Beth and I set out from Jaco to find the luxurious and remote Playa Negra, where my Uncle Greg and Aunt Susan were renting a house for the week with some of their friends. Part of the reason we had conceived of coming to Central America was because our timing for Costa Rica overlapped with theirs, and so we were excited to finally see them after so many months of planning.

But we had to get there first.

We left Jaco, flagging down a bus bound for Punta Arenas, and settled in for the two-hour journey. When we got there, we ran into a very informative taxi driver who gave us the run down on getting our next destination - Santa Cruz.

We could either wait in Punta Arenas for five hours to catch the next bus or head to the highway 20 minutes away to catch an earlier bus. It was a $10 cab ride to get there, but we figured it was worth it - we were in a race against time and bus connections. Plus, last time I was in Punta Arenas with my friend Katie, we had dubbed it “Point of My Anus.” I had no desire to spend an afternoon hours killing time there.

We took the cab and conversed with the driver in Spanish about Playa Negra, which he said was spectacular, and the U.S., where he had spent a few years traveling around.

“Are we going to a bus station?” I asked.

“Si,” he responded. “But it is very small.”

We got out and found a bench on the side of the road, a trash can, and a small shack of a restaurant in the background. One could say it was small. One would be stretched to call it a “station.”

He told us to wait for the bus that said “Santa Cruz” and “La Puente” (the bridge). He then busted out a map to show us that the route using the bridge would save us 2 hours of travel time, since we didn’t have to go way north to get around the water.

We waited and ate empanadas from the tiny restaurant while a few buses passed that only said “Santa Cruz”, and then finally our bus came. There were no seats, so we sat on the floor, thankful that at least the bus had air conditioning. The bus ride was a short 2 hours, instead of the 4 we were prepared for, and we counted ourselves lucky to have met such a helpful cab driver.

In Santa Cruz, we had to wait for a few hours to catch the next bus to Paraiso. It was a crowded, broken down bus that had a wooden hole in the floor. We bounced and jerked along the pock-marked roads the whole 1.5-hour ride to Paraiso. When we got there, we were dropped off an intersection in the middle of nowhere and told “this is it.” As we were getting out, I asked if there were taxis nearby. The driver said no. Great.

He asked where we were going. Playa Negra, we told him. He said he was going that way, and for a few colones more, he would take us. We paid him, and lugged our bags back on the bus.

We made it to Playa Negra after eight hours of travel. It was a cute “town” with about 5 shops and a handful of restaurants. We saw a sign for “Hotel Playa Negra”, and started down a tree-lined path for it. My Uncle had told us to head there, since the house they were renting was only 200 yards away would be expecting us.

It was a nice walk, though a fairly long walk with our 45 lb packs, but we made it to the hotel after about 20 minutes. Once there, we asked the guys at the gate where “Casa Azul” was. They had no idea. We then asked using my uncle’s name and his friends’ names. Still no idea.

I asked if we could pass to get to the beach, but they said there were no houses down that way, and that the beach ended not too far off. We’d have to go back to the road and take a right. Maybe we’d find something.

We backtracked nearly a quarter of a mile, now sweating profusely, taking care not to sink too deeply into the muddy road. It was rainy season, and beyond the town the roads were a mixture of slippery mud and water filled craters.

We got to the road and took a right. We passed a few signs of life… a dingy looking hotel and a house or two that claimed to be stores. We kept walking.

It was starting to get dark, and I was starting to get nervous. We didn’t want to be wandering around the middle of nowhere when the sun went down and we felt like we were wandering further and further away from civilization. And there was no Plan B.

We happened upon a road that headed toward the beach, and decided to walk down it. After a few moments of nothingness, a golf cart headed our way.

A golf cart was an indication that we were getting warm, we mused, definitely non-backpacker gringo-esque. We flagged down the driver, who spoke English, and explained our dilemma. She said there were some houses down the way, and she thought our description sounded like one of them.

We heaved down the path and came upon some pretty incredible houses - not a dilapitaded or crumbling one in sight. We went to the third house, which looked most like the pictures we had seen online, and walked into the courtyard, somewhat certain that we were interrupting some random family’s evening.

Our eyes feasted on cute stucco buildings with hammocks and chairs outside. We walked further in and gaped at the incredible view of the ocean and a massive infiniti pool overlooking it. Please let this be it, we thought. And then we saw my family. Just in time. The sun had just set. And we had made it to paradise.

We said hello to my aunt and uncle and their friends, Channing, Whitney, and Tony, apologized for our repulsive state, and ran in to take a shower. Beth and I were beside ourselves with joy - a cool, airconditioned and spacious room led to a shower with nice tile floors and high water pressure. This was the life.

After cleaning up, we headed out in a small SUV for a night on the town. We told the Most Frequently Requested Story on the ride to the restaurant - the infamous tale of the motorbike accident in Thailand.

We sat down to dinner at a nice restaurant only steps away from the shoreline. Beth and I dove into *real* nachos and a delicious fish dish with veggies. We downed water, trying to rehydrate and relishing in the ice cubes, while quickly detailing the high and low points of the trip. Despite our resistance, we were treated to dinner (Beth: Thanks Uncle Greg and Aunt Susan!), and later walked down to see the almost-full moon reflecting off the water and breaking waves.

On the way back to Casa Azul, Channing really took that SUV for a spin, virtually off-roading it through the “roads” of Playa Negra. The shocks held and the steering didn’t falter as we darted in and out of the craters and slid from side to side through the mud.

At Casa Azul, Beth and I crashed in the AirCon, falling asleep to the sounds of the waves crashing outside the screen door. This had definitely been worth the trip.