this at my own, less healthy person speed. Kurt refused, I felt guilty for holding the others back and was unsure if I would be able to continue. That's when Kurt taught me, paja. It was the perfect explanation for my frustration with those who pushed me to do the hike. "Chicobal es muy facil", response "ya, paja!" I screamed paja up each of the steep and slippery inclines. I use my anger to get through the village.

Finally, after an excruciating hour or more (it takes a fit person 25-30 minutes) I was through the village and at the base of Chicabol. HA! Pajas! It was an even more difficult and steep climb to the top to the volcano. Then I saw a horse, I joked to Kurt that I should use the horse to climb to the top, Kurt said I probably could negotiate a rental of the horse, although people don't usually do that. Time to test the Spanish skills. Between Kurt and I we negotiate a horse and a guide(young boy to lead the horse - since I didn't know where I was going) for about $12.

I climbed on the horse, Durango, and we began our climb up the mountain to the lake. As I watched Durango fight her way up the mountain I realized how difficult the hike was. There is absolutely no way I could have done it on my own. In fact, the altitude was so high, the air so thin; I was having a hard time breathing while just sitting there on the horse. Once in the crater of the lake. I felt calm. According to the Popul Vu, Mayan creation story, life began in the lake. Walking around the lake many Mayan alters were set up for prayer and people were sitting by the lake praying. It was beautiful.


Back on Durango, I head back out of the crater and down the mountain. Durango was suffering, having problems breathing and walking with me on her back. Eventually, I got off of her and walked alongside to get back down the mountain, all the while thinking. "if this is difficult for a horse that does this climb regularly, I can only imagine how I would have done."

Walking down was more painful than the walk up. Although I could breathe, my knees were taking all the pressure as I worked to walk but not fall down the steep hills. The views as we walked through the village were phenomenal. The people of the village were friendly saying hello as we walked past. Back on the chicken bus I began considering how long the hike would have taken me without the horse, a feeling of sadness over my current state of health set in. I really, thought I had done so much to improve my health in the past year. I realized how much further I still have to go. In pain and exhausted I went home to shower, ice my sore - out of shape self and plan my revenge against those who told me so many pajas about the hike to Laguna Chicobal.

Let's all dance the Quetzaltenango: It happen somewhere in or Around Xela

Xela, after 3 weeks, it holds a special place in my heart. A friendly town filled with a diverse mix of people and industries. It has its own culture, unique in Guatemala and the world. Things move slowly there but with the grace of a European city. Strangers greet each other in the street, locals are intrigued by foreigners travels and traffic overwhelms the tiny cobblestone streets.

In only a short time I meet many wonderful people, learned about local NGO and Peace Corps projects and improved my Spanish. Never a dull moment, the following are some of the many things I did in and around Xela.

*Fuentes Georginas
I showed up for my "shuttle" to Fuentes Georginas (natural hot springs) and discovered it was the back of a truck. Myself and a few of my fellow students jumped inside and we were on our way. As I bounced and braced myself in the back of the truck we ascend up one mountain after the other, the views were spectacular. Afternoon clouds were slowly descending on us and eventually we found ourselves traveling through a cloud.



When we arrived at the park there was a short and beautiful walk through the highlands to the hot springs. The springs were beautiful but I was shocked to find the springs were in structured pools; much like a European bathhouse. The water was very hot and had a slight smell of sulfur. The closer to the mountain run off the hotter the water. It was a very relaxing afternoon.


*Salcaja
A small village near Xela, with a large central market famous for its hand woven cloth. It was a nice afternoon. I saw the oldest Church in Central America, a traditional weaving demonstration and tried very-very strong Guatemalan fruit wine (moonshine).




*San Andres Xecul
The town is famous for this church! Crazy yellow, red and blue facade and dome. It has a circus like look.


But the real reason people come to San Andres Xecul is to pray to the patron saint of cigarettes, alcohol and prostitution. San Simon, also known as Maximon or Ry Laj Man, he an interesting figure in Guatemalan Catholicism and ancient Mayan belief. People come to pray before him, light candles and offer cigarettes.

I made paid my offerings.