Two days ago we finished our long journey down to San Jose, Costa Rica, to visit with George's family (except Corrianne - she preferred to stay in blustery Edmonton.) Before we left Antigua, we finally went to see Volcan Pacaya, an active volcano about an hour's drive from Antigua.

What a neat thing that was! After waking up at five am, we waited impatiently for the shuttle to pick us up. It was, of course, over half an hour late. Nothing here ever runs on time. I slept through the drive, and when we arrived at the volcano, I stepped out of the van into a swarm of children trying to sell us walking sticks for one dollar.

The walk up the volcano was very pleasant - it was mostly through a nice forest. The volcano itself was quite frightening! When we left the forest we faced a vast field of desolation, covered in loose sharp rocks that occasionally spewed foul smelling steam. Here I was glad that I bought a stick. We walked up and across this field until we reached a freshly dried pile of lava.

The rocks seemed to writhe in their grotesque forms, and I was a little scared when our guide called us up on top of this pile. And when I started walking on it, I had little to comfort me. The rocks crunched beneath my feet with sharp thuds that were frighteningly hollow, and I could see the occasional lava stream about 3 feet below me between the cracks. But I stupidly kept on going.

After walking between the white-hot vents of steam, I got to see a rather large river of lava! It was oozing out of a hole shaped like something you would find in Mordor not five feet from where I stood. Some people were walking right up to it and poking their sticks in to watch them ignite.

After everyone had their fill of lava-gazing, we headed back. It wasn't a very long trip, but it was definately cool.

The next day, it was time to say goodbye to Tops and Simona, and find a bus out of Antigua. We decided to take a shuttle, because it was going to be too long of a trip for the chicken bus. We were going to go to Honduras, which was a six hour drive from Antigua, and there is no way in hell I am going to sit on a chicken bus for more than two hours.

So here is where our harrowing trek begins. With our shuttle to Copan Ruinas, Honduras. Since we were the only people who booked the shuttle that day, the driver took us in his personal car. Talk about a little creepy. But he was a nice guy, and there were no problems.

There were no problems in Copan Ruinas, either. Our hotel was clean, the food was good, and the ruins were very interesting, and had underground tunnels where we could see ancient Mayan plumbing systems! Yes, they had plumbing!

After this, our journey was split into a few short and a few long bus rides, the longest being ten hours. But I must say, I did not have a very nice time. The towns we saw were all quite dirty and rather unfriendly. The only people who wanted to talk to us wanted money.

We also had to relearn spanish in both countries. The words they use for common, every day things are completely different! Not to mention the accent. For example, I thought "how much does it cost?" was an easy one. But in both Honduras and Nicaragua, they used a different expression. We still haven't figured out what they are.

As for the highs and lows of the trip, I don't feel like getting into any of it, except for one incident.

This was in Tegucigalpa, the capital of Honduras. On the morning that we arrived we decided to walk through the market to an anthropology museum across the river. First of all, the area we were staying in was definately not the nicest. The river we crossed smelled very bad, and the garbage piles were covered in vultures. This is where we picked up the crazy guy.

He started following us, telling us we should go to a park with him and mumbling strange things to himself. We thought if we continued to say "We don't understand spanish," and ignoring him that he would leave. But he didn't. We were beginning to feel quite uneasy. We eventually found ourselves in a very empty, quiet street when we still had a few blocks to go to reach the museum, but we did not want to be there with this man following us.

So we turned around and started walking back to our hotel. And so did he. He followed us all the way back to our hotel. George was so protective - always making sure to stay between me and the man, but not telling him to leave for fear that he would go insane and do something really bad.

When we reached our hotel, I ran inside and cried out of anger while George stayed outside, gave him the equivalent of fifty cents, and made sure he left. This all happened around lunch time, so we had the entire shiny day waiting for us to enjoy it. So what did we do? Cower in our hotel room until the next day.

The next day we couldn't leave the city because we had to wait for the banks to open to get more money, and in doing so missed our bus. Now, I didn't want to spend another day trapped inside our hotel room. So we went to the only place we thought we could be safe: the mall. Can you imagine? Even George was beaming with joy at the thought of that building!

And it was exactly what we wanted. Air-conditioned, corporate, and safe. We stayed there all day wandering around the sparkling hallways, and ended our evening by going to the cinema to watch "You Don't Mess With the Zohan". Good movie, by the way.

So, that was the worst of our journey. Unless you count our last day in Nicaragua. I want to tell you about that, too. It was evening, and we had just finished a dinner of nachos and salsa. We bought a box of wine and decided to drink it on the beach.

Now, keep in mind that it was quite dark. We were not even thirty feet from our hotel, when I, in my comfy new sandals from Guatemala, stepped in a big, juicy, steaming pile of shit. I even did the slip-on-a-banana-peel-with-arms-flailing thing before I caught myself. I looked down in horror for just a moment before I turned around and high-tailed it back to the hotel.

I ran up the stairs with George howling like a madman behind me and I thrust my foot into the ice-cold shower. I washed my foot for a good twenty-five minutes before moving on to my sandal. Occasionally I would shout "Toilet paper! I need more toilet paper, damnit!" and George would pass it over my shoulder in a hand convulsing with laughter.

I was mortified. The next day, I decided that from now on I am only going to wear closed-toe shoes. Luckily I bought a nice pair of white leather polo shoes for only four dollars in Guatemala! But for that entire day, my foot sat in my shoe in a very conspicuous manner. I was very aware of my foot's existence in a way I have never been before. And George, the bugger, kept bringing it up. Every once in a while during our ten-hour bus trip, he would look over at me and smirk.

So there you are - my harrowing trek. I hope this is the worst of our travels. Needless to say, we made it to San Jose and found George's family. It was so nice to see them! We gave them a few small gifts and spent the whole day with them just visiting and catching up. Shawn (nine going on ten) really liked the various lava rocks we gave him, especially the floating ones from Lago de Atitlan. He ran out to the pool and started chasing them around the water.

We are going to spend the next week and a half with them, occasionally joining their butterfly convention events. Just thinking about this time has definately gotten me through the past week. Thank you, Brons family!

Now I'm reminded of one last thing. When we started our trip, my friend Tak (creator of this site) asked what a person brings on a five month vacation? I'm finally answering that question, because we're going to give some things to George's parents to take back with them.

When we started out, we each had two shirts, pants, pairs of underwear, and pairs of socks, and we each had one book to read. We had a bug net, medicine, a travel towel, sewing supplies, a dictionary, phrase book, budget-keeping book, two diaries, sheet music, a violin, a banjo, and a harmonica.

The travel towel, sewing supplies, a backpack and one pair of pants were stolen. We lost one shirt, two sweaters and a belt.

The reason I'm telling you this, is that although it doesn't seem like a lot for five months, we keep feeling weighed down. Over the past two months, our book collection grew until George carried all the books in his bag while I carried all the clothes. I also bought a loom, which went into my bag as well.

A few days ago we traded in four big books and got two new ones. We do need something to do on rainy days! And we're going to send the loom, the phrasebook, a scarf, and my shitty shoes back with the family. Even after that, I still feel like we have way too much.

Although, whenever we see other backpackers walking past with their giant backpacks on their backs, a daypack strapped on their front and a purse or bag slung over one shoulder and then learn that they're only travelling for two weeks, we suddenly feel like our packs are so light!

Well, hasta la vista, family and friends! Enjoy the beginnings of winter for me, because I can't. I only get to enjoy tropical rain. I'm not sure which I prefer...