30forthirty - From Alaska to Argentina

coax

Adventurer
Thanks for posting! I'll have to go back and read through the whole blog. Looks like a great start to the trip. Keep the updates and pictures coming for those of us stuck in the office :-D
 

akmtgirl

New member
We are still in San Ignacio waiting for my contact lenses to arrive. We've been here 5 days and are getting a little stir crazy and ready to hit the road. Thought in the meantime that I would put up a prior blog post....the reason we are stuck here waiting for contacts.

The Tale of Cuatro Gringros and the Oaxacan Curse
Posted on November 12, 2012
We reunited with Joe and Kylee of Patagonia or Bust in San Miguel Allende after spending a few days stretching our legs in the windy, hilly streets of Guanajuato.
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Streets of San Miguel de Allende…pictures courtesy of Joe and Kylee (aka patagoniaorbust)

After spending two lazy days catching up, updating our blogs, and exploring San Miguel we all headed to Cholula outside of Mexico City with the goal in mind to climb the pyramid and explore the churches of nearby Puebla. Instead we were spooked by the ghostly empty, tagged up walls of Las America's RV Park and ducked out after one night. Our goal was Benito Juarez National Park 10 km north of Oaxaca where we planned on camping for the night in the clear air of the mountains before parting ways again. Amazingly we found, or so we thought, the park relatively easily with only a few wrong turns. As we inched our way up the dirt road on the side of the mountain, we marveled at the valley spread before us crammed with houses, people, and smog. ‘Those suckers,' we thought, ‘we are going to be sucking in the fresh air in no time!' At the peak of the ridge as the mountains opened up before us, there was a lone gatekeeper's house in front of a chain stretching across the road. Forewarned by his two fierce guard dogs, who promptly wandered off to sleep, the gatekeeper came out to greet us a skeptical smile on his face. We struggled to make ourselves understood, all we wanted was for the chain to come down so we could proceed up and camp undisturbed. He mumbled something about permits under his breath and reached for his cell phone. In rapid fire Spanish he spoke to some unknown higher up, all we could catch was ‘cuatro gringos' and a couple of ‘buenos.' We thought we were in! As he hung up, he glanced over at us, shook his head and said ‘no permiso acampar,' and retreated to his shack. The last thing we wanted to do was head into Oaxaca at rush hour on a Saturday night to try and find a hostel, so we resolved to find a perfectly hidden pirate camping spot on the long dirt road we had just driven up. As we descended, we spotted a rutted road headed up into the trees.

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Headed to pirate camping outside of Oaxaca

Our scouting mission was cut short by the tuk-tuk that came barreling down the road. The words from numerous blogs came to life in front of me. “When we had reached what we thought was the limit of our 4WD rigs, a crappy 2 wheel drive car would inevitably come cruising past us in no apparent distress at the conditions of the road (loosely adapted).” We decided that this spot would work. Ken gunned Suzie, she seemed ready to tackle the uneven terrain. As we traversed the ditch, Suzie became airborne. Rather one wheel left the ground and she seemed to teeter to a stop, balanced on her front axle, leaning towards the passenger side. A million things happened in the space of a second. I assumed we were not only high centered but about to go over so I leaped into Ken's lap inadvertently grabbing the steering wheel. Ken locked eyes with Kylee, noted the expression of horror on her face and hit the gas. Somehow, miraculously, the other three tires grabbed and Suzie jumped out of the huge hole that Ken had accidentally driven into. Joe and Kylee did not follow our example and managed to safely negotiate their truck into a ‘hidden' nook next to us.
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We cracked some beers and watched the sunset over Oaxaca. After a delicious meal of chorizo, potato, peppers, mushrooms, rice, and squash, we started doing some dishes. I was in the camper scrubbing away and saw some headlights approaching up the road. We assumed they would continue past us considering we were so well hidden from view. Instead, they stopped at the bottom of our illicit entrance and five separate lights approached us. ‘This is it,' I thought to myself, ‘Ken's mother's prediction is about to come true.' I considered grabbing the bear spray, but instead stepped from the camper. Ken and Joe nervously bellowed “hola” in a very friendly, nonthreatening manner (at least I thought so). Soon five gauchos were milling around us. After initial greetings and queries we were able to determine that we were not in fact camped in the national park, but were in fact camped on the town of San Pablo's public grazing and farming land. When the gauchos realized we were harmless, clueless gringos, they loosened up considerable and made us promise to not leave any basura (trash) behind. Relieved that we weren't about to receive harm to life, limb, or wordily goods we offered them all a cerveza and enjoyed a bit of awkward half conversation as they taught us some new words, warned us of the dangerous plants, and admired our vehicles. As they left we all looked at each other with ear splitting grins, this is exactly the reason why we were all doing this trip. Sure it was not the smartest or safest move to pirate camp outside a major city, but if we hadn't we never would've experienced these men and their way of life.

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Trying to get some dishes done

The next morning we woke up still high from the previous night, packed up and headed into Oaxaca for a day of city exploring and hot showers. We found the Hostel Casa de Sol, got into the room and hopped into the showers. We were excited to have soft, real beds, internet, and hot water for a night and we had even scored parking directly in front of the hostel. Less then an hour after we had gotten there I asked Ken to get something from the truck. He came back a few seconds later, pale, and announced, “I think someone broke into our truck.” Our worst nightmare. We knew before we left that we did not have the most secure locks, and intended on installing a car alarm at some point in Mexico, we just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Sure enough the lock was popped on the driver's side and the thief had made off with our phone and three bags of stuff that we kept in the crew cab of the truck. Initially we were not too upset. The thief had stolen a bag of books (including our Central and South America guidebooks), air compressor, sunscreen, bug spray, first aid kit, and a lot of contact solution and tampons.

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Video evidence from the hostel camera. The thief's head is barely visible. He was in and out in under 20 seconds.

No items absolutely necessary to continue our journey. The owner of the hostel was very apologetic and helpful, even arranging and guiding us to the locksmith to get the lock repaired. As we were waiting for the repair, we began cataloguing the items stolen and figuring out what we needed to replace. That is when we realized that our camera had also been in the back. Then the anger and depression really set in. Everything else that had been stolen was not vital, a camera is vital. On the bright side, I have been lusting after a new camera body for quite a while, now I can with a clear conscience buy one. It seems that the oaxacan curse is still in full effect and determined to make recent overlander's experiences here difficult ones (see Home on the Highway and Drive Nacho Drive's accounts of Oaxaca). Again we learned lesson numero 1,000 of the million we will learn on the road, albeit a harsh one, and are getting a car alarm installed tomorrow. We are thankful that nothing of vital importance was stolen including our truck and after a few tasty fried grasshoppers and some mescal life is looking up again. After all we are still on a trip of our lifetime, with many more miles and incredible experiences ahead of us.

Check us out http://30forthirty.org
 
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Dan Grec

Expedition Leader
Have an amazing time guys!

You'll find Wikioverland, the encyclopedia of Overland Travel very handy.

When you pass through a country, please take 5 minutes and update any sections that have changed (like gas prices, or the cost of entry) so it's up-to-date for those following you.
You can just click "edit" on any page and go for it.

Thanks!

-Dan
 

akmtgirl

New member
The 65.5%

A bit of our recent escapades in Guatemala.



Although we are two months post-election and one year post the Occupy Wall Street movement, I’m assuming that a majority of those that read our blog are familiar with the percentages sweeping the United States these past few years: the 1% versus the 99%, the 47% versus the 53%. While in Guatemala, we have been introduced to a different percentage, the 65.5% versus the 34.5%. Again, I shall assume that most of our readers have never driven in Guatemala, for those that have, you might have an idea of what I am referring to. According to nationmasters.com (a very reputable source, I know), only 34.5% of Guatemala’s roads are paved, leaving an astounding 65.5% of unpaved roads and making Guatemala 98th out of the random 172 countries listed, superseded by such world powers as Azerbaijan and the Republic of Macedonia. In the three days after we left Lanquin, we drove approximately 150 miles of the 65.5% of unpaved roads. One hundred and fifty miles doesn’t sound like much. Let me assure you, it is at 10 mph. One hundred and fifty miles of the most stunning, remote scenery that we have seen since Alaska. One hundred and fifty miles driving over the highest non-volcanic mountain range in Central America, the Sierra de los Cuchumatanes. One hundred and fifty miles of truck rattling, bone shaking, dirt roads.


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Leaving Lanquin, we followed the advice of the Swiss owner of the Zephyr Hostel and pointed north, the completely wrong direction, but towards the reported beautiful Laguna Lachua National Park. Laguna Lachua is nestled close to the Mexican border, a crater lake formed by a meteor and surrounded by pristine jungle.

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After a night of show and tell with the local family whose field we were camped in and an enjoyable hike to the lake, we were ready to hit the road. Instead of backtracking to Coban to get to Lake Atitlan, we collectively decided to head due west towards Playa Grande and Barrillas, arriving in San Pedro de la Laguna through Huehuetenango. Our host had consulted various amigos and assured us that it was a mere five hours to Barrillas and from there only seven hours to Huehue. We were also told that the calle (road) was malo (bad) at times, but also bueno (good) at times. Regardless, we were ready for an adventure. As we crawled through Barrillas seven hours later, we felt defeated by the 65.5%. The Guatemalan road had again given us a lesson in humility. For seven hours we had taken a beating as we pounded over rough, narrow, dirt roads. Evidently in Guatemala there is no gravel, only dirt held together with large, sharp rocks.

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Occasionally, on very steep sections, two narrow concrete pads wide enough for the tires had been laid, but those would disappear at the top of the mountain. But, despite the punishment of the road, we couldn’t wipe the huge grins off of our faces. Even though we were in an area that according to our maps should be sparsely populated, we drove through small village after small village. Defying gravity, they clung to the side of the steep mountains. Logically, one would imagine that such villages would be better off placed in a valley or near the bottom of the mountain. Each mountain plunged into the next with steep, narrow, uninhabitable valleys.

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Along the road trudged tiny Mayan men and women dwarfed by the loads they carried on their backs. In Guatemala, for the poor indigenous population, nothing is easy. Corn crops are planted on vertical slopes, planted and tilled with simple hoes. Corn is husked, by hand, from the cob and laid to dry in the sun. It is then either ground by hand with mortar and pestle or if the village has one, a simple machine run with a motor. Once the corn is ground into cornmeal, tortillas are made and baked over an open hearth. Wood for the hearth is harvested from the vertical slopes of the mountains. Painstakingly chopped down with machete, bundled up and carried on their back using a forehead strap. It was not uncommon to see stooped old men and young children, carrying their weight or more in wood. Exhausted yet ecstatic we settled in for the night in a rock quarry outside of Barrillas, feeling as if this is what overlanding is all about.


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As we left Barrillas, Ken heard a new rattling noise coming from the back of the truck. We pulled over in the first spot in the road wide enough to accommodate two trucks (unfortunately also the town dump), and checked the truck over. A bolt holding the suspension airbag in place was gone. If we had ignored the rattling and continued driving, the entire air bag would have been destroyed and we would have been stuck in the middle of no where Guatemala for weeks waiting for a new one.


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Luckily, Ken was able to use one of the bolts holding the camper to the truck bed and we were able to safely continue. We kept climbing higher and higher into the mountains and the road did not improve until we topped out in a forest of pine trees and were beyond ecstatic to see smooth, unbroken concrete.

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After an entire day in low range, cruising at 45 mph felt like light speed. When we checked the Garmin, we saw that we were at well over 9,000 ft in elevation. Surrounded by pine trees, we felt as if we were back in Alaska or Montana. That is until three donkeys trotted by loaded down with wood led by a spry man in shin length white pants, a black vest, black cowboy hat, and sandals: yep, still in Guatemala.

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Amazingly we continued to climb up windy, narrow, mountain roads, until we were driving through the Cuchumatanes high mountain desert at 11,200 ft. A new record for Suzie and both of us! But, when one goes up, one must go back down and down we plunged towards HueHue.


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The hotel in HueHue no longer allowed camping in it’s parking lot, so we decided to push on towards San Pedro, only a 2 hours drive according to the waiter at the restaurant. Lesson number 1,674 of overloading was learned, when asking a local for directions and driving times poll at least three different individuals and add at least 2 hours of driving time to whatever estimate they give you. We made it to the access road to Lake Atitlan just as the sun was setting and navigated down the extremely steep road arriving in San Pedro four hours later.
 

akmtgirl

New member
Moving Day

We arrived in San Pedro on December 19th, a mere two days before the end of the world (aka the end of the 13th baktun of the Mayan calendar) and only five days before Christmas. We rolled out of bed the next morning with one simple goal in mind, to find a house with secure parking large enough for two trucks. Our plan was to rent a home in San Pedro for the next month with our faithful travel companies, Patagoniaorbust, and settle down for some serious language lessons and truck maintenance. After five hours of trudging the streets, the task seemed more daunting.

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San Pedro “street”

Despite asking every travel agent, hotel, hostel, posada, and guesthouse we could find, we still did not even have the slimmest lead. Everyone shook their head, “no, no su posible causa de 21 de Diciembre, Navidad, Año Nuevo, San Pedro se llena de turistas. As we wandered around aimlessly hoping to stumble upon a magnificent mansion, a scruffy Mayan clad in filthy jeans, a once white t-shirt, and sandals came running towards us babbling about a house on the hill that was for rent. Out of desperation, Ken and the Mayan hopped in Suzie and headed up the hill to check out this house, leaving us wondering if we would ever see him again. An hour later he was back, limbs and truck intact.

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View from our casa over San Pedro and Lake Atitlan

The house was perfect and brand new; unfortunately he did not remember the Mayan’s name nor how to contact him. Through a serious of random and strange events, that we have come to accept as an everyday part of overlanding, we were able to track down our Mayan, Clementine, who hooked us up with the owner of the home, Byron, and by the next day we were ready to move in.
Driving through the tight, vertical streets of San Pedro to our new home, I was seriously questioning the ability of our truck and camper to fit through the gate into the secure yard in front of the house. Confident as always, Ken had no doubts. An hour and half later, Suzie was stuck.

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Stuck

It turns out a 6 ½ foot wide camper, does not fit very well through a 6 ½ foot wide gate, especially when said gate is abutted by concrete pillars and off a typical narrow, steep Guatemalan road with no maneuvering room. Over the next hour and half, despite numerous though miniscule attempts to turn and squeeze her through, she was still stuck.

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Stuck, stuck

Byron had called for Guatemalan reinforcements, and was planning on demolishing the existing gate in order to get the truck in. The prospect of possibly inebriated (it was 12/21, a grande fiesta in San Pedro) Guatemalan’s swinging sledgehammers around Suzie was not acceptable. With some muscle power, a bit of rocking, and the sound of screeching metal, ‘POP’ she was in. A quick assessment of the damage revealed torn tin on the back right corner of the camper and a broken roof clip.

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Oops

The rest of our afternoon was spent unloading the truck while being serenaded by the sound of sledgehammers against concrete and tin.

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Out with the old…



We were amazed and gratified that not only was Byron destroying part of his new home to accommodate a few gringoes with too big of a truck, his friends were gladly abandoning whatever festivities that they had planned for the rest of the day and quickly rebuilt a wider gate to accommodate us.

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…in with the new

Over the next few days we took full advantage of our new home and large kitchen, whipping up a Christmas feast and taking in the Christmas and New Year fireworks from our roof.


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The aftermath of Christmas dinner….maybe waiting for Santa?

Luckily, Ken has had some time on his hands to repair the damages. She might not be pretty, but she's functional. He formed a piece of tin to make a new corner and replaced some rotten wood in the roof and rebolted the corner. The roof got a few coats of waterproof paint to make her look sparkly new and to prevent our pesky on-again, off-again leak. He replaced the tin on the bottom right hand corner and bolted and painted it as well.

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akmtgirl

New member
Soaking in Guatemala

After over a month of playing house in San Pedro, it was time for us to hit the road again, but not before getting together for one last celebration. We hiked up the infamous Indian Nose with a couple we met who are headed to Uruguay in their Honda Element Ecamper, and had a bon voyage dinner or two with Patagonia or Bust, Overland the World, and the Long Way South.



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Indian Nose

As we prepared for this trip, we read and followed numerous blogs, never realizing how important our own blog would become for meeting other travelers along the way. It was incredible to connect with other overlanders and we hope to see them again on the road.

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Admiring rigs
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Leaving San Pedro, we had two weeks to kill until we needed to be in La Ceiba, Honduras to catch a boat to the Bay Islands for some diving. We pointed Suzie north towards Fuentes Georginas Hot Springs near Quetzaltenago. We love hot springs. So far we’ve traveled through five countries and managed to soak in every country except Belize. We plan on continuing this trend as we head south. Fuentes Georginas currently holds the prestigious title of Ken and Anaka’s most favorite hot springs (a title that changes with startling frequency). Skirting Queltzaltenago on CA-1 we went up and over one of the highest points on the PanAmerican, at 10,334 feet, and drove into prime Guatemalan agricultural country. Ken, having been born and raised in Amish country Pennsylvania, thought he knew what agriculture land looked like. Neither of us were prepared for the near vertical fields carved out of the mountains by hand, irrigation pipe laboriously carried and connected, and the tiny concrete, mud and wood huts of the workers’ homes nestled between the fields. To my horror a majority of the crops were onions, my nose wrinkled in disgust at the pervading scent in the air (I hate onions). Luckily, the acrid scent of onions was soon mixed with the sulfury smell of hot springs. As the road narrowed, we climbed steadily up the mountain through the fields of onions, radishes, and cabbages, and into the clouds. We slowed to a crawl, sure that to our left was a bus-plunging cliff and afraid that around every corner a death defying Toyota pickup filled with farm workers would be hurtling towards us. Regardless of the dangers surrounding us, we pulled up to the gigantic metal gates marking the entrance of Fuentes Georginas unscathed.

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Fuentes Georginas

We parked Suzie and threw our suits on, ready for some soaking. There are three different areas with pools in Fuentes as well as a few cabins available for the night. The first area consists of three pools and a restaurant. The first pool abuts the rocks where the scalding hot water cascades down, and was much too hot to soak in for any extended period of time. We were content with the second pool and soaked for an hour or so waiting for everyone to leave so we could navigate Suzie into a prime parking spot for the night. After a delicious dinner, we climbed back in or cold, clammy suits and set our sights on the pool we had passed as we entered Fuentes. Tucked into the cliffs with a lone street lamp, a sliver of moon, and a few scattered stars to light the way, it appeared to be a steaming witches cauldron. It wasn’t. It was pure heaven.

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Heaven in the daylight

The next morning we awoke to a deserted parking lot and went for a soak in the third pool. Again, we had it to ourselves. Sitting in the steam in the jungle, we looked at each other in disbelief. We are really in Guatemala sitting in a spectacular hot springs in the middle of the jungle at 7,900 ft with a view of the tallest mountain in Central America (Volcan Tajumulco, 13, 926 ft). True contentment.
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Dan Grec

Expedition Leader
Hey Guys,

If you have not seen it already, you'll find WikiOverland, the encyclopedia of Overland Travel very useful.
It has up to date information for all of Central and South America on thing like border crossings, paperwork, gas prices, camping, maps, bribery, etc. etc.

If you get the chance, please take a couple of minutes to update each country so it's better for everyone.

Thanks & have fun!
-Dan
 

akmtgirl

New member
Does anyone know about multiple entries and exits into and out of Costa Rica with a vehicle? We are trying to find information about temporary vehicle permits in Costa Rica as we are traveling south. Do you know if it is possible to exit Costa Rica with your vehicle , canceling the temporary vehicle import permit, and then return at any time period? I have found one source that stated once the vehicle is taken out of Costa Rica there is a 90 day required waiting period before being able to re-enter. We are planning on parking our truck in Costa Rica for the summer before returning to finish our PanAm journey, but want to explore Panama before doing so.
 

Christian P.

Expedition Leader
Staff member
I am not 100% sure, but I believe that if you haven't exhausted your 90 days you should be able to get a new one.

However, if you are just planning to go visit Panama and come back in Costa Rica, you do not need to cancel your vehicle permit. You can have both (Panama and Costa Rica) simultaneously.

Also, officially you need to leave your car in a government-authorized storage facility. That's what I did in Costa Rica the first time - however note that they never checked anything at the airport, so the second time I left the car in storage at a hotel near the airport, which was a much cleaner/safer/easier place.
As long as you come back before the 90 days expire, you shouldn't have any problem.

You can read a bit more on my experience here:

http://www.expeditionportal.com/for...-Overland-Journey-through-the-Americas/page12

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akmtgirl

New member
Beaches and Bands

I've been slacking again, but here is a recent blog post. We will be parking the truck in Costa Rica in two weeks at a yet to be determined government bonded warehouse. Once we have completed the process I'll add some updated how to info.


Beaches and Bands

As the all too familiar bass line of Bob Marley’s “One Love” filled the evening air, the young woman immediately to my right, head crowned with brown dreadlocks, raised her arms into the air undulating like snakes, hips and feet moving in smooth opposition. The surfer to my left with his sun-bleached blonde hair offset by a deep, golden tan, fist pumped yelling, “I ********** love this jam,” and began his own version of the hippy shuffle. Welcome to PitayaFest, a unique blend of tatter-clothed hippies and scantily clad surfers, and the beginning of our two weeks beaches and bands on the Nicaraguan Pacific coast.

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Playa Mahajual



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Playa Maderas

The previous evening camped at Matildas on Playa Maderas watching the sun set and enjoying an ice-cold Tona, we were thinking a day or two lazing in the sun here wouldn’t be horrible. Playa Maderas appealed to us with its two hotels and restaraunts lacking the overdevelopment and masses of people found in San Juan del Sur. The empty beach with its crashing waves and hordes of hermit crabs scuttling about was perfection. We ended up staying for a week. After meeting the managers of the neighboring Castaway Hotel, Daniel and Megan, a couple from Florida who are leasing the property for the next five years and truly living the dream, we moved Suzie to their property.

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Beachfront baby!

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They convinced us to extend our stay to not only attend PitayaFest, but also to attend their respective 29th and 30th birthday bash extravaganza. Here we were introduced to a mysterious yet deadly concoction know as Hunch Punch, an addicting game dubbed Corn Hole, and generally behaved as if we were not 30 something year olds, zipping down the Nicaraguan version of a slip and slide directly into the surging ocean.



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Megan and Daniel showing us how its done

After a brief hiatus from the beach on Isla Ometepe, we turned slightly north to Playa Gigante where our long lost overlanding buddies Joe and Kylee (Patagonia or Bust), had found employment for the next few months.

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Reunited!

Jeff and Monica (Overland the World) and Gayla and Tad (Overland Now) were also in Playa Gigante living it up in a rental house with an amazing ocean view, air conditioning, and hot water showers! Camping outside of the hostel Campo de Gigante, we were equal parts excited and horrified to hear that the biggest reggae band in Nicaragua, Bluefield Sound System, was scheduled for a concert the next night. We had missed out on hearing them at PitayaFest because we had left too early and heard they played an incredible set. Given the fact that Suzie was parked 20 feet from the bar we were assured of a reggae lullaby lulling us to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Soon the bar was packed, the bonfires were lit, and hippy and surfer alike were swaying to rhythm.

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The rest of our time in was spent relaxing on the beach and at the pool, attempting surfing, and getting together with our fellow overlanders that we had lured to Gigante.

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akmtgirl

New member
Long Term Parking in Costa Rica

Warning, what follows is not interesting unless you are an overlander hoping to park your vehicle in San Jose while you are out of the country. First, find a government bonded warehouse (almacen fiscal) where you will park your vehicle. There are many options around the airport, we chose Terminal Unidas (10.00063 N, 84.197067 W), but we really didn’t shop around at all. At Terminal Unidas at the security gate ask for Alexis and the security guard will let you through. Drive past the parking lot on your left to an area with lots of large trucks and a huge fenced parking area. The office is in the far left corner of the warehouse. Brush up on your Spanish because Alexis doesn’t speak any English although he found a translator to ensure that we understood the process for suspending our permit. Give Alexis your vehicle import permit, he will make a copy and direct you to the small office at the entrance to the fenced in area where an unofficial looking man will write some numbers on the copied vehicle import permit that should be the same numbers he writes on the key identifier tags. Return to the office and Alexis will enter some information into a computer, print out a form with all the information needed to suspend your permit including a string of numbers specific to that warehouse. While I was taking care of all the paperwork they took pictures of every ding, scratch, and dent on the truck as well as inside the camper. We then drove to a second fenced lot behind the first one parked Suzie where indicated and sadly said our goodbyes.

We then walked to the airport, playing Frogger across the busy San Jose interstate, I would suggest taking a taxi because it is about a 2 mile walk to the customs office. The customs office (Aduana SantaMaria) is not at the airport it is about 1 km further down the road (9.99788 N, 84.2115 W) in a large white building. Present your original vehicle import permit, driver’s passport, and paperwork received from the almacen fiscal and after typing a bunch of information into a computer you will be given a new suspended permit. The top will say suspender and the permit will also say how many days you have left on your permit once you return to Costa Rica. The official kept our original permit and stated we would be issued a new one when we returned. This process wasn’t too difficult for us, hopefully when we return it will be just as simple to reinstate the permit and collect Suzie!
 

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