One more weekend at the beach. Life is hard.

This weekend I am on the southern Caribbean coast, in the vicinity of Puerto Viejo. It's just me this week, as Bryan is saving some money for the snowboarding trip and therefore does not want to have to pay for a hotel and such. I understand completely, but I had to come down here; from everything I've heard, the two beaches south of here are some of the most beauiful on this entire coast. I'll be sure to let you know for sure after I've experienced them firsthand.

Today, I decided that I want a motorcycle in the worst way. My hotel is a few kilometers south of Puerto Viejo itself, so my options were either to walk, get a free bike from one of the places around town, or rent a moped from the shop right next to the bus stop. Of course I opted for the kickass moped. Don't make fun, it's awesome, and all the ladies love it. Or at least they would if they had time to notice me as I zoomed by them at breakneck speeds of up to 40km/h (26 miles per hour). Anyway, it rules and you're probably wishing you were me right now, and you're right to do so. But enough about me and how much I rule while I am on my moped, we must discuss other things.

After checking into my hotel today, I was informed that there was to be a volleyball game on the beach in about ten minutes. This made my day. Of course I went to join; however, my day was quickly un-made as I realized I had gotten myself into a hyper-competitive game of old gringo men who aren't very good versus young Ticos who probably play professionally. I got put on the old man team. And they really weren't very good. They kept getting mad at me for missing blocks and not diving properly, and at first I convinced myself that I was horrible, but then I started paying attention and I realized I was one of only two people on our team who consistently scored points for our team. Then I felt better. Anyway, I don't think I'll be joining tomorrow's game.

Once the volleyball thrashing had ended, I got on my moped (re: motorized throne) and headed for a little Italian restaurant about 2 kilos north of my lodge. I had been told that this was the place to go in town for great cuisine, but even knowing that I was still astonished. I didn't want to be too gringo-like and simply order a pizza or something, so I asked my waitress what was "el mejor" (the best) food to get tonight, and she quickly told me to go for the marlin. Or as those of us who aren't from Florida call them, swordfish. I was informed that the swordfish had been caught earlier that day.

Outstanding. I believe that's all that needs to be said. If you're ever in Costa Rica, go to Puerto Viejo, go to La Pecora Nera, and order the Marlin. It is, as I have just decided to say, "Knock You Off Your Awesome Scooter" good.

So now here I sit, in an internet cafe across from the local club, typing journal entries for all to enjoy. But that, I'm afraid must come to an end, because I believe I shall go and make a few new friends at the club before taking my peashooting crotch rocket back to my awe-inspiring hotel.

Oh, and there's howler monkeys living outside my cabin again. Those guys are everywhere. Silly monkeys.

"Habla espanol? Really?"
-Juan