Katy and April had to leave early in the morning in order to get back to San José in time for their flight to Peru on the 8th. So I stuck around in Bocas an extra day by myself, hopped on a boat to another island and walked through a town and then some jungle to a place called Wizzard Beach, plopped down in the sand and enjoyed the beauty of where I was. I really did a lot of that over the course of the trip, just marvelling at how beautiful some places are. Good times. Here's a pic of the path to Wizzard Beach, of the beach itself, and of the town on the other side of the island that you get off at to go there.
Hung out at the hostel that night with a couple of Israelis, an Irish guy and an American, drinking and talking and singing along to the Irish guy's (very good) guitar playing. Good times.
Feb 8
Early wake-up again and I checked out, walked down the road to the docks for the last time and got on a boat back to the mainland. While waiting to leave I struck up a conversation with perhaps the most beautiful couple I have ever seen in person: two tall, blond, tanned, spectacular, fit New Zealander newlyweds. They were super nice, to boot. Here's a pic I took of the boat ride back:
The way back to San José from there was uneventful, except that our bus broke down at one point and that I was seated across from a nun dressed all in white, down to her shoelaces. Spent the night again at Pangea, made friends with a couple of English kids, one from Manchester and the other from somewhere near London. We played cards and made fun of each other's accents and then I went to bed.
Feb 9
Getting out of Costa Rica sucked. The cab was late to the hostel and there was a traffic jam, so instead of getting to the airport two plus hours in advance, I got there 50 minutes before takeoff and had to beg and beg and wait impatiently while they got a volunteer to give up their seat on the plane (it was, of course, overbooked), while the American guy next to me flipped his shit about some other problem and kept saying that Costa Rica used to be great but now had let private companies take over (this was certainly true of the airport) and now was the "shittiest country in Latin America." Whatever, I liked it. Finally I got on the plane and we didn't even have to take off that late because the security line was nonexistent and I quite literally sprinted through. Of course, just to spice things up, there was a bomb threat to the plane when we were about 45 minutes out from Lima. I have never been more nervous in my life, and I think the only time I can remember being scareder was when Jack nearly broke his back sledding and I was standing 15 feet away from where he hit the bench. It actually surprised me, I didn't think I would have reacted the way I did, but hey, there you go. We landed and were escorted by two fire trucks with sirens blaring to the middle of the tarmac, where we got off and boarded some buses, which took us to some hall under the airport. We waited there for like an hour while our bags were searched and the people with connecting flights (there were a ton of people going on to Bs As, including an American kid I befriended because he didn't understand what was going on) got screened first. Finally, three hours late, I entered the Lima airport proper, found an internet cafe, called home, ate dinner and looked for a place to catch a few hours of sleep before my 6:25 a.m. flight to Cusco. Thus ended the Central American section of my trip and started the Peruvian section. And thus ends this post.
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