Puerto Viejo

I had met a girl earlier in the week at yoga who had been volunteering at a local program to protect the turtles. She said they needed volunteers and I was sold. However it was not to be as she didn’t come to yoga on Friday as planned and I had no idea how to find her. I did try to get to Soropta on my own but it proved difficult and costly so I continued on my way.

Staying in the Carribean mood I crossed the border back into Costa Rica and headed to the legendary Puerto Viejo, a rasta surfing community. After settling into my hotel and showering, I popped into the bar down the road for a quiet beer when lo and behold I ran into another Yoga Farm alumni, Greg – another Aussie. He was now travelling with a couple of his mates so we ended up hanging out and getting some dinner.

One good thing to do in Puerto Viejo is not much at all, besides a bit of wandering around and chilling out on the beach. That pretty much summed up my day. Stupidly I ended up getting quite sunburnt so had to stay indoors for the rest of the afternoon. Puerto Viejo is a really cool town, obviously touristy but relaxed and fun. The scenery is beautiful and around the town there is not much but jungle on one side and beach on the other, typical of most parts of Costa Rica I have seen.

In the evening I went to a local soda run by the lovely Isma for dinner where my Aussie mates found me again. We had a good night of a few more beers and hanging out at the beach, amazed at how still the water is on this side of the coast.

The plan for the next day was to head to Cahuita, about half an hour up the road with a beautiful beach and more laid back than Puerto Viejo. I got of the bus and was wandering around with my pack and all my gear on but there was something about the place that just didn't feel right. I don't know whether it was the European expat who came up to me and looked like she came for a holiday 10 years ago and never left and now looks like a junkie, or the rasta who was offering to help me find a place to stay with a half finished bottle of guaro in his hand that he was swigging. The town looked quiet, too quiet. So I went back to the bus station and thought I'll get on the next bus that comes.

San Jose it is...