As we left for the trip, the pura vida attitude had yet to ingrain itself in our consciousnesses. An outlook which would have made the journey a little more pleasant. To begin, American Airlines called us all at midnight on Tuesday night, six hours before our flight was to depart. Due to bad weather in Dallas, our flight had been canceled. This meant we had the pleasure of dealing with rescheduling until two in the morning. Luckily, Michelle and I are Gold members in AA’s frequent flier program (all jokes intentional), and while a pain, they were able to help out out.

Jae and I ended up flying out at 6am for Miami via La Guardia. Michelle and Mike were to meet us that night in Miami and the next morning we all would fly to Liberia (the new airport in Costa Rica) together. While it meant that we lost a day in Costa Rica, there are many worse places to have an overnight layover. And unlike Chicago, or even New York, where they were about to stick me for a midnight to 6am layover, Miami has a beach. Jae had some friends who were in Miami, so we even had people to party with.

Oh yeah: our flight from Chicago to New York got delayed, making for a rushed connection. While we managed to make the flight, my luggage didn’t. So I was without clean clothes and my camera for the first day.

But I was able to get my bag the next morning, and we were off to Costa Rica!

By 2:00 we were relaxing on the beach. I’d like to say we were relaxing on the beach with beer in hand, however that was not in the cards. And I blame American Airlines.

Costa Rica is a very Catholic country and takes Semana Sancta (Holy Week) very seriously. On Holy Thursday and Good Friday, there is nowhere in the entire country of Costa Rica that will sell you booze. No restaurants, no bodegas, no bars. We had anticipated this, so we stocked up on Duty Free in Miami. When you’re sitting on a beach, however, hard liquor doesn’t really do it for you. When Saturday at 11am rolled around and the restaurants could finally serve again, it was one of the tastiest beers ever.

Imperial is the best beer in Costa Rica.

The trip was mostly relaxing and hanging out on the beach in Playa Grande, near Tamarindo. (Don’t try walking to Tamarindo on the beach after 4pm. They may claim it’s at 30 minute walk, but without the water taxi to ferry you across the estuary, you are pretty much literally up a creek without a paddle.)

The only real “activity” we did was a zipline tour in the jungle. Basically, you climb up a bunch of stairs to the top of a tree and then zipline from platform to platform.

The video sums it up nicely:

Overall, an amazing and relaxing trip. I highly recommend Tamarindo and where we stayed, Hotel Las Tortugas.

Some other photos:

Mike’s Mar y Tierra (Surf n Turf):
Lizard:
Our own private pool for the apartment:

The sunset over the water in Costa Rica is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. The way the water becomes reflective on the sand as the sun dips into the water is absolutely stunning. I recommend it.

And the two images that sum up the trip best:

Ah, but standard processing might not be enough because of my susceptibility to spontaneous travel plans. Within two weeks of dropping my expiring passport into the mail, the phone call came.

“Want to go to Costa Rica for spring break in March?”

I work. I know you and your law school friends get two weeks off, but I don’t get spring break. I’m already taking off three days in early April to go out to San Diego with BTG. And a day a two weeks before to go to Vegas for a bachelor party. And I don’t have a passport. But Michelle already knew she could convince me. Had already convinced me; had me at “Costa Rica.” When it comes to traveling, everyone knows I’m a pushover. The cheap ticket price. The promise of getting out of this hellish Chicago winter. Margaritas, daiquiris on the beach. Costa Rica.

Two days later, I had expedited my passport application and booked my ticket. I believe it was this reason that convinced me: Because you’re NEVER too old for Spring Break.

It was not a trip for the weak of heart or weak of liver. We arrived on Friday morning after an overnight flight from Chicago. Although we were incredibly jet lagged–eight hours of sleep on a plane doesn’t count as real sleep–we did what everyone advised us to do, and stay up all night forgoing the call of the nap. We did some touristy things that day: visited Westminster Abbey to view the tombs of old famous people. Stopped by Harrod’s to find Brian a nicer jacket than the one his mom had forced on him.

All of you, promise me something. You will never go to Harrod’s during their post-Christmas sale. It was my own personal hell. Room after room of crap I would never consider paying $500 for, let alone £500. You can’t move because of the mobs of people, and there’s not a bathroom in sight. You ask someone, they point you one direction. Go that way and ask someone else. They point you back the way you came. Dante couldn’t have conceived of a worse fate for avarice.

Now that I’ve finished my diatribe on Harrod’s, we can go to the fun part.

The best way to sum of the rest of the trip is to say that from the time the sun went down on Friday evening, we didn’t see it again until it rose on New Year’s Day. As each night turned into morning, we were there to see it. Even though pubs in London close at midnight, the earliest we went to bed was 6am. And the earliest we awoke was 3pm. With the sun setting by 4:30, unlike my return from down below, I did not return with even the slightest bronze on my skin.

Each night of our London escapades brought us to a different area of town with a different crowd of people. Of first night led us from pub to pub, and after the pubs closed down searching from club to club searching for an open one. Unlike here, clubs don’t seem to have a set closing time. They close when they feel like it. Usually they stay bumping until late into the night, but tonight they all felt like closing early.

At the pub, we met two new local friends who made it their personal goal to show us how London parties. After the disappointment of all of their favorite late-night hangouts closing early, we ended up back at their flat. One plays piano and one buys wine for a living. This combination adds up to some very tasty wine and rocking out to random Oasis and Beatles tunes on a fairly out-of-tune piano. Luckily wine makes all sense of pitch and musicality disappear.

The next night we saw Avenue Q. Image a cross between Sesame Street, Rent, and Team America (puppetsex and all). It features musical numbers such as “The Internet is for Porn” and “Everyone’s a Little Racist.” It’s coming through Atlanta in March and Chicago in May. If you get a chance, you should definitely go see it. It’s hilarious.

(For another hint on the contents of the show, the character in the left photo’s name is Lucy the Slut)

However, the best nights of the trip were yet to come.

To be continued…

moseying-along.blogspot.com

And check out her pictures

As I said last time, I enjoyed the previous day’s canyoning, that I couldn’t help but sign up for another day. This day’s venue was Routeburn Canyon, about 45 minutes outside of Queenstown, and the trip would last the whole day.

The company was nowhere near as good as I had bid everyone adieu to continue on their separate adventures. But I have to say, the canyon itself was superior to the one near Queenstown. This was the original location and the other one seemed a little more contrived. It makes good business sense for them since it allows them to offer trips at a lower price and a shorter time commitment.

After the initial hike in, the jumps, slides, and abseils were one right after another. There were a few moments for relaxing and enjoying the pristine river and forest. The water was so clean I was even able to drink it to stay hydrated. That was some cool, tasty water (and no I didn’t get sick from it).

And the only way to exit the canyon: floating:

And now my Adventure Down Under comes to a close. The only thing left was a long flight home and being greeted by 8 inches of snow.

More photos…