Afflicted with a severe form of nostalgia, we longingly looked at our pictures from the trip of our lifetimes, and noticed a lot of them which were worthy of publishing but did not have that luck. Here they are, in our third episode of Unpublished, spanning seven months of our life, from New Zealand to the USA to Central America.
Flu had not seen the ocean for ages.
I must admit that I had got quite used to it during this round-the-world trip, enjoying very different seascapes over the past 16 months and, therefore, somewhere on the way, forgetting that for Swiss people being close to the ocean was quite extraordinary. Hence, visiting the Ecuadorian coast was very high on Flu’s to-do-list for her holidays and she would not be disappointed. José and I, for our part, were equally excited about stopping on the Pacific coast, for we had heard that humpback whales frequented the waters in summer and chances at observing those impressive cetaceans were high.
Many a traveler has heard of the beauty of Ometepe Island with its two volcanos, lush hills and beautiful beaches. On our way back down to Costa Rica, we made it our last destination in Nicaragua, thinking that we would finish our stay in this country with its jewel. On the morning we set over to the island, the weather was rather friendly and we therefore got a glimpse of the island’s unique beauty from the deck of the ferry. However, the following days showed us what “rainy season” meant in Central America and we often had to take refuge from the downpours. Luckily we found a room in a nice homestay in Moyogalpa, the main town and port of the island, where Doña Chilo prepared tasty asados (grilled meat) and a vitamine bomb called tutti frutti (fruit juice with pieces of many different fruits in it) — so we did not mind to stay and wait for the rain to pass. In fact, we had some of our best meals of the whole country on this island; and, on top of that, the locals were very friendly and relaxed, more so than on the mainland, creating a laid back atmosphere and slow pace that suited well our days of rest.
There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged
to find ways in which you yourself have altered.
— Nelson Mandela
The smells are still the same: the smoke from the burning fire in the kitchen, the steaming dark Costa Rican coffee in the mug, the scent of the dogs and of the horses in the garden.
The sounds are still the same: a rooster crows, a dog barks, Angela shouts unintelligibly at Macha’s house, Rigo hammers a nail in a log, the telecaster babbles along though nobody watches.
The earth is still mercilessly scorched by the sun. No wind stirs. There is no escaping from the heat.
After a week in Brooklyn, we were in for another move. We packed up and sat for two hours in the train, all the way to the northern end of the Bronx, to meet our new host: Kyle.
Although Kyle had never had any formal Couchsurfing guest — so this was more or less a new experience to him — he nevertheless was more qualified to be a host than many I have encountered. Opening up his door with a broad smile, he welcomed us in his apartment, made the presentations with his cats Luna and Yuuki, showed us how to get our airbed settled, and left in a hurry for his night-time work after giving us advice and recommendations — and keys to his place. He had in fact woken up early to see us, cutting on his sleep time to welcome us.
“I hadn’t even mentioned Airbnb because I thought you already knew, what with you two being globe-trotters and all!”
Liza had been unable to host us, but had looked into a number of alternatives to help us, although without success. Fortunately, Madleina, Ladina’s cousin whom we had visited two weeks earlier in the Silicon Valley, had told us about Airbnb, a community-based platform for subletting and subrenting everything from a bed to a villa. We had ended up finding the cheapest bed we could possibly hope for, given New York’s crazy accomodation prices.
Liza (Elisabeth by her real name, but it’s damn too long!) was another old friend of mine, who happened to be in New York at the same time as us. She was greatly enjoying her stay, and, as an art lover, loved the fact that she was able to go to all the museums of the city for her work. We took the opportunity to spend a fabulous evening and make a few cultural visits together.
“So now you’re staying in Brooklyn?”
We were, de facto, Brooklynites for a week.
Wär hätti je dänggt, wo mir uns vor über mne Johr in Basel verabschiedet hän, dass mir uns in New York wieder träffe würde?
Damals sin d USA nid mol uf unserer Reiseroute gstande. Won ich allerdings ghört ha, dass dr Kaspar und d Fabienne im April uf New York göhn und d Salome au in däm Monet uf ere Studiereis dört verbigo wird, han ich plötzlich afo Plän schmiede. Worum au nid uf New York — e Wältstadt wo mich scho immer greizt het — wenn mir das au no mit mne Träffe vo däne liebe Lüt verbinde könnte? S Flugticket nach San Francisco hän mir jo scho ka und vo dört an d Ostküste isch es fascht e Katzesprung.
