Tag Archives: overland

Gear Review for overlanders

Everyone travels differently, and has a variety of values while on the road. Some things that may be important to you, might not be a necessity for others. Not to mention, different travelers have a variety of different budgets to manage. A big part of travel, camping, and adventure is the wide variety of gear one can purchase before or during a journey, and sometimes its difficult not to go overboard in this category, especially considering all the amazing gear and new technology out there. Some like it fancy, and some like it simple. During our travels we have bumped elbows with a wide range of people. We mingle with everyone from wealthy retirees who drive luxury big budget ex-military vehicles, all the way to lost hooligans peddling their way across countries by unicycle. Me personally, the more time i spend on the road, Its important to keep it simple and cheap, while not sacrificing gear reliability and personal enjoyment. Fancy new technology is always fun to play with, but how much of this do you really want to bring to unfamiliar locations in the third world. Dont get me wrong, I do have and iPhone, lap top, sweet camera, and more than a few nice surfboards. But when push comes to shove, and this stuff gets broken or stolen, I can only hope I don’t get too bent out of shape over it. Which leads me to believe, less is more, keep it simple. I’ve met plenty of travelers who have very little, and having less makes you more free in a certain sense.


With this being said I’ve come up with my personal review of gear that has been more than helpful on a daily basis, and in my opinion, no overlander should venture without. In no particular order…..


1. Bucket ($0.00 – $6) Like a lot of great things in life, the bucket is multi-use. I left home with no bucket, and quickly realized how badly I needed one. The best buckets are usually old 5 gallon spackle buckets which can be found for free at almost any construction site. Besides the obvious of washing clothes and dishes, My bucket is my chair, table, I bring it fishing, fetch water from several underground wells, weapon, collecting firewood, and the list goes on. If you can’t buck-it, fuck-it.


2. Insulated coffee mug ($1 – $10) Us americans like our coffee, and if coffee is not your cup of tea, you can drink a cup of tea. Being from the east coast I like my coffee from Dunkin’ Donuts. Its tasty, you get it quick, and the price is reasonable, unlike the racket Starbucks is running. Most if not all Dunkin’ Donuts sells insulated coffee mugs ranging from $3 plastic ones to $10 stainless steel ones. We left NJ with 3 of these. One got lost, the other one blew out, only one remains. I purchased a replacement mug at a supermarket in Nicaragua for $1 and its just as good. I use this everyday, several times a day, for hot and cold drinks.


3. String / rope ($0.00 – $5) Another multi-use item. We live in a truck, mostly on the hot beach. We are sweaty disgusting people who share a bed with a dog. We are constantly washing clothing and bedding out of our bucket. At our campsites we always have a clothes line set up. sometimes we have several lines set up drying clothes, dish rags, wet suits and the list goes on. I also use my string collection to tie down tarps, the awning, lowering my bucket into mysterious wells, and stringing up the hammock to any and everything, blah blah blah. String can be found amongst the rest of the trash that washes upon the beach or you can buy it almost anywhere.


4. Smart phone ($50 and up) This item goes without saying. A smartphone is basically a small computer. Besides stating the obvious that one can email, Skype, and stay connected to family and well-wishers, there are many other great uses. The calculator comes in handy when contemplating exchange rates, maps, entertainment, we know the rest. Ive also used my camera several times to take quick photos of my license and passport, email to myself, then print it our for border crossings. The notes app is good for writing down important info and wifi passwords. Functioning without this would be very difficult.


5. Skobbler app for phone ($0.99) This offline world road map application is probably not considered gear, but its been pretty amazing. For those who don’t know, listen carefully. We downloaded this app in Panama (brought to our attention by southtonowhere.com.) We do not have a cell phone plan, and you do not have to be online, but the map knows your location (via satellite) and you can plan a route, and download maps specific to the country. Being from the states we are extremely spoiled when it comes to road signage and city infrastructure. Its a different story down here, and not to mention several people south of the boarder (mostly in South America) drive with absolutely no regard to safety or the well being of human life. This is highly recommended and has given me the ability to avoid countless anxiety attacks when lost in these confusing cities, as well as saving gas by not getting too lost.


6. Hammock ($10 – 80) The hammock could possibly be one of the greatest inventions ever. They are easy to set up. I have an anchor point on my truck so all I need to do is park near a tree or something to tie off the other end. After a long days drive, or some hours surfing, the hammock is a comfortable way to unwind and relax. Not to mention during those hot nights in Central America, its nice to get out of the tent and spend the night swinging in the wind. After Lupe the dog destroyed my compact camping hammock after having it for several years, I purchased a large cloth 2 person hammock in Cost Rica which is nothing short of amazing. During the drive South of the border there are dozens of opportunities to purchase several different styles of hammocks ranging from different prices. Hammock life means a comfortable relaxing life!


7. Safe ($0.00 – $100) The safe is important for obvious reasons, and it should be large enough to hold all of your really important things. I built my safe out of scrap wood and metal from the shop I worked in at the time of my truck build. It can hold my laptop, folder, camera, phones, and more. Its also important to bolt down your safe to your vehicle somehow. Although we have not had any break ins, its also a good peace of mind knowing your important things are locked up securely. If someone was to break into my truck specifically, they would need a good amount of time and tools to get into my safe. Considering most breakins are a smash, grab and run situation I feel pretty good about my things being safe.


8. Lupe the dog ($125) By no means do I consider our lovable pet a piece of gear, but I put her on the list anyway. We paid $125 at our local high kill rate shelter and saved Lupe’s Life. Im not looking for thanks but it was in fact our best purchase. Besides being part of the family Lupe acts as a great security guard. When a shifty individual approaches she makes her presence known, sending people in the opposite direction very quickly. When a friendly person approaches she is friendly and lovable. Several nights we have camped in questionable spots and when people get close I signal her to bark on command. Most people south of the border use dogs as security, so locals can only assume she is dangerous. Although she farts in the tent, gets fleas, frequents visits to the vet, and requires an expensive high protein diet due to food allergies, we love this dog like our own child and I’m confident she would seriously injure any person that tried to do us any harm. Not to mention Lupe is also a great mediator when Sara and I get into it.


9. Filet knife ($1 – $20) Bringing a knife camping is a no-brainer. But I do recommend a large, sharp, durable knife. I bought one of those big white handle knives that professional fishermen use. It has no case and hangs out in the back of the truck. It cuts through live fish and dead meat, and veggies better watch out, cause Its sharp as hell, and has held up through over a dozen countries. these can be purchased in tackle shops, garage sales, or maybe you can find one in your garage that needs sharpening.


10. Roof top tent ($800 – $5000) The RTT (roof top tent) does not apply to everybody of course. Some sleep inside their rigs on sleeping platforms, campers, or regular camping tents. We were lucky enough to find our Auto Home on NJ Craigslist for $900. This model tent from the factory might run closer to $4000. We put a clean mattress in, rigged up some swimming noodles so the surfboards fit nicely on top, and we’re ready to roll. The tent is extremely comfortable and is about the size of a queen size bed. Camping on the beach provides great views from above, plus scorpions and snakes have a hard time finding us on top of the truck. We decided that spending money on this item would be worth it, we got a good deal on it, also considering we will be spending the next year plus on the road.




“The beach is good, we need to get back to the beach” was what Sara and I were saying to each other during our final days in Colombia. The beach in Central America was rough living, mainly because we were camping most of the time. In Central America the heat was torturous, the nights were long and breezeless, the bugs unrelenting, but the surfing made it all worthwhile. Now we are in South America, about to enter Ecuador. Ecuador is on the equator. The equator must be hot. It was shockingly cloudy, cool, sweatshirts and pants, and pleasant ocean water. Maybe it is just the time of year? Either way, we will take it.


The Colombia/Ecuador border was a breeze, making it through in record time. So far the border crossing situation in South America is more contemporary and user friendly compared to the outdated circus show that Central America had to offer.



Driving the smooth camino, smiling at the signage of the gas stations displaying $1.48 a gallon, we had our destination in mind. We still have hours until we reach Mompiche. Mompiche might have the longest wave in Ecuador (too bad it is not the season for surf), but we head there anyway. We drive in to the night, through the hectic outskirts of Quito, spotting a snow capped mountain on the horizon at sunset. The view is pleasant and comforting, the vibe is mellow, and the roads twist through the mountains similar to a hiking trail. We see an uncrowded gas station, fill the truck for only a few bucks, roll to the edge of the lot and set up camp for our first night in Ecuador.


The next day we arrived in the small fishing village of Mompiche. The waves were fickle, but we still got plenty of water time and hung out for a couple weeks to kill some time before entering Peru.


After camping on the beach for a week in Mompiche, we spent the second week working as volunteers at a hostel. As volunteers, we painted some signage, built furniture, created a promotional video, and did some gardening for a few hours a day, in exchange for one of the private cabins (The Mud House). It turned out to be a great way to familiarize ourselves with the village, spend little to no money, and live in in an actual domicile (instead of a tent). Our time at The Mud House was enjoyable, and we highly recommend the place to other travelers (or overlanders). Mendee and Andres were warm, welcoming, and they make amazing sandwiches, and they were super cool with Lupe, which is a big plus.

-check out the video I made for the Mud House


After Mompiche we planned on doing another volunteer job in a beach town called Canoa. As soon as we rolled into town we were uninterested in the locale. The surf was bad, people were partying, and lost hippies roamed the streets. We spent the first night camping on the beach on the outskirts of town. The next morning we wandered to the hotel where we were supposed to work for the next couple of weeks. The people were friendly, but unorganized. We did some work, discussed the unpractical projects at hand, and waited for several hours for some woman to bring us to where we would be living.


Finally, long after sunset, we meet up with the semi-intoxicated woman (at a 4th of July gringo party) and it is understood that she will be bringing us to our house (where we will stay for the next couple weeks in exchange for the work we will do). We waited longer, she offers me a beer, to which I respond that I don’t want one, but she proceeds to bring me one anyway. After I drink the beer she says I need to pay $3.50 for it (which is more than three times the amount beer usually goes for down here). Fire works start bursting. Lupe is in the truck startled from the close by explosions. I calm her down. We decide this whole situation is bullshit, and to top it off these people expect me to build a number of structures on multiple properties which seems completely impractical for the 4 hours of expected daily work. The whole situation seemed like a can of worms, so we decided the best thing to do was to just drive away. In the cover of darkness, not notifying anyone about our departure, we drove away and didn’t look back. And no one messes with Lupe. That was the broken shoelace.


After escaping back breaking labor for minimal compensation, we slowly weaved our way down the Southern Ecuador coast. We camped in fishing villages, purchased fresh fish from locals, partook in solo surf sessions with not a soul in sight. Eventually after another week of nonchalantly driving, and stress free living (nothing to do, nowhere to be), we look up at the signage and it seems that we have made it to Peru.


The Taco will be for sale

2001 Toyota Tacoma for sale, Overland ready

The Taco will be up for sale sometime around the last months of the year 2014 in the Buenos Aires, Argentina area. We are also slightly flexible regarding the time and location of the sale. The truck will be sold with all accessories unless we sell off certain things piece by piece. This truck has safely taken us from New Jersey to South America, and has been nothing but reliable.  Please read through the list of modifications and accessories that make this vehicle overland ready. Extensive photos and information about the truck will be posted on sardinetaco.com under the “our taco” section. Serious inquiries only, any reasonable offer will be considered.

2001 Toyota Tacoma TRD V-6 3.4 liter

I estimate the truck will have under 150K miles on it at time of sale

-OME full suspension kit

-Dakar leaf springs with add a leaf

-arb awning

-Optima dual battery setup

-1100W power inverter

-alarm with remote

-arb 12 volt / DC fridge

-12 volt viair air compressor

-hi-lift jack

-recovery gear

-full kit of tools

-full size spare

-truck bed cabinets with LED lights

-pump sink with 7 gallon water tank

-thule roof rack

-2 x 5 gallon gerry cans mounted to roof rack

-autohome rooftop tent

-secure lockable safe

-limo tint

-camping stove / kitchen stuff

-5 liter refillable propane tank

-front and rear tow hitch hook up, for “D” ring

-some various other odds and ends


Propane Story : featured on Provenoverland.com

Click here to see our story on PROVEN OVERLAND!!!!





From my experience propane tanks can be filled on the outskirts of select towns across Mexico, Central America, and most places we’ve been. It seems logical that these filling stations are not actually in the towns, because If an accidental explosion was to occur, only the employes and current patrons would be the unfortunate individuals to be taken down, instead of  the surrounding bystanders in a crowded pueblo. We have a 5 liter tank that can fuel our stove for well over a few weeks, depending on how much we cook. The tank will cost between $2 and $5 to fill, dependent on the country and who happens to be working the register that day.

We are somewhere on the central coast of Mexico on the hunt for propane.  We are caravanning with George and Rachel (southtonowhere.com), following their vanagon through crowded Mexican streets. They also need a fill. We find a station, the van gets filled, but we do not. Our tank adapter does not match with the stations hose. While this seems odd to me, we are still relatively new to the South of the border vagabond lifestyle and our Espanol is no bueno, so perhaps something is getting lost in translation. Either way, we shrug our shoulders and start problem-solving.

The chubby Mexican man perched on a small motorcycle with a plastic bag full of canned beer witnesses our current dilemma. He watches and crushes a couple empty cans. He wants to help. He is communicating a strong desire to guide us to another filling station across town. He assures us through hand motions, that he knows the way. We accept his offer with hesitation. Sometimes locals see gringos in a pickle and they want to help, but they also want money.  This has been our experience in a  couple different situations. We need propane, and navigating unfamiliar cities in Mexico is a feat not for the meek. So, we take the easy road, deciding to follow this complete stranger through winding back streets, wrong ways, down one ways, cutting off busses, all in an attempt to keep up with this intoxicated hooligan. Where are we going? is this legit? is this dude alright?


We get to the station and fill the tank for a couple bucks. This means hot meals for the next few weeks, beachside under the stars. We strike a conversation with our new amigo, the beer drinking Juan G. He asked for nothing, but we handed him some beer, observing his love of the beverage. He refused the suds explaining that riding the moto with a bottle is more difficult than riding with a can. We then reveal to him our surfing paradise destination, Saladita. He knows it well, has family there, and says that it is close by. Cool. After thanking this man for his help, a few high fives and posing for a couple photos, he now insists that we follow him to the beach. Once again we accept his offer with hesitation. I mean, this is our new friend after all.


The Taco (our Tacoma) and the van follow this motorcycle madman down the Mexican highway at generous speeds. As he rides helmet-less drinking beer swiftly, he tosses his empties like a bean bag at a town fair into the green roadside brush. One, two, three beers down on this 30-minute caravan. Yikes. Should we be concerned? As we tailgate this swerving rascal, he makes a variety of hand gestures. He points to a smoke stacked factory on the horizon, removes both hands from the handle bars, makes a typing gesture, and then points to himself.  He is trying to communicate that he works there (or so we think). The message is not completely clear. He points to the sea, makes gestures of fishing, and makes a motion to convey that this fish is BIG. No hands on the bars, beers in a plastic bag swinging from his handlebars like a pendulum. Caught up in this moving game of charades, we missed the turn. No problem. Juan G illegally U-turns on the uncrowded highway, gesturing  for us to follow suit. More than a few times during this trip we have been put in odd and, at times, uncomfortable situations. Although this was more odd than uncomfortable, sometimes you need to trust your gut. My gut was telling me to follow Juan until the bitter end. So this is what we did, and we made that illegal U-turn.

We arrive at the beach.  It is a dead-end dirt road with no one in sight. It is beautiful. A rocky coast with a perfect spit of sand, perfect for relaxation. The late afternoon sun was hitting the sea with a dramatic orange glow. We began to envision the hammock hanging. Juan stops his bike, pops kickstand down, stands up, and raises his arms in such a way that a referee might during a field goal kick. He is a proud man and he has shown us the way.  He smiles with an aura of satisfaction and accomplishment.  He looks to us, perhaps gauging our reaction to the arrival at this small paradise. We exit our vehicles and take a look around with a bit of confusion.


Our destination of Salidita, from what we read, is a popular surf-spot littered with traveling surfers, as well as accommodations and campsites. This beach was a nice one, but had none of the above. We look at each other because we know we are not at our desired destination.  We consult the map. We show our new navigator where we are trying to go. He says “Salidita? I thought you said Saydita, this is Saydita.” Several beers deep this could have happened to anyone. We all have a good laugh,share a few brews while Juan G tells stories of his time spent in the states.  He shows us photos of his life, exchange Facebook info, hug, and wish each other well. Juan rides off into the Mexican sunset like the outlaw he was.

Juan G did not want anything for his favors, he merely wanted to help some gringos in a jam. It turns out Juan loves the United States. Juan used to work in the states and managed to make enough money to go back to Mexico and build a fantastic home for his family. Most people we have met on our southbound journey have been warm and generous. There are a ton of Juan G’s out there.


Our time in Colombia…

I sit alone reflecting on our last five weeks, as a patron in a crowded street-side eatery, while smothering my fried, half potato with spicy green sauce and hot relish. It’s hot, humid, and everyone around me seems to be busy, in this outskirt neighborhood of Cali, Colombia. A young man with not one, not two, but four tear drop tattoos, on his blistered jowls, sits across from me and gives me the smile nod of approval. I respond with the same gesture, as I scarf down the remains of my potato making sure that I don’t leave any crumbs behind, toss my trash, pay my bill, then march back down the street to the mechanic where Sara and Lupe sit and patiently wait for the truck to be fixed.


Colombians are welcoming and warm. They are delighted to have us in their country as tourists. Colombians go out of their way to make you feel accepted, and at no point in our six weeks here did I feel in harm’s way. It is rumored that Colombians are like this because they try to rid themselves of their checkered reputation as it being a dangerous place active in the drug and kidnapping business, but I would like to believe that this is just the way they are. Although the history here might not look too bright through the eyes of a wayward tourist, I can assure you (from our experiences only), that Colombia is an amazing country filled with gracious people and dreamworld landscapes.


Old town Cartagena is surrounded by tall, thick walls that were built to keep out pirates and bandits. Roaming the walled-in city streets after dark, you can almost sense what it was like to be an hoary scalawag with questionable intentions in search for women with loose morals and bottle of hooch. The history is voluminous like the walls that surround it, and the atmosphere is alive with the smell of titillation in the breeze. This was the most alluring colonial city we have seen to date.


The 8 months of torturous heat in Mexico and Central America was unyielding, to say the least. Hot, bright, uncomfortable and with nowhere to hide, one feels like a newborn baby stranded in a newly blacktopped parking lot in the mid-summer swelter. It was time for remission.


No matter how close you are to the equator, if you are high in elevation than the temperature is cold. El Cocuy Park is around 300 miles from the Caribbean, and a tad farther to the equator. The mountains are snow capped like the drawings of a juvenile, and seeing the glaciers after the tribulations of the heat you can’t help but feel some sense of relief. There are locals are draped in the provincial poncho, long windy day hikes, nights with toasty drinks in hand, and this all feels pretty swell. We camped tucked in the hills at a cabin owned by a local. Juan Carlos was generous with his hand picked teas, potatoes, and plethora of local knowledge. I attempted to repay the favors by handing-off my Bostich hammer, that he found quite impressive, while I hammered in my awning spikes. So now he insists on frying up a double trout dinner, with appetizer, and splendid handcrafted coulis on the side. So I sendoff my “Old Bay” spice to his shelf of kitchen condiments as another act of thanks.

The locals take advantage of the speed bumps strewn about the small towns, and big city streets. Beautiful, smiling women anxiously stand selling the local tinto (coffee) out of the plastic dental cups for $0.25. The coffee tastes superb, and the convenience factor is quite substantial, considering we are, in fact, lazy Americans who are used to the drive-through culture. The accessibility of any consumable item through the window of a vehicle is quite awesome, to say the least. Other than the coffee, they also offer salty snacks, cold drinks, fresh fruit plates, and even a lunch complete with meat, veggies, and rice.


Camping is not as popular in Colombia as it is in Central America and Mexico. We did, in fact, stay indoors in hostels and cheap motels more than any other country. So when it was time to penny pinch we would find solitude at the highway gas stations, and set up camp for free. Gas stations have all the conveniences that the pay campgrounds have, minus the shower. These include 24-hour security, clean bathrooms, power outlets, and sometimes a convenience store for the last minute purchase of beer. The gas station attendants are usually so intrigued by the fact that you would want to sleep there, that they can’t help but feel motivated enough to bring you coffee, and keep coming by to see if you are comfortable. The local patrons gaze at you in wonder.  They point, gawk, and whisper amongst themselves, “who are these people, where did they come from, and why in god’s name are they sleeping here?”


Just like Mexico, people whom have never been to this Latin American nation insisted that we avoid it. They said Colombia is dangerous, we will get robbed, and possibly kidnapped. Not to make light of serious situations, that does happen in these countries, but I do believe that most countries are as safe as you want them to be. You must travel smart, travel light, and of course use plenty of common sense. And if you are in fact one of those paranoid Americans, you can always just tell people you are Canadian.



Some truck repair

After several  failed attempts over the course of 15,000 miles (all involving minimal effort on my part), I finally decided to get my steering bushing replaced on the Taco.  Throughout the entirety of Central America, 9 countries later, I make the commitment to get this taken care of.  It became increasingly easy to say, “I will do it in the next city,” but as the dirt roads of Bolivia hover in our near future, I am presently more aware than ever that rugged driving is quickly approaching, so I can no longer f* around.


When I brought the truck  for a tune-up, in Colorado almost a year ago, they informed me that I was in need of new bushings. I shrugged this off, mostly because it was expensive and it was not a priority at that point in our travels. We just wanted to hit the road. We are now in Southern Colombia, talking about our crossing into Ecuador, and I am beginning to get a rising sense of anxiety as I think about the unpaved roads of Bolivia and Argentina. It is time to pull the trigger and install new bushings. In speaking to the mechanic, he reported that the bushings are totally destroyed. I expected this.  It explains the large amount of play in the steering that I have felt ever since we purchased the Tacoma almost 2 years ago. The whole situation reminds me of a T-shirt I recently saw being worn by the first mate of our Panamanian sail to Colombia.  It read “procrastinators unite,” then under that it said, “tomorrow.” 

The hefe at the mechanic spoke perfect english and he even lived in the states most of his life This was good, as clear communication is important in these type of situations (especially since my Spanish mechanic vocabulary is somewhat limited). He even offered us camping at his farm, an hour away (Colombians are suspiciously friendly), but we decided to stay local. We are in Cali, Colombia and this major Latin American city of 2.7 million is hectic. It is Friday, Colombia plays the World Cup tomorrow, the weekend is here, and the truck can’t be worked on until Monday. Shit just got real.


We decided to drive south, out of town, and stay at whatever cheap no-tell motel (popular Latin American hotels frequented by men and their mistresses) we could find. They are muy economico, gated, have security, and are in close proximity to the city. As we cruise the streets on the lookout for such an establishment, we notice people giving us the thumbs-up, waving, smiling, and communicating a general sense of approval through various hand motions. We are being welcomed by the city folk, perhaps because they can tell by our plates and rig that we have traveled a great distance to arrive at the lively city of Cali, Colombia.

A newer model Toyota Landcruiser pulls up next to us. I can see the woman in the passenger seat is trying to take photos of me, without me noticing. The couple could be my parents age and appear to be upper class. I glance over and she hides the camera. I roll down the window (we are at a stoplight) and give her the go ahead-take my photo. I like the attention. She takes a few and smiles at me. I ask them If they can recommend a cheap hotel. She responds, “Follow us” (in espanol). It is early, we have nowhere to be, are unemployed, so we follow them. We pull into a gas station, they make calls, she flirtatiously winks at me, and it seems that they have found a place for us to go. We pull some U-turns and continue to follow them through the city streets. I am not completely sure why, but I felt good about this situation. I think one should trust their instinct, and mine was telling me to trust these complete strangers with whom I can barely communicate.


After 20 minutes of traffic, following, driving through this unfamiliar South American city, we are finally at the destination hotel. We thank these strangers, exchange information, they provide us with their phone numbers, shake hands, wish each other well, as we go our separate ways. It was like they woke up that morning in search of lost gringos to provide assistance. They went completely out of their way for almost an hour, made phone calls, and drove in the opposite direction of where they were initially headed, to provide us with much-needed help. This happens a lot south of the border. I cannot visualize any American doing this for a foreigner in the states, but maybe that is just me.

I enter the hotel, inquire about a room, but the hotel clerk informs me that they are unable to accommodate dogs. I am not surprised. In typical Colombian fashion, the employee goes out of her way to provide us with the name of another establishment that is able to take dogs. After 30 minutes of hunting for this “other place” and asking various street vendors for directions, a strange man appears from out of nowhere.  He is wearing tight, bright colored clothes, driving a Volkswagen pickup truck car, and makes a claim to own a hostel. I trust this man for some reason. We tell him we have a dog, he winks at Lupe, and we negotiate a price for a room on this street corner. We now follow him. I felt good about this, and the price was right so one cannot dispute.


The hostel is clean and comfortable. We have our own room and we are the only ones here, so this is all good. Now I sit with the young soccer hooligan who works here, and despite the fact that he doesn’t speak a lick of English and my espanol is no bueno, we drink beer and root on Colombia as they school Greece in the World Cup. We will wait until the weekend is over to bring the truck in for repair.

It has been very common for an unusual chain of events, such as these, to unravel into a positive outcome. Since we have  been on the road, an important lesson that has been learned is to have extremely loose plans (if any at all). See where fate brings you, take a leap. Most of the time this will work out in your favor. When things get strange or you feel uneasy, you have the ability to get out.