The UnMission is off to an appropriate beginning. The bus left San Salavdor at 3am. We had two choices, go to bed early and then get up and head to the bus, or....
Dine on $1.50 beers and bocas, meet up with la mara, polish off two bottles of vodka, stumble in to the busstop, realize I forgot my camara, taxi back to the house, grab camara, stumble back into busstop, then passout on bus. Suffice it to say that we did not go to bed early.
As far as 20 hour bus rides go, this one was pretty smooth. (Apparently Skyy has discovered a process for de-goma-ing the vodka. So drinking copious amounts of vodka directly before getting on a Central American bus is not nearly as bad an idea as it sounds. Let that be a lesson to you.) We stopped for lunch in Managua and a particularly amorous couple joined us for the remainin ride to Costa Rica. She climaxed just over the border in Costa Rica and then we had a collective smoke, rolled over went to sleep.
The Puerto is much how I remember it, hot, sweaty, and bug infested. As I have often commented; "It is a seedy port town, but it is MY seedy port town." We made the rounds in my community and are now seeking refuge from the heat in the air-conditioned internet cafe. Later, I shall introduce Mona Sinclew to the official porteño passtime: Cervezas, Ceviche y Patacones. Oh the memories.
First official rant: I was in the country all of about 7 minutes before remember with clarity that Tico efficiency, apart from being an oxymoran, is the strongest argument against state-run anything. I bought a phone card, and went through four different phones before I could find one that would actually work. Tico PCV's, all together now: Fucking ICE!
Dine on $1.50 beers and bocas, meet up with la mara, polish off two bottles of vodka, stumble in to the busstop, realize I forgot my camara, taxi back to the house, grab camara, stumble back into busstop, then passout on bus. Suffice it to say that we did not go to bed early.
As far as 20 hour bus rides go, this one was pretty smooth. (Apparently Skyy has discovered a process for de-goma-ing the vodka. So drinking copious amounts of vodka directly before getting on a Central American bus is not nearly as bad an idea as it sounds. Let that be a lesson to you.) We stopped for lunch in Managua and a particularly amorous couple joined us for the remainin ride to Costa Rica. She climaxed just over the border in Costa Rica and then we had a collective smoke, rolled over went to sleep.
The Puerto is much how I remember it, hot, sweaty, and bug infested. As I have often commented; "It is a seedy port town, but it is MY seedy port town." We made the rounds in my community and are now seeking refuge from the heat in the air-conditioned internet cafe. Later, I shall introduce Mona Sinclew to the official porteño passtime: Cervezas, Ceviche y Patacones. Oh the memories.
First official rant: I was in the country all of about 7 minutes before remember with clarity that Tico efficiency, apart from being an oxymoran, is the strongest argument against state-run anything. I bought a phone card, and went through four different phones before I could find one that would actually work. Tico PCV's, all together now: Fucking ICE!
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