I wake from my sleep in the small town of Samara, situated on the central coast of the Peninsula de Nicoya, to the waves of the Pacific crashing just outside my window. It had been a rough night due to the myriad of insects which had feasted on my girlfriend and I; a few Excedrines are necessary to prepare for the headache which I know is close at hand.

We decide to take off from the coast and head into the interior of Costa Rica. A look in the Lonely Planet guide book steers our thoughts back to Monteverde, the town where we had originally wanted to begin our adventure. Leah and Laura tell us that they want to continue north along the Nicoya coast to Playa Tamarindo, so we exchange email addresses and say our goodbyes. We had traveled the last 5 days as a group and now, as we sit at different bus stops it is hard not to feel a little disconnected.

A violent burst of thunder, followed by a quick fall of rain precludes our bus´ arrival. It is an old, blue, Laidlaw school bus and contains only half of its original seats. We pay our fare, climb aboard, and try to find a seat that is bolted down to the floor. The ride is rough, and every minute or so the bus stops to pick up passengers who are standing in the pouring rain.

An hour later we pull into the bus terminal in Nicoya. It is a bustling center of activity full of travelers, merchants, and cab drivers. There are men selling newspapers and women selling fried pastries. Beside the station is a rather large market area, the obvious destination of most of the now soaked, road side passengers.

I wonder around the terminal, inquiring, in broken Spanish, as to the whereabouts of the bus to Monteverde which I know must be near. A man who speaks a little English explains to me that there is no bus directly to Monteverde and that I will have to instead take the bus to San Jose and find a connecting route. I grumble, knowing this will take an entire day of hot, rough traveling. Jess and I find a small soda, or lunch counter, order some breakfast, and discuss hiring one of the countless cabs to take us straight to Monteverde.

After stuffing myself on torta and Fresca, I seek out the cabby with the most friendly face and ask him the price to our destination.

“One hundred fifty dollars”, He says.

So, I look for another cabby.

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9-8-06: Here I am, sitting in a bar at the Sea-Tac airport with my girlfriend Jessica, holding a beer and thinking of where the next 93 days will take me. It had been just over a year since I first traveled to the shores and forests of Costa Rica. A 3-week journey, it had totally changed the way I saw myself as a student, explorer, and as a person in general. Now, as I sit waiting for my flight back, my imagination is racing and my mind is full. I silently recite broken Spanish phrases, try to recall local customs, consult my travel guides, and think of items I forgot to pack – this beer is probably keeping me sane.

We arrive in Alajuela after 12 hours of airport navigation, check though Customs, and proceed out into the streets. 400 colones buys a bus ticket to San Jose Central and from there it is a short urban hike to the Coca Cola Bus Terminal, San Jose’s main terminal to the country. We had originally planned on heading to the cloud forests of Monteverde, though, arriving at the terminal late, we choose to make alternate plans.

A couple of girls I recognize from the plane are looking the various buses over and I ask them where they are going.

“I think we want to go to Jaco, but, Montezuma would be nice too” one of them says.

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