London, my familiar love

Back in the Big Smoke.
I effing love London. No matter where I have been or what I have seen, it is still always a pleasure to go back to London. The pleasure-factor ups in ante of course when it is summer. Summer in London is its own strange but beautiful phenomena.


Summer in London comes as something of a shock to all residents as we have to re-teach ourselves how to smile. This process usually begins sometime in May (or occasionally April if we're lucky and climate change has had its way.) Londoners have usually spent the last eight months feeling a bit cold, pasty and bitter and scowling. Scowling at the weather, scowling at the grey days, scowling at their unsatisfying desk jobs, scowling at late buses, scowling at each other, scowling at their own reflections, scowling at their mothers... So all of a sudden when the forgotten sun makes an appearance and there is no reason to scowl anymore, Londoners immediately adopt unnerving full-chops smiles and a wave of bizarre euphoria rushes over the city turning London into an excitable but uncontrollable toddler that just wants to frenetically shake his rattle, freely shit his diaper and ferociously play with his toys and friends... whilst donning flipflops and shades.


I knew I would come back to this and I did and it was GREAT!

At scamp's flat

I landed in London, my head swimming with 6 months of new ideas, new people and new experiences. I thought London wouldn't be enough. However as it turned out, I couldn't get enough of London. With only TWO WEEKS there I had no time to process everything I had learnt and seen. Of course when you are travelling there is no time for that either. I did not have the opportunity really to share what I believe I now know (my cynical friends would have only called me a patronising gap-yah cunt anyway if I had), instead I just got to enjoy further layers of new experience as I revelled in the sunshine with my friends and free events. It was all so fast.


Those two weeks I spent my time doing exactly what I had looked forward to doing whenever I felt homesick. I got a quick cash-in-hand waitressing job in a dodgy but delicious Syrian restaurant down Brick Lane... 5squids an hour for 4 hours a day of work, yes mam. I now know what 'budgeting' means. Oh, and the difference between a Shish and a Shawarma. Whilst I have no intention of using this job as some kind of leg-up in to the world of Middle-eastern catering (although I was remarkably skilled at picking up the intricacies of cash register technique) I have to say that this job was - in a word - superfun. Mainly rendered so by the main chef/food preparer Mohammed from Algeria who gave me valuable insights in to his world (e.g. his fear of beautiful women because they're likely to be AIDS-ridden) and invaluable advice, "Why you drink, Anetta? What for? You drink, you get drunk, you go to sleep... Next day wake up - No Money!" Likewise I am a big fan of Mune who owns the Bangladeshi suit shop opposite, who kept asking to take me out on a date to Whitechapel. True gentleman.

Hen Party in Oxford

In my plethora of free-time I managed to catch up with several of my lovely friends... I lived in perfectly-placed Bethnal Green around my darling scampface Maria's flat with her boyfriend Wataru (see photo; his face is being delicately cradled by good friend, flamboyantly French Thomas.) I spent my days in parks drinking cheap cider (Oh strongbow my sweet nectar, how I missed you!), I went to a dubstep party and raved like I'm in sixth form, I went to my bestfriend Charlotte's birthday - a delightful evening of the Philharmonic Orchestra performing in Shoreditch park... and I even fit in a cheesy, tacky, crude Hen Weekend for my scarily enthusiastic but gorgeous big sister in Oxford complete with cheerleading and 80s music.


All in all, an absolutely glorious but fleeting visit home in London with my friends and the English summer before being whisked to my other home... Kuala Lumpur.
And still no mind-processing of my travels.

San Jose, Costa Rica

So finally after my eery retreat to Playa Las Lajas, I went back to Costa Rica to catch my looming flight to San Jose with my new little brothers Pip and Jason (I say "little" but they are actually 22 and 21 respectively.) Here we checked in to a ridiculously luxurious hostel complete with aircon, free internet and even a swimming pool. Upon witnessing my surprise, my travel buddies informed me that this was the norm in Costa Rica. I get the feeling that backpacking around Costa Rica is a totally different vibe from roughing it in Mexico and the rest of Central America... In  fact, the range of accommodation I have experienced on my trip is extreme. From sleeping in a hammock alone on a beach with nothing but the moon and mosquitoes for company and not able to see my reflection in a mirror for over a week near the beginning of my trip... to being in a white-washed dorm with attached, marble-floored en-suite complete with eighteen-year-old gap yah kids from Bath straightening their hair and applying body shimmer by the end of it. Confusing mindfuck to say the least. My last day in San Jose I felt something of an outsider. Surprisingly, despite being a "city girl", I can say without hesitation that my most natural environment is definitely the outdoors. Forest not fashion. Conversation not cover-up.

In San Jose I spent the day wandering the colourful (but essentially touristy) markets picking up last minute presents for my friends and family before catching my flight back to London. I explored the city by foot, taking in the American influence of the commercial businesses, the discerning metal bars and gates at all shop fronts and windows, the barbed wire lining homes and residences... People describe San Jose as a "necessary evil" before exploring the rest of Costa Rica however, I only saw it in a couple of days which is not nearly long enough to make any kind of judgement of a large city. However the fences and barriers, open prostitution and racist slurs of the graffiti, all screamed of a paranoid city.

In my travels I was unable to see much of Costa Rica due to time constraints, but mainly due to lack of money! It is an expensive country to travel, with prices akin to the US. However I am very aware from my friends' encounters with the country that there is so much - mainly nature-based experiences - that I missed out on. I hope to return one day with a bit more cash to exploit all the wonders that Pura Vida has to offer.

My last day travelling was lovely. When travelling you say hi and goodbye to new friends on average, every 3days. I found that 70% of these people were absolute pleasures to meet and the kind who if they were London-based, the friendship could be nurtured for many years. My last day in Costa Rica I had to say goodbye to Jason and Pip who I had spent my last ten days with. American Jason - a very bright, funny, warm, charming, charismatic guy whom I felt extremely comfortable with from my first moments with him to my last. He lives up to American "jock" stereotypes and yet crushes them at once - amazing! And Pip, a sweet, also very bright, positive, open-minded, reflective, friendly joker from Holland. Their company was heart-warming and we meshed unbelievably well together. It was very sad as not only was I saying goodbye to these two wonderful people whom I may never see again but in that moment, I was saying goodbye to all the amazing people who I had met on my trip. As I was leaving my travel bubble. Once I stepped on my plane, noone would be able to relate to me like the people I met travelling. I would most likely never see these people - who really did touch my life  - again. I would have to pick myself up off THAT wavelength and ride another, more realistic one.

Pip, Jason and I

Playa Las Lajas, Panama

A few clammy bus rides (and most of the day later) and Jason, Pip and I found ourselves on the opposite coast of Panama to Bocas del Toro, at a beach called Playa Las Lajas. We chose our destination en-route and it was decided upon by the lack of bus services to anywhere else that evening. BUT it also seemed like a fun idea to go to another beach and if it was anything like Bocas it would be a place to party, swim, surf, beach it up, jungle it up and meet more interesting people.

It was nothing like Bocas.

Our 1 room, 1 bed

We found ourselves stranded by a bus in the dark night at a poor excuse for a bus shelter just outside a long road with a mildly exciting and promising sign reading 'WELCOME TO PLAYA LAS LAJAS' which we considered walking down before being warned it would take about 30mins to DRIVE down let alone amble with our backpacks around 10pm at night, not knowing where exactly we were going. So we took a taxi and requested that it take us to the nearest, cheap hostel. It wasn't near but at US$10 a night for a cabin for ALL THREE OF US it was irresistibly cheap! The ominous route there however was confusing. We were at the beach, apparently the most beautiful in the Chiriqui province of Panama and yet we saw nothing and noone. Just darkness, the odd tree, the muddy road and occasionally a deserted looking shack. It was VERY strange. And then we arrived at the cabins/hostel and an unreasonably pissed off hostel manager/owner "greeted" us and reluctantly showed us to our home for the next couple of days... a dingy, dark, damp cabin with only ONE double bed in the middle. It rained heavily that evening and so we cooked our own dinner, drank lots of red wine and then drunkenly attempted to make a fire with wet wood... for about an hour and were shamefully unsuccessful. The night ended with a drunken nightwalk/ nightstagger up the beach with one torchlight for visibility and no clue as to where we were going as we had never seen the beach in daylight. Plankton, crabs and shells seen only in the dim glow of our light made for an exciting walk.

The next day we walked up the 14km stretch of beach and discovered that it really is quite beautiful. The pacific ocean greeted us with warm, navy waves that gently folded into the black sand shore, very different from the East coast. As we walked along though, we discovered that Playa Las Lajas really is a ghostbeach. Dead! Noone in sight and lots of huts, restaurants, hostels etc just abandoned on the side of the beach. It didn't make sense to us and seemed like something out of a horror movie almost. However as we continued walking we discovered a small pub hut with about 5 (German) customers all watching the World Cup (Netherlands V Uruguay). It didn't make sense but the football and booze did. So Dutch Pip, Jason and I spent the afternoon getting drunk watching the World cup and rowdily supporting Netherlands to the other customers' disgust... and also taking swimming breaks in the ocean. Outstanding day!

That evening we made friends with and got more drunk with some handsome and lovely Argentinians who had landed at our cabins. Card games (Chancho va!), bottles of wine, torrential rain, boiled hot dogs later and a very merry Jason, Pip and me ended up switching cabins to another DRIER one... where we proceeded to roll about laughing and filming and joking for the rest of the night! ...Only to wake up to the psycho hostel owner getting really freaking angry at us for switching cabins, flicking us off and spitting "SOLO MAL USTEDES!" at us in the morning. Lovely.

We swiftly moved on from this middle-of-nowhere, beautiful hell and on to San Jose for all 3 of our flights back to our respective homes...

Bocas Del Toro, Panama

Whizzing through San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica, where I left my dear friend and travel companion Julio, I made the decision to venture in to Panama. This was as much of an economic decision as it was an explorative decision. Or so I thought...

Boat ride to Bocas

On my 12hour or so bus journey from San Jose to the archipelago of Bocas del Toro in Panama I met a delightful young man named Jason from Ohio with whom I spent my remaining time travelling. We arrived in beautiful Bocas, on the Caribbean coast and once again I was extremely happy to be greeted by the turqoise tranquility of this ocean. However we were first greeted with the main island of Bocas del Toro, Isla Colon. This is a fun, predominantly expat-run, hedonistic party island. Not quite the oasis of calm for end-of-travels reflection as I had expected! Bocas town on Isla Colon is also quite ugly...

Nevertheless, never one to shy from an opportunity to party, I was able to have something of a rager here on this island with Jason and a bunch of other people I met there. A seriously wild night out involving dancing and drinking like a maniac and behaviour akin to a lad-on-tour, 2 days later I knew I had to move on. Isla Colon was a really fun place and its attraction for tourists is very evident. But after my intensely Latin American and Spanish-speaking journey so far, it did not seem right to suddenly feel like I was a Brit-in-Thailand, raping the island. It was just too debauched and coked-up. I consider Isla Colon as a part of the umbrella genre of travelling of Posh Backpacking. Despite Panama being one of the cheaper countries of Central America, everything in Bocas was expensive - the hostels were on average $10 a night! However did come with air-con(!) A far cry from my sweaty crotch cabin in a jungle days. Luxury backpacking at its finest.

Whilst there, instead of indulging ourselves in the expensive island tours offered, Jason and I decided to do things old school and spent our time on Isla Colon walking and exploring. One of my favourite days involved us walking about 30km all day to the small beaches on the island; Playa Bluff and Playa Paunch etc... A sudden, heavy and unrelenting rainstorm meant an unwilling trip to a cafe for prolonged consumption of ice-cream with kahlua... and tequila shots.

Once we rinsed Isla Colon of all the fun we could handle, we decided to see another side to the archipelago. And so, on we went to another isolated, quiet, deserted but absolutely stunning island of Bocas named Isla Bastimentos. THIS was how I expected Bocas del Toro to be! White, pristine, empty beaches... Rolling calm waters, ABSOLUTELY empty, jungle surrounds... it was really our own desert island. And for the first time in a long time I felt as though I was somewhere where really, VERY few people have been before. We stayed in a new and very chilled hostel called Bocas Bound and it was situated about a 5mins jungle walk away from the famous Red Frog Beach and the COMPLETELY EMPTY (and therefore by default, a nudist beach for me(!) Playa Tortuga.) This was paradise, reinforced by the presence of my lovely companions. We all spent the next couple of days seriously chilling out on the beach and in the tranquility of the jungle together... Except for the Fourth of July when the American amongst us (dear Jason!) decided we MUST celebrate Independence Day by "bbq-ing meat, drinking lots of booze and blowing shit up." Well apart from the last one, we accomplished the other two... particularly the second and I enjoyed my first ever Fourth of July celebration immensely!

The next day, with our heads bowed down low in mild shame for previous night's antics, we all left the island... Belgian Helen to Costa Rica, Dutch Rian and Slovenian Ursa to Panama city and Jason, Pip and myself to... we had no idea..........

Playa del Coco, Costa Rica

From Ometepe, Nicaragua Julio and myself scooted flashy-fast to Costa Rica for some pura vida! Our last few days chilling together (possibly forever) so we figured blissed-out, chilled-out Costa Rica would be an apt place to spend these delicate moments. Here we landed on the north western pacific coast, a beach called Playa del Coco of which we had heard great things. A touristy but popular-for-a-reason spot I was informed. But if I am being honest I was informed non too wisely? Playa del Coco was uninspirational.

It was extremely evident that we were in Costa Rica for how similar to America everything was. Signs in English, English-speaking locals, foreigners everywhere, Western cuisine, expensive everything, tourist traps... I'm not racist but there were too many pink shrimp. The beach itself too, was not so impressive. Had I been a surfer I'm sure I would have appreciated it more due to the high waves; enjoyed watching the body boarders and suchlike. Also, my impression of Coco was no doubt slightly tarnished due to the heavy rain that welcomed us off the bus and teased us on and off like a tart for our days there.

Pura vida

Fortunately we took it upon ourselves to explore the area further and hiked 13miles away to a tiny, virgin beach called Ocotal. This was far more beautiful, pristine and empty and conformed to my standards of tranquil nature vibes... that is, despite the waves brutally lashing us about. We had the beach to ourselves and unlike Playa del Coco, Ocotal easily did Costa Rica proud for our first impression!