Two Beers and a Pretzel

I woke up at 5 AM in Managua to the reassuring sound of gunfire.  My best guess is that a semi-automatic, shotgun, and a 45 were all involved.  Upon leaving the hostel, I asked the doorman if it was safe, and he told me it was OK because the guns were 3 or 4 blocks away.  Needless to say, I ran for the one block to the bus station.  Thankfully, without incident.

The bus left at 6 am.  About an hour later we make a stop somewhere in Nicaragua to pickup more passenger and Vicky got on.  It was nice to have someone to talk to because the trip did not end until 5 pm.  About 2 hours were whittled away at the border.  45 minutes at the Nicaragua exit point, and an hour and a half to get into Costa Rica.

Once you´re in, it´s very easy to see that you just came from the 2nd poorest Central American country into one of the richest.  San Jose might as well be Cincinnati with palm trees (albeit a bit larger).

I´ve seen one Chevy truck in 2 weeks – near the place I ate last night.  That´s it for american vehicles.  Everything down here is Toyota and Nissan.  In fact, the indiginous village back in Copan has a few buildings that were donated by the Japanese.  I´m not sure if it was government or charities, but a definate presence that no other country appeared to have.

I´m staying at the Hostel Toruma in San Jose.  For $35, its ás nice as your average Courtyard by Marriot.  The building is an old mansion that used to belong to the Costa Rican president.  These guys are part of a Hostel network, so they have some of the nicest places all over Costa Rica.  They have one in Arenal – right near the volcano.  They say you can sit in the hot springs and mud baths after dark and watch the volcano erupt while drinking a mixer…  That sounds like a plan to me!

I have pics from the border crossing, but I can´t get the wifi here to give my laptop a valid IP address.  I´m on PC´s without USB ports, so no pics today.

Perhaps the areas around the TICA bus stations are not the best neighborhoods…  After Roatan and Copan, these two capital cities make me want to go to East LA, or the South side of Chicago.

To catch everybody up…  I ended up skipping Tanya’s, as that looked like waaay too much food, and Jesse invited me to his buddy’s place for dinner.  With a change to party with the local crew of gringos, I went for it. Denny runs an internet company in Copan, and was a generous host, allowing me to Skype with my family for the better part of an hour.  After dinner we went to the Red Frog bar and met the owner, Dan and another traveller, Tom (who is a guide in Yosemite).

Dan got us good and drunk.  His signature mixed drink is the “Dirty Dan”.  Tastes like koolaid, must be 151 from the way I felt on Friday.  Then a drink called the “Uterus”…  Tom owes me a picture – you won’t believe what it looks like.

So I was sick all day Friday.  Caught the Saturday bus to San Pedro, and then to Tegus.  Today I took a bus to Managua.

I may elaborate later, but let’s just say these are not the best places I’ve ever been on vacation…

Guys at the bus stop follow you to a hotel, follow you to an ATM, and then as you to pay for the “security” they provided, as well as try to fleece you for 2x the price on the room (I assume they got a commission).

Anyway, 6am bus to Costa Rica tomorrow, and no new pics from the bus rides, so I’ll post again when I get to San Jose…

In July of 2006, I went to Europe with my friend Will to pick up my shiny new car.  Incidentally, if you’re ever in the market for a new German car, look into the manufacturer’s European Delivery option. Most offer about 7% off MSRP, 2 weeks of driving in Europe with zero deductible insurance, and free shipping back to your dealership.

But you have to get there first…

We flew overnight from Cincinnati to Paris, then caught a connector to Prague.  At CVG (Cincy), we discovered the absolute bliss of the Duty Free Shop where you could buy a 1.5 liter bottle of vodka for about  $11.

Thinking ahead, and having 2 hours to kill before the flight, we realized that we were in dire need of cranberry juice to complete the elixir.  Airport shop after airport shop denied us our quarry.  Apple, orange, and pineapple juice were plentiful, but cranberry was nowhere to be found.  …Until we came upon a rather sizable bar.  In our moment of desperation, Will inquired on the availability of cranberry juice.

“I’m sorry,” replied the bartender holding a large bottle of our desired nectar, “we only sell by the glass.”

Unswayed by the retort, Will immediately reverted the conversation to a 5th grade word-problem:

Will: “How much per glass?”

Bartender: “Five dollars.”

Will: “So, how many glasses of cranberry juice do you think are in that bottle?”

Bartender: ”Um, I don’t know… maybe four.” 

Will: “So that would be $20″

Bartender:  ”Yep.”

Will: “Sold!  Wrap it up!!”

Bartender:  ”I can’t, my boss will get mad if I give you the whole bottle.”

Will: “Then pour it into 4 glasses and give me the bottle…  I’ll pour it back in.”

Bartender:  ”You’ll make a mess on my bar!  Wait until no one is looking and I’ll give you the bottle.”

The stealthy transaction was carried out.  The bartender kept her job.  The bottle fit into my carry-on.  The vodka was delivered onto the plane by the Duty Free Store.  The stewardesses were probably curious as to how 2 men could possibly need so many cups of ice on an eight hour flight.

The highlight of the flight was an argument between me and Will about whether we would see the sunrise before we landed.  Having never flown across the pond before, and possibly disoriented due to the vodka, Will somehow believed that the sunset we had just witnessed would be the last time we see the glowing orb again for two more days.   Unfortunately, he was not drunk enough to take my $1000 bet that we would see the sunrise before we landed.

Sadly, we ran out of vodka 6 hours into the flight.

Even worse, we had to take a bus the long and twisting way around Charles de Gaulle (CDG) airport in a heightened state of awareness roughly known as “hungover and need to pee.”