One Last Fitting

Spending a year and a half in hotel rooms means you start to find the little details fascinating (I did anyway). Here's the last hotel room shot from the trip, our framed air-conditioner controller in Bali.

For more photos of interesting/depressing/weird room fittings, see here, here, here, here and here.

San Jose

We stuffed our four backpacks into the back of a taxi and directed our driver to the hostel. His appearance screamed ‘shifty’ but he agreed to take us for a good price. As his silver ringed fingers wheeled us around town, a ‘helpful’ suggestion dribbled from below his thick black moustache; “Let’s just ring them first and make sure they’re not full”. We pulled over, and his hairy sausages mashed in the number. “Not working” he said after putting the phone up to his ear. He ‘tried’ the number again; this time there was someone on the other end. “Pangea Hostel?” he asked, then handed the mobile to Paul, so Paul could ask about a room- and so we could know he wasn’t just going to lie and tell us they were full. Taxi drivers earn commissions by taking tourists to certain hotels, and this was a show of honesty on his part so that we could be sure he wasn’t trying to scam us into staying to his Cousin’s Crappy Hostel. “We’re full” came the answer, followed by a round of raised eyebrows on our part- just a feeling we all got. Paul checked the last dialled numbers, and noting that the number he had just been talking to be different to the advertised one of our hostel, tried the hostel number again. This time he got a new person on the other end, and it turned out that there were plenty of beds available. The driver had someone, somewhere, who he called and would then pose as staff, regretfully informing the caller that their chosen hotel was full- maybe your taxi driver knows somewhere? (and changing the destination of the cab means hiking up the price, too). Realising he had been caught, our driver turned up the stereo, stared straight ahead and didn’t make any other ‘helpful’ suggestions, or indeed, say another word for the entire trip.

The High Cost of Costa Rica

Budget buster Costa Rica flexed its financial muscle all over us when we went out to celebrate Charlotte’s birthday. A simple meal of pizza, beer and salad netted the establishment $60 in Oz money, including over $12 in taxes and other shifty add-ons (that really is massive given our budget for this part of the world). With our wallets smarting from the sudden weight loss, we planned a quick getaway into waters more forgiving of travellers who aren’t moneyed Californians on two-week sojourns between i-mergers. Onto Nicaragua, and quick!

Panama Borders Suck

This border, which closes at one o'clock for lunch, is also used by trucks. One at a time

Rather than the usual dangers at border crossings, such as shady money changers, dodgy taxi drivers, corrupt officials and opportunistic conmen, the ultra-tame Punta Blanca border between Costa Rica and Panama featured only one hazard: the bridge that links the two nations. Seeing as the bridge is in no-mans land, it seems no man wants responsibility for it, and it has thus rusted and rotted into a dilapidated span of steel and wood with conveniently human-sized holes along the entire length of the floor. We cautiously walked across the planks (that surely were once makeshift), the river waiting twenty metres below should the seemingly autonomous oversized backpacks we carry should decide to overbalance us. After carefully dodging oncoming ricesack lugging locals and colossal old women, we stepped foot into Costa Rica, our exit from Panama almost as dangerous as our entry.