I’m writing this from Cartagena, Colombia, on a Saturday night during the biggest party weekend in the country. My time in Colombia has been such a treat so far, but I was pleasantly reminded by a new friend of mine that part of sharing travel stories is sharing the bad that comes along with the good.
At 55 days of backpacking solo, I’ve certainly had my share of good and bad-- and I would never, ever want anyone to think that solo, long-term travel is all fun and games. In fact, I find myself reminding others that it’s okay to slow down while you’re on the road, and at the same time, I’m often reminded to step out of my comfort zone.
For example: since my last blog post, I left Honduras (fully open-water PADI scuba diving certified!), and moved on to Nicaragua, the country where I first began my solo travels about 2 years ago. When I first went there, I was a bit limited in where I could go and what I could do since I was travelling during the heart of some very intense political protests that drove the country’s tourism to virtually 0. So this time around, I knew I not only had to be more thorough, but to expect a totally different country than the one I had come to know and love in 2018.
From La Ceiba, Honduras, myself and about 10 men from all walks of life (5 Israelis, 2 Americans, 1 German, 1 Englishman, and 1 Canadian, ranging from ages 27-50+) took a 16 hour shuttle that was split up by a long and complicated border crossing. It was nearly midnight by the time I checked into my hostal, which was owned and run by a Michigander and his Nicaraguan wife. I felt at home already. We joked about the massive influx of Americans who come to Windsor to drink, since the legal age is lower in Canada, before he showed me to my room that looked over the bustling town.
The bad: I had not taken well to Honduras. I loved diving, but I hated how strenuous my days were and I sort of hated being on the Bay Islands where nearly everyone spoke English. I hated even more how nasty the cat-calling and harassment was there.
While in Honduras, I met an American guy named Morgan who I got along swimmingly with. Unlike a lot of other backpackers I met, he was close to my age and in the same “just finished undergrad” stage of life as myself. After I finished checking in, I was informed that my friend was staring at the hostel as well. The first thing I said was, “I don’t have friends”. It took a few questions for me to realize that Morgan had decided to stay at the same hostel as me after I suggested it. The breath of familiarity in a country that I loved so much was exactly what I needed.
The good: exploring Leon, sliding down the side of an active volcano, and eating all of the same street food that locals would (at local prices!!) with a new friend. I needed a bit of time to decompress and prepare myself for what was next: a homecoming to Isla de Ometepe. I was excited, but anxious to come back.
Isla de Ometepe is where I spent the bulk of my time during my first ever solo backpacking trip. I worked on a permaculture farm with an American couple, Rachel and Trevor, alongside their toddler daughter and another volunteer, Kenji. That first trip was emotional for me. I had just gotten out of a very tough breakup, the bugs, the heat, and the rustic characteristics of the island felt overwhelming to me. I also had my fair share of flings while I was there-- so while I felt like a seasoned backpacker now, I knew that Ometepe would prove to be a test of how far I’ve come both emotionally and physically. The island left such an impression on me after my first visit that I got it tattooed on me.
Boarding the ferry was a bizarrely different experience. My first time around, I had been the only tourist on the ferry. This time, it was a 70/30 split between tourists and locals. I was even lucky enough to meet a French-Canadian young mother only a few years my senior travelling with her 4-month old daughter, who shared a taxi with me to Balgue, a town opposite of where the ferry port is. I thought it’d be best to ease myself into things, so I booked a few nights at a bed and breakfast with a private room that wasn’t too far from Trevor and Rachel’s place. I promised them I’d come by with a 6-pack and dinner, but anyone who’s been to Ometepe, or travelled in any part of the world that isn’t developed, knows that getting things and doing things rarely ever happen in the time you think they would. So, despite being back in island life, I was feeling stressed.
The good: I could not have asked for a more perfect evening. After arriving at my bed and breakfast and informing my host that I’d be trying to make the trek to El Jardin de la Vida (Trevor and Rachel’s place), he told me that he was heading out soon and that he could give me a lift. That, combined with the alarmingly fast pizza delivery, and a fridge stocked with beer, sent me off for my first reunion all within an hour of arriving on Ometepe. It was a heartwarming evening of drinking and catching up that felt like the island embracing me in a hug and saying, “Welcome home.”
My week back on Ometepe was filled with reunions and catching up. I also had the opportunity to meet a handful of new people, all who seemed like just the kinds of people who belonged there- slightly off-beat, slightly fed-up with the typical capitalist society attitudes, but optimistic enough to fight for a life that goes beyond that. The greatest pleasure for me was meeting up with Alex, an Irishman I met in Guatemala while we were both taking Spanish lessons at the same school, and showing him the ins and outs of Ometepe. When I left the island, he had started volunteering with Rachel and Trevor, and I couldn’t have thought of a better fit for everyone involved.
It was also on the island that I made my exit plan for Central America. In 2019, I spent some time in Panama, and while I loved it and the people I met there, I wasn’t sure if it was worth coming back to, especially since a very expensive, and very gringo-ized country sat in between Nicaragua and Panama. I was enjoying a hostel breakfast with a reggae-loving German man who worked at a tour operating company in Costa Rica, and a Belgian girl, Evelyn, who’s also solo backpacking southwards from Guatemala like myself, while we discussed what travelling Costa Rica was like. “It’s expensive, it’s hard to get around, and it seems like everything you can do there, I’ve already seen or done elsewhere for half the price.” It seemed that me and the Belgian girl had the same ambivalence towards Costa Rica, and the German made no denials about our claims. That same day, Evelyn and I sat on the phone with customer service from Wingo to change her flight so that she could skip over Costa Rica. I then proceeded to book my flight from Costa Rica to Bogota, Colombia, leaving only one night in CR.
Pretty much, after leaving Honduras, I continuously found myself in just the right places, surrounded by just the right people. My last few nights in Nicaragua were in a luxury hostel in San Juan del Sur, a fishing village turned surf/party haven. I was surrounded by women who inspired me in this hostel, and seemed to have just the right amount of social time, and downtime where I could reflect and plan for my next few weeks.
It took another long bus ride and border crossing for me to get to Costa Rica. I paid about $12 USD for a “buddha bowl” that was bland, and called it an early night before I flew out to Colombia. And in true Costa Rican fashion, I spent another $15 USD at the airport for a danish and fruit cup. I thought I was flying in and out of San Francisco, and not Central America just based on the prices.
I was not expecting much from Bogota, Colombia. If this trip has taught me anything, it's to listen to my instincts. And my instincts have told me time and time again that I hate big cities. However, I was more than pleasantly surprised with the capital city- and I’ll be getting into the good, the bad, and the ugly, soon.