Buenas dias! I’m writing this in an internet cafe in Puriscal, the larger town a two and a half hour bus ride away from the farm. A bunch of us made the trip today for money and junk food.
God, it feels like I’ve been gone forever and not at all, and theres just so much to tell you about its sort of ridiculous. In five days Ive become someone who wakes up before sunrise and goes to bed at 8, who rides in the back of pickup trucks and climbs waterfalls and plays pool in bars with thatched roofs. But lets start from the beginning.
I flew in to San Jose at 4:40 and emerged into the tropical choas to find Javier. I searched the milling, yelling crowd for my name on a sign and came up empty. Well shit. I thanked my lucky stars that I had remembered to copy down the contact number he had sent me in his last email and retreated to a corner to call. I could barely hear over the multilingual yelling going on behind me, but a voice that sounded vaguely french told me that Javiers car had broken down and he would not be coming today. They recommended I stay in a hostel called The Maleteque where Javier could meet me the next morning.
Okay then. I found a uniformed cab driver standing at a kiosk and asked him if he could take me there. He had never heard of it. This went back and forth, me running off to call the farm and call my frantic mother in the quiet of the duty free shop and running back to talk to the cabbie. I trusted him. First of all he was in uniform, always an important thing to take note of, there are a lot of unofficial cab drivers in this world, and secondly he had really kind eyes, and every time I would come running over he would break off whatever conversation he was having to smile ruefully as I panicked at him. It got dark. Eventually I just threw my hands up and said “Can you please just take me to the closest hotel thats less than $100 a night?”
He drove like the world was ending and he didn’t want to live. Whenever a car dared to be in front of us he would move over to the half paved shoulder, lining up the wheels so potholes you could lower a coffin into passed squarely beneath our wheels. Finally we pulled up in front of a low green stucco building- La Guaria Inn and Suites. I was still shaken up, and immediately suspicious when he got out to take me inside. But what else could I do? He kissed the lady behind the counter on both cheeks and shook my hand before saying “Good luck chica, everything will be okay.” My room was clean and empty, with a heavy door that locked, which was the sum total of what I wanted at that point. I watched 3 hours of Friends with Spanish subtitles and called the farm before I fell asleep to give them the address, praying to all the gods I could think of that Javier would show up.
Everything looks better in the morning. The hotel I thought was sketchy that night was actually bright and buzzing with families, and best of all they had complimentary breakfast. I cant say I`ve ever been so happy to see white bread and fruit loops. And Javier did show up! In a beat up white Toyota truck. He jumped out and gave me a big hug, with not a word about not showing yesterday.
Things work differently here, as I have to keep reminding myself. No ones on time and even the best laid plans blow up in your face at a seconds notice. And theres absolutely nothing to do but adapt.
Javier also subscribed to the “whats a passing lane?” school of driving. We chatted for a bit in the Spanish I knew (not much) and the English he did (more than he lets on, but he doesnt like to use it). I kept accidentally answering in French. Eventually we just lapsed into singing along to Metallica and Paramore (he loves Paramore, go figure) songs at the top of our lungs and smiling at eachother as we sped up gravel roads into the mountains.
When we pulled up outside the farm he smiled and winked and said “Bienvenido a tu nueva casa.” He grabbed some sheets and showed me to my bunk in the main dorm, which looks out over the valley and into the neighbouring mountains.
There really is no indoors here. The dorm is entirely open to the air, just a roof and strategically placed privacy walls in some cases, as is the kitchen, the dining room, El Rancho (the hammock-filled gazebo where we all hang out in the afternoons), the bathroom, showers, everything. A girl who was hanging out some clothes to dry when I arrived, Nicole, offered to show me around. She took me around the main site and down to where the pigs, chickens, cows and the hyrdoponic system emptying out in a tilapia pond all live. I introduced myself to Javiers wife, Raquel, and his two year old, Andres, as well as Nick, whos from Colorado but lives at Villas half the year and functions as Javiers foreman and translator.
Another volunteer, Boo, said he was walking to the cafe in town and I was welcome to join him. Town is about a 20 minute walk away, and consists of about 5 building, one of which is the little cafe, a wooden hut (also open to the air) that sells pop and icecream and assorted junk food. The family was watching Telemundo in the corner, and Boo and I talked about life and Africa and Sherlock before heading home.
The food is awesome here. Most of it comes straight from the farm, and rice and beans are a constant. Nothing processed at all. Im begining to think of this whole experience as a cleanse. After dinner we sat around a big bonfire that Boo had built and I got to know the other volunteers. Theres about 15 of us right now, but it changes all the time, and people stay anywhere from a week to many months.
Usually days at the farm start with with breakfast at 7, a meeting in El Rancho, then work from 8 till lunch at noon, after which the rest of the day is yours. But my first day was a bit different because Javiers beans that he grows in a feild on a neighbour’s farm were ready to harvest. As such, we had to roll out of bed at 5, inhale breakfast and coffee and pile into the back of the pickup truck to head to the feild. The wind woke us up, and the mist rising of the mountains in the sunrise was beautiful.
The field was quite a hike away from where we had to park the car. We wound our way through the forest down to the base of the valley, shucked our shoes to wade through the river at its base, and then climbed the steep hill through a stand of cacao trees to the other side. The feild itself was actually on a very steep, south-east facing hill for maximum sun exposure. When its time to plant the beans, they walk up and scatter big handfuls of last years beans all over the hillside, then come back with machetes to cut down all the brush. This gives the beans enough natural compost and shade to take root, and when the rest of the plants start to grow back, the bean vines wind their way up up the stalks. The mixture of vegetation in the feild also helps maintain a balance of nutrients in the soil. When the beans are ready, the pod that holds them becomes all brown and dried out, making it easy to remove the little red beans inside.
Harvesting was hard work, partly because slope was so steep that half the time I had to dig into the undergrowth like I was rockclimbing. We were pulling out all the bean vines with the pods still attached, then when we had accumulated a few, we bundled them up into balls that we left to dry in the sun. Afterwards we went back over the area we had picked to collect all the pods we had dropped, which we brought home with us in rice sacks and have been eating ever since.
We were working with two ticos- Carlos and Randal. Carlos helps Javier pick for a share of the beans, as he doesn’t have any land of his own. I think Randal gets paid but I actually have no idea. They think my name is hilarious because when they say it, it sounds like Casi, which is the Spanish word for almost. My name here is effectively Almost. When we took breaks in the shade of the banana trees at the botton of the hill where we had left our water and bags, they pulled pineapples from plants nearby and cut them up on plates of banana leaves with machetes as easily as if the massive knives were an extension of their arms.
When I thought I was about ready to collapse, Javier brought us all in and told us that we could be done, we’d just have to come finish tomorrow (Saturday) and take Sunday and Monday off instead. We walked back down to the river, stripped to our underwear and jumped in, spending the next hour playing in the current and the small waterfalls upstream before making the hike back up hill to the truck. It felt like it was about 6 o’clock but it wasnt even noon.
Lunch becomes the biggest meal of the day on the farm, as its the one you work the hardest for before we take our lazy afternoons off. I spent mine reading in a hammock, shelling beans on the floor of the dining room and learning how to make drinking glasses from old beer bottles. They cut them by turning them around neatly in a holder with a glass cutter mounted into it with a clamp, turning the cut part of the bottle over a candle until it turns black, then dipping it in a bucket of water, letting the temperature change break the glass neatly so you can sand down the rim.
I had volunteered to help out with breakfast the next day, which meant an early start at 4:30 before heading back to the bean feild to finish up the job. Admitably, heading to bed at 8 the night before had made the wake up a bit easier. The work was easier that day because we knew what we were doing, and we finished up early to go back to the river and swim in a bigger waterfall a little farther up. On Tuesday we’ll go back and gather our vine piles and beat them on a tarp to get the beans out. This larger waterfall had all these deep natural pools carved out by the water, and the rock was smooth enough that we could slide off the side of one and into the other easily, like sea otters. Paradise.
That night we all decided to go take over the bar in town. Not hard seeing as its a 300 square foot wooden hut on the side of a mountain with a corrugated time roof. The owner, Giovanni, showed us bar tricks mostly involving the label of the local beer and national treasure- Imperial between passing out shots from his homemade stash of moonshine tequila that he keeps in a massive mayonaise jar. I stuck with the beer. His son and body double, Giovanni Jr. and friends dragged us down a succesion of gravel-filled oil drums functioning as steps to the “basement”, the open space under the hut where they keep the pool table. The 12 year old pool sharks chalked the cues for us and we all played no rules, everyone taking a turn. Carlos works at the bar, and Randal and his brother showed up to relentlessly hit on all the gringas (white girls, re: us). Its a bit of a constant thing, but harmless, and I think just about all of us got a free beer out of it. The night ended with Whitney, a yoga teacher from California and certified jungle-woman, leading us in a spontaneous meditation session on the yoga deck. Perfect day.
Yesterday a bunch of us walked to another nearby waterfall that has a massive natural slide, and cliffs that you can jump off into deep pools. I felt about ten years old, and a bit like Huckleberry Finn in the best way. I can’t believe this is my life. Cleo showed me around the herb garden, and Ive now taken to walking around with a mug picking hibiscus buds, mint and ressurecion to experiment making different kinds of tea. Helping with lunch meant walking through the salad garden with a plastic bowl of my hip picking catta and hibiscus leaves for some greens. I already feel so healthy, and its been what? Five days.
And now I’m here! That`ll have to be it for now, because I need to go meet everyone in the park so we can go grab some lunch before getting the bus back, but I’ll keep you updated on my Pura Vida life as soon as I possibly can! Hasta lluego!
Okay, so I’ve gotten a few questions recently pertaining to how I planned the first leg of my trip, and now this one too, from people who mentioned wanting to do something similar. Again, it is both flattering and hilarious that you think I know these things.
But whatever, here goes. The Kelsea Walker guide to planning a Big Trip.
First off, you gotta have some money. I estimate that I spent just under $3000 on the first leg of my adventures. That said, I was staying with family and friends more or less the entire way, and accommodations are going to be the most expensive part of your trip aside from flights (or train fare, depending). On the other hand, I was in Canada where cost of living is high and food and recreation (think surf lessons, kayak tours) all add up fast. And that price doesn’t include my return flight either mind you, cause after that adventure I flew down to Arizona to meet the fam.
My favourite resources for finding cheap flights are Matrix Flights and CheapOair . You just enter your to and from destinations and the date and it pulls flight info from hundreds of different companies to find you the best rate. A word of caution though, the options are organized by price, not logic. I could have flown to San Jose for $210, but I would have had a 13 hour layover in Newark and an overnight in Houston so keep an eye on that. Also always look at a couple days before and after you plan to leave, there can be a lot of variation in price from day to day. If you have baggage you’ll need to check I would recommend either a direct flight or connections within the same airline so you don’t have to worry about running around trying to find your bag.
If you’re planning to travel within Canada, consider taking the train. There’s something so special about seeing the whole country in one go like that, and its like a little mini-vacation in and of itself. Keep an eye on the VIA Rail website, they often have some sort of sale or promotion going on. Bus is another option for super-economical country-crossing if you’re one of those people who can sleep anywhere, but be ready for a very long haul. I’m sure you meet some pretty interesting characters though.
For Costa Rica I’m budgeting max $2000. My flight down was $326, return was $400, food, accommodation, laundry, everything at the farm for the three months I’m there will be $600, and my ride from the airport in San Jose to the farm will be $140. The extra is emergency money, going out money, and funds in case I decide to travel around the country a bit post wwoofing. Though Costa Rica has a much higher cost of living than other countries in the area, its still cheaper than here.
How much money you’ll need for your adventure depends entirely on where you want to go, how you intend to travel, and obviously how long as well. Though staying with friends and family, wwoofing or couch surfing are the cheapest options as far as sleeping arrangements go, hostels are also a good bet. Prices vary but are usually between $17 and $35 dollars a night. Read reviews online as not all of them are as wonderful and clean as Whalers on the Point in Tofino, and see what their policy is for booking ahead. If you don’t book ahead make sure you have a back-up option in case they’re full.
Some helpful resources for accommodation are Couchsurfing International , WWOOF (this is just the general site I posted yesterday, Google wwoof *country you want to travel to* to get that country’s site with actual farm listings and stuff) and HostelWorld.com.
What to pack? Half the clothes you think you need and twice the money is a good general rule of thumb to take to heart. Backpacks are classic and practical. I brought a 65 L Osprey Argon pack out west with me, and I’m heading down to Costa Rica with a 33 L Osprey Talon. I brought wayyyy too much stuff the first time and I’m not even going to tell you about it all cause its embarrassing. This time around I’m bringing 3 tshirts, 2 tank tops, 2 long sleeved work shirts (all quick dry), one pair of light work pants, 2 pairs of shorts, 1 pair of jeans, baselayer bottoms and a fleece for chilly nights, four changes of underwear, 4 pairs of merino wool socks, hiking boots, sandals and my super-light barefoot running shoes (I’m using them as water shoes). One novel (I’ll swap or borrow other books as I go), a guidebook and a Spanish phrase book, a headlamp, a money belt for my cash, cards and passport, shampoo bars (soap, shampoo and conditioner in super convenient bar form), Toothy Tabs dry toothpaste from Lush, a combination lock (most hostels give you a locker for valuables but you have to bring a lock or buy one), my first aid kit, my camera, some extra ziplock bags, heavy duty mosquito repellent, a micro-fiber towel, a mosquito net, my Nalgene and a compactible Platypus bottle for back-up, a reusable shopping bag (for any souvenirs I pick up, my packs pretty full), my phone and my pocket knife.
There’s probably more that I’m forgetting, but that’s the gist of it. There are people who are infinitely more impressive than I who travel with far less but I know myself and I will undoubtedly lose and wreck things along the way so I play it safe. That’s about as minimalist as I go. I like rolling my clothes and extras in dry bags inside my pack for purposes of organization, compression and keeping dry.
If you’re planning something and you’re in the neighbourhood, stop by and see my other family at Threads Lifestyle, even if only for a conversation and advice about what you’re going to need. They know their stuff. And I’m only completely biased in saying that the service is fantastic. Well, I mean, I’m not working there anymore, but its probably still half decent. Kidding, so kidding, they’re great. (There, I plugged you, can I have a raise now?)
Most of the questions I’ve gotten about doing a year off or a trip like mine have been of the “but where do I START?” variety. I suppose first you want to decide where you’d like to go. Do you want to explore your own country before heading off into the world to experience others? Have you always wanted to backpack Europe? Did you watch Eat, Pray, Love and fall head over heels for India or Bali? Do you want to climb mountains or visit temples or see far flung relatives? All of the above? There is such a wealth of travel literature and journalism, both published and on humble DIY blogs like this one, Google what you want to do and I’m sure you’ll find someone who’s done something similar and written about it to give you some idea about what to expect. One that I found really helpful on my first trip was I Backpack Canada. Guidebooks are a tried and true resource, and theres so many available these days- even ones geared specifically towards backpackers and students (read: broke people).
Once you know where you want to go, I suggest creating a bucket list of things you want to do and see while you’re out there, and use that as a basis to plan your route and time frame. To budget, look at transportation costs and do some math to figure out where you can afford to stay. Always always always account for unexpected extras, and then throw in some more money for emergencies, just in case. Spontaneity is a necessary component to a trip of this nature, in my opinion, but especially if you’re going it alone, a general framework never hurts. You can deviate from it, of course, but I say that you should always have some sort of plan, especially where sleeping arrangements are involved, to fall back on. There are also lots of organizations that run organized gap year-type trips, ad even travel agencies specifically geared towards student travel. All that comes with a price tag though, and though they all look amazing I found it a lot more economically feasible to go it alone.
A final word on travelling solo as a woman, because this is another thing I get asked a lot about. I wish we lived in a world where people’s right to safety and freedom was respected regardless of their gender and where we taught our boys not to attack people instead of teaching our girls to carry keys between their knuckles every time they go out after dark, and I hope that someday we do. Being female should not carry an expectation that you will be assaulted. It is not right and it is not fair and it should NOT be normalized. Not by our society, not by the media and especially not in our own minds. By saying things like “a girl traveling alone is asking for trouble”, you are perpetuating the idea that men have no control over their actions, violence against women is this normal, unavoidable reality, and worse, that it is all somehow women’s fault. This is bigotry defending itself, and like assault against ANYONE, it should not be tolerated.
End rant. Now, because this is not the world according to Kelsea (yes, bad things can happen and women do make more appealing targets than men while travelling abroad), there are certain precautions everyone, men and women, should take. Don’t hitchhike alone. If you absolutely must hitchhike period, a man and a woman together is the safest combination, and usually more likely to get picked up than two guys. Don’t publicize the fact that you are travelling solo. Don’t read guidebooks or maps on the street. Try to blend in. Study up on the local language before you go, and know how to contact emergency services if you need to. Keep you money stashed in at least two or three different places- a money belt, a secure pocket in your bag that takes some rummaging to get to, and an emergency stash tucked in an empty Chapstick container in my toiletry bag are usually the way I go. Dressing a little more conservatively than usual won’t go amiss.
It’s easy to get caught up in the safety stuff when travelling alone, especially when its all brand new and a little bit scary, but despite everything I just said, you also have to trust people. The vast majority of folks don’t want to hurt you, in fact most of them will prove to be helpful and friendly if you give them a chance, especially within the backpacker network. And you aren’t going anywhere that totally normal people don’t live and work and play every day of their lives. Just don’t make yourself an easy target by being oblivious to your surroundings and you’ll be fine.
And most of all, its totally worth it. Even if you have to get another job to save up, even if you have to fight your parents every step of the way. Other people may not love your choices, but they aren’t the ones who have to live with giving them up. I never, ever want to look back on my life and regret times I didn’t follow through on my dreams. No matter how hard you have to work for it, no matter how many opportunities you have to force into existence with your bare hands, I say its worth it. For the trips and the experiences themselves, of course, but also for the knowledge that you can achieve what you set your mind to. There’s really nothing more empowering than living life on your own terms. I want to see the world, experience it in every way possible and learn everything I can so that’s what I’m setting off to do. No reason you can’t do the same. My quote of the moment is from Calamity Jane and it goes “I figure if a girl wants to be a legend she should go ahead and be one.”
And why shouldn’t life be as legendary as you can make it? Pura Vida baby, I’m going to Costa Rica tomorrow!
An American coast guard named Craig once said to me “You know, people seem to think that you can take a big trip and get all that restlessness out of your system, but it doesn’t work that way. You never come back from an adventure satisfied, you come back wanting more.”
“It’s like change smoking cigarettes to get rid of your nicotine cravings,” I agreed.
He laughed and said ” Kid, I think you’ll find its more like heroin.”
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Since I was very small it has struck me as tragically unfair that we only get this one life to live.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been grateful for my absurdly privileged assignment as a middle class white girl in a first world country with free health care and public libraries.
But I want to know how it feels to be a courrier du bois.
I want to know what life looks like from a remote fishing outpost in Norway and from a tenement in Brooklyn, from a thatch hut in Sub-Saharan Africa, from an indigenous village in the mountains of Peru, from a cattle ranch in Texas.
I want to live my life one hundred different ways. I want to build an existence for myself in one hundred corners of the world, see the universe from one hundred different vantage points. And I want to write about it because by nature I am a compulsive scribe.
This is my challenge to myself- to spend my allotted time on this planet living my life one hundred different ways. I already know how to live the life I was born into, and I’ve gotten a glimpse into what it is like to be a Canadian nomad. Two down, 98 to go.
And as of January 15th I will be taking off again, this time for remote rural Costa Rica to spend three months living and working on an organic permaculture farm buried deep in the tropical rain forest.Three months is a good time frame- long enough for any one experience to begin to feel like home.
What I will be doing is called wwoofing, which essentially boils down to working for room and board at one of the member farms of WWOOF (World Wide Opportunities of Organic Farms). These farms are located all over the world, and are united by a mandate to teach sustainable ways of living off the land to anyone who wishes to learn. Volunteers are not paid (hence volunteer, duh), but are typically given three meals a day and a place to sleep in exchange for 4-6 hours of manual labour on the farm. The farming experiences themselves are as diverse as organic vineyards in Italy to cattle ranches in Australia, and wwoofing has gained a lot of popularity as an inexpensive way to travel and to immerse yourself in another culture and lifestyle.
The farm I’m going to is called Villas Mastatal and is located in Central Pacific Costa Rica. Villas Mastatal is an organic permaculture farm and Eco Lodge that grows pretty much all of their food on site. There are chickens, cows and pigs, a hydroponic system and a medicinal herb garden. Pretty much all of the buildings are built using the indigenous methods of the region (so, a roof and not too much in the way of walls). Their hot showers are powered by compost. Check out where I’ll be sleeping-
Some reasons I’m crazy amounts of excited right now-
1) For three months I will be living, eating, sleeping pretty much entirely outside, in the tropical rainforest. I don’t count it as indoors if there aren’t any walls, and in one spot on their website they advertise their toilets as having “great views”
2) More or less everything I’m eating I will have played some part in growing. Talk about the 100 mile diet, this is how humanity survived pretty much from when we invented the house until a couple hundred years ago. In our world of fast-paced, large scale, and wide spread, where the ingredients of my breakfast most likely came from five or six different countries, I will be removing all the intermediaries and doing what one might say is the least common denominator of human existence- working to feed myself. Not making money to go to the grocery store. Literally putting the things I eat in the ground, harvesting and cooking them to survive.
3) Villas Mastatal is gorgeous. Check out the Gallery page on their website which I linked to above (double click on the words that show up blue Grandma!). There’s a waterfall on the property. It’s a fifteen minute walk away from La Cangreja National Park which has a massive network of trails, a bat-filled cavern and another waterfall to explore.
I can’t wait. Yes, fan club, I’ll be blogging when I’m down there. I’ll be aiming for weekly updates as blogging will involve a 20 minute walk into town to an internet cafe that is described as “fairly reliable”. I don’t know what upload speed will be like, but I’ll do my best to get you some pictures too.
Part of the experience is that I will be more or less without my technological tethers and thus a pain in the butt to get a hold of, but your best bet is to email me at walker_kelsea@yahoo.ca, leave a comment on the blog or send me a message on the About Me page (as those will be the things I’m checking most regularly). I’ll have my phone for emergency, help-mum-I’ve-been-detained-at-the-border purposes and I’ll be receiving texts but not sending them.
Oh, and as of late I’ve gotten a couple people asking questions about the first trip, and how to go about planning a gap year adventure. I’ll put up a how-to guide post later today for you precious people who seem to be under the impression that I actually know what I’m doing.
And lastly, thank you thank you thank you to all you wonderful souls who read this blog for reasons unknown. The fact that I’ve garnered an audience besides my mom and dad never fails to amaze me. Follow me along, its adventure time again!
Am I scared? Of course. I’m headed to work on a farm in a remote part of a foreign country that I had to get a bunch of vaccines to even get a doctor’s okay to visit, the only things I reliably know how to say in the local language are “where is the bathroom?”, “can I get a beer?” and “I am a female Canadian”, and I’m doing it alone. But you know what? The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all, and as Jack Canfield said
“Everything you want is on the other side of fear.”
Let’s go get lost.
The Wander Year 