Yesterday I bought a round trip ride to Playa Maderas yesterday for 100 cordoba, around $5. Eleven passengers in the back of a pickup, seven male youths from all over Europe and Australia, a Portuguese woman and a woman from Quebec. The guys were all going surfing, the woman just to enjoy the beach. A few minutes after I arrived I ordered a fish taco which turned out to be a nasty bit of work. There was not a lot to do or see so I bought a bottle of water and headed back up the road to check out the pigs that had triangles of wood lashed around their necks, presumably to prevent them from crawling under the barbed wire into the jungle. Within minutes it began to rain and I returned. I sipped my water while being subjected to awful hip hop played unpleasantly loud. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, but there was no transport until five. Two more joined us on the return trip. Rather than subject the Quebeci to the last seat I took it and rode the half hour back to town with one cheek hanging off the bench. This is not my kind of town. To be fair, I could only get a hotel room, in a grotty little hotel with horrific internet. One chair on the top balcony has sufficient WIFI strength to connect. The hostels are all full, so I am without companionship, which results in a serious downgrade in my estimation.
It is seven thirty in the morning. Get some coffee, pick up my laundry and buy a Tika Bus ticket to San Jose, Costa Rica. With any luck I can get on the ten o'clock bus, make it San Jose by five, buy a lens cap for my SLR camera, which was lost in the salt flats of Bolivia, and catch a bus to Uvita on the south Pacific coast.
Tomorrow or the next day I will attempt to rent a house on the beach and stick around for a couple of months. A place to hang my hat. Me? Yeah, I know. I have some serious catch up to do on the computer science book I am writing and some miscellaneous business to transact.
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