And so I am here, again. Still in that seemingly same moment I was in, only with more memory.

I have just arrived from Copan Ruinas, the helm of the once thriving Xukpi Empire; a giant acropolis with some of the finest and best preserved sculptural decorative work of ancient Mesoamerica. My head filled fresh with mental flashes of splashing in natural hot springs tucked away far in the lush green jungle ensued by a 6 hour dirt-track voyage through numerous rivers, the jungle and the onset of the Honduran night with the constant toil of having to get out every now and then to push up the mud-wedged van. A slightly fainter memory of perching on that bar stool in the Red Frog, staring at yet another shot-on-the-house, while slowly but steadily mentally preparing for an introduction course into the world of beer pong. The morning after sensation was accompanied by a random bout of laughter at the breakfast table when Emmaaa, (the Swede maneuvering with the same degree of hangover) sat down and shot a smile along the table pulling up memories of the later part of the night dancing and long-distance-shouting with the bar-man at the Red Frog (two blocks down). Quite enjoyable to be frank. The ruins of the once well established Maya kingdom left me silent and blank-faced, slowly staring out before me observing the remainders of a long gone civilization while my mind departed from its mother-ship drifting off in the wonderfully turbulent streams of thought. The dangers involved with the bar hopping and lengthy vulnerable-to-everyone bus ride didn’t really sink in as we were assured it was one of the safest villages in the country, and beside a pick-pocketed phone I did feel quite safe. However while I was off in full striding shindig in a distant paradise of Costa Rica, a Belgian man aged 24 was allegedly murdered while retreating from a bar I had joyfully and carelessly stepped out of only a week earlier. The statement issued did however note that further inspection revealed 3 grams of cocaine in his pocket…

A few days after our excursion into the mystical world of the Mayans, I was lingering around at work finishing off some bits and pieces when my program coordinator made my (new, yet same model) cell phone jingle around in my pocket. She spoke, I nodded. She gave me a number, I called. Another man called me: pickup time 10 am in Hotel Sula, and it was set. I got home, packed my bags, and left the next morning to work as a last-minute English-Spanish translator for about 50 North-American doctors and medical students who had prepared a 3 week medical brigade in the south west of Honduras, but who’s translators had cancelled the day before. Ecstatic. Due to immigration rules and visa statuses we had already booked our flights to Costa Rica the next week, and thus despite my desire to stay on, we made a retreat after a weeks stay in Santa Lucia, Intibucá, just off the border with San Salvador. Our work (as I was joined by a Norwegian friend of mine) comprised of translating in both the onsite clinic in the afternoon as well as the daily field clinics set up in various schools in the surrounding area. While the translating itself proved quite a sufficient task; when backed up, we could jump in and help out with various medical jobs such as blood extractions in the hermaticrit station, galvanization of teeth, and the enlightening of children in the ways of efficiently and successfully using a toothbrush. What really appealed to me is that the organization had noticeably earned the local populations trust through its sustainable programs and continues dedication to the area. I have already received several offers to return in the future, and will gladly accept if my new job provides me with the flexibility to skip out on a few days here and there. The food was amazing, the American sense of humor and politeness slightly itched my nerves, and the views were absolutely drop-dead-stunning. It is hard to explain the sensation of riding open-air in the back op a truck through completely desolate mountains (save the scattered cattle and lonely children taking the piglet out for a graze) while constantly being surrounded by pure lush nature and endless breathtaking views. I did try capture some shots clutching to the purring truck sliding its way up the bumpy track, however the photography of these giant panoramic views is well out of my capabilities. One other thing which stuck to memory was the self-proclaimed hill billy from Ohio, Joey, who really could not believe how different it was here form ‘back home’. The 16 year old had never left his home state and was in absolute travel-shock. It really put a smile on my face; he probably learnt the most out of the 2 week stay than any of the medics.

So there crouched I sat, in that universal toilet hugging position familiar to pretty much everyone. I felt like shit, but I guess that was to be expected. I didn't really get much sleep that night, and the sensation of utmost shytiness continued to progress mercilessly until I confronted the breakfast table and my busy bustling host-mother dashing around the kitchen. About half an hour later my neighbour pulled up in her black jeep to commence the transportation of me, and what would later appear to be about a million of my three day old babies, to the nearest clinic. The word dengue was flying around a bit to frequently for me to feel comfortable, however an hour of IV-drip and a succession of clinical tests later, the lab results proved some form of relief. I was apparently hosting a thriving multi-bacterial BYOB party; cells-which-kill-baddies: way to many, and an 'abundante' level of bacteria. As it so happened we went on a risky field clinic on the day before my return, as this school lay in a far of village with 3 rivers slicing their way through the snaking mud track we were to follow. The past 3 brigades had failed to reach the school, and upon reaching the third river it became clear why they had to make an early return. It was a big river. Upon pondering a solution and searching for more passable stretches of gushing water, a long hang bridge was spotted about 300m downstream, and the ensuing suggesting of continuing on foot was made. The medical equipment was reviewed and stripped down to the basic necessities as to decrease the overweight we had to shrug uphill, which initially was said to take about 20 minutes. About an hour and quite a few drops of sweat later we finally reached the destination of your sunbathed-mountain hike, well dehydrated of course as water was one of the heavier, less necessary items left in the trucks. The school managed to provide a bottle of coke for each of us, however after about 2 hours of intensive fast-paced work thirst set in once more; time wasn’t on our side as we had lost time at the river, couldn’t quite reach the speed of a purring truck by foot and the looming rainclouds once open would make a return on the muddy tracks impossible. While hurrying around on my mission to make sure every kid had swallowed their vitamins and anti-parasitic pills I caught glimpse of a medical student gulping away at a big can of water and took a slight break for a chat and an enquiry on who the owner of this blissful liquid was. He readily assured me the school had provided ionized and filtered water and I was safe to drink the rest. About 10 minutes later I hear our coordinator shout out that the water was absolutely filthy rainwater stored in big cement tanks full of dead bugs, fungus and the likes, and as such not drinkable. I still remember the medical student looking up with a thin smile and saying “what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger” – something which I readily accepted, and though indeed it didn’t kill me, it didn’t really come at a good time as about 6 hours after I got off the IV drip I was boarding our plane and off to Costa Rica. The only negative effects consisted of me feeling slightly under the weather the first day, and unable to drink for the next 4 as I was put on heavy antibiotics.

Costa Rica; the Switzerland of Central America.

After hearing at hotel reception there was no eatery left open save for the Shell station 2 blocks up, we quickly made our way over before closing time and scraped together a meal by sorting out various scrumptiously packaged bits of grub. For me and my still overpopulated-stomach this consisted of the same dry granola bars of the same kind I had been nibbling on the entire day. After huddling around some colourful brochures the next morning deciding which of all the sweet sounding guided tours we definitely didn’t want to miss, we made our own way around town on an artistic-graffiti orientated tour while passing by the national museum which happened to be on our way. Honduran streets bear no graffiti save for territorial gang-tagging.

Sunday morning 6am we left on the 4 in 1 ‘Best of Costa Rica’ tour bringing us to the Dota Estate coffee plantations for a tradition breakfast and guided tour of the plantation as well as a stunning view of the crater topping the giant Poás volcano. However, spoilt as I have become, I was slightly unmoved as it reminded me of both the Tenerife volcanoes and the sulfur pits of New Zealand, only a lot less spectacular than ether. The third stop was definitely worth it as we made our way through giant aviaries with Toucans, Macaws, Quetzals and even a fair amount of non-caged humming birds that zipped overhead playfully. After a satisfying lunch right next to the hummingbirds feeding spot, we follow a boarded path walk down an amazing waterfall park surrounded by jungle until we finally reached the as-usually-overpriced gift shop and waiting bus. The forth element was a relaxing boat ride down a calm broad river accompanied by some not-so-amazing animal encounters with a few distant howler monkeys and a croc, however my disappointment about Costa Rican river tours was definitely redeemed later on. The following day was largely taken up by a second city-walk, a visit to the surprisingly-European like theater and a nice cinema viewing of a home made Costa Rican movie which I actually really enjoyed. Furthermore two of the girls I was with had the misfortune of being pick pocketed in line for the Cinema, while I had managed to grab the wrist of the scummish looking man fishing in my back pocket while we were on the way over. Costa Rica is pretty much free of social insecurity in the sense that had I done the same in San Pedro, there would no be telling what kind of weapon would be drawn on me. Next came the “Best of Pacific”, a drive down south west to quite an interesting croc-spotting boat tour, followed by lunch in a five star hotel and a long relaxing stopover by the pacific for some sunbathing and beach walking. Wednesday: me following 3 girls in a seemingly endless shopping spree, although not a lot was bought as one had her credit card stolen and the others just wouldn’t work. Thursday turned out quite enjoyable as we started out canopying through the Costa Rican jungle, spent the afternoon rafting down the rapids and had a crazy night in town with rice, beer, deep discussions about freedom of speech, an Iranian soccer player and a Costa Rican pilot in an old classic-rock café. Friday seemed like a typical day in Europe with a nice chilly wind picking up, and nothing to do all day but sip coffee and sit around in central park watching the pigeons, inevitably thinking about A Beautiful Mind. The second night out in San José really surprised me as I first joyfully pogo`d along in an excellent intimate ska-bar which, again looked surprisingly European, after which we moved on to a deep psyche trance rave (infected mushroom style) that ended in a pleasant sit along on the side of the road with a few Costa Ricans out with no more than a guitar and a bottle of rum. I was really experiencing a culture shock all over again as I saw people chatting on their phones in the street, listening to their iPods in the park and was told I could feel safe taking a bus at night and walk home.

Switzerland…