With some people you plan journeys for eons. Other travelling partners find you within moments. Both have one thing in common: you have no idea where the journey with them will take you. Real travelling is always unplannable, open and without a destination.
I’ve grinned 17 Thai ticks to death, talked 24 Egyptian vultures to sleep and sung at least 32 Filipino karaoke guys to death, but it’s in the pushers on the Nicaraguan border that I find my masters for the first time. On the 800 metre walk between Costa Rica and Nicaragua, an ever-changing swarm of at least five eloquent shithouse flies accomplish the masterpiece of taking a whopping $60 out of a globetrotter’s pocket instead of the necessary $20.
The only ingredients needed for this were a broken kitebag wheel with 41 kg of luggage, a replacement monitor bought in Costa Rica for my broken laptop and a border official perfectly integrated into the Schmieri-Dari theatre. My first border crossing costs a nice $20 baksheesh for a $90 monitor and a 30% exchange loss at an official exchange office.
On the way back from Ometepe to Costa Rica, I stash all my superfluous luggage, kite equipment and monitor for a week in a slum in Rivas. The taxi driver’s knock-out argument was: “It’s safe, nobody would ever break in here.”. My trust in humanity, politeness and the lack of a front door to the house confirmed his opinion. On the second border crossing, I leave a bloody trail of 37 pushers beaten to death with their superfluous pads of forms behind me within an hour.
My journey takes me to Tamarindo in the north of the Nicoya Peninsula, just 250 kilometres but a whopping 10.5 hours away by three buses, two taxis and a ferry. The week-long tour with kitemag cover girl Silvia had been planned for months, but the stressful first border crossing into Nicaragua almost put me off this plan. Fortunately, the change of plan failed due to my thick skull.
After just a few minutes of talking to her, I realise what I’ve been missing on this trip so far: travelling together at the right pace, with open destinations and routes, and a clear view of the great little magic in between. This is exactly how our journey across Nicoya glows all the time.
On the first day in Tamarindo, which is quite tourist-infested, I fail in my attempt to get a free sailing trip thanks to Silvia’s kitemag pictures and my blog texts. The nearby spawning ground of the leatherback turtles, which can grow up to three metres in size, is only separated from Playa Tamarindo by a small river. The crocodiles that live in the river are worth $45 per person to numerous tour guides and boat drivers for the enlightening explanation that they have just spotted a spawning turtle. We thankfully forgo such nature marketing and instead blow our tight budget on a speed bus to Santa Teresa in the south of Nicoya. $50 and six hours for a largely unpaved 200 kilometres is a unique top value even for expensive Costa Rica.
We travel without bookings and look for our cheap hostels on the spot with light luggage. In Santa Teresa, powerful waves prevail over pot-smoking Rastafarian surfers. Time ticks completely differently than in Tamarindo, even the full moon sleeps through its appearance. For the first time in four weeks of travelling, Costa Rica is as I imagined it would be: turquoise water breaks on a white beach and monkeys roar in the jungle behind the palm trees. I am occupied with important elementary philosophical questions such as “What does a millipede with a shoe tick do?” or “How many Facebook likes can an American fit into one minute of conversation?” – and I’m happy even without concrete answers.
To the sound of Kettcar, we wander far through the jungle and over deserted beaches. I regain my equilibrium, only to lose it the next day dancing on sand during a legendary full moon party. The DJs from Ibiza are firing up the huge pyre on the beach. Above several hundred dancing guests from all over the world, a thick cloud of grass floats in the laser light between the palm trees, from which it snows heavily as the evening progresses. We don’t walk home until dawn.
A short bus journey with a hitchhiker-friendly Ami takes us to nearby Montezuma, the smaller and even more relaxed version of Santa Teresa. The village youth jump into the cool jungle water from what appears to be the only free waterfall in Costa Rica. We hike for kilometres over deserted beaches to the next one.
Our last day together is all-inclusive. We sip smoothies, hike to a luxury resort, celebrate at a pool party, play guitar, sing and watch the clear starry sky spinning over campfires on the beach. After an hour’s sleep, I leave early in the morning for Nicaragua, twelve hours away. As I say goodbye, I make my peace with Costa Rica. Thank you for the wonderful journey together, a journey as good as it gets, Soulsister! See you where the wind blows!
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.