There are schedules to be maintained...even in Costa Rica.

Banished from paradise and plunged into the heart of jaded tourism, lizardy expats and surf lessons. EVERYTHING IS IN ENGLISH. Creepy. So now we're staying at a bed and breakfast, which means that our schedule is dependant on the schedule of our eerie hosts (eleven years in Tamarindo and she doesn't speak Spanish?). I have been spoiled by Villa Caletas. But I must confess that it is most refreshing to be galloping over the uneven streets of clay on a trashed fixed-gear bicycle. This feels like the kind of used up town that could easily be the setting of a terrible tourist knifing... in fact, there was some kid on the balcony of this very internet cafe, showing off the machete he just bought to some sun damaged girls. His eyes danced with violent glee.