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This is the story of what happens when you decide to just go off on the road by yourself. The prospect of walking the many miles to Tamarindo did not faze me. This is also a town with banks, a massive lure for someone staying by a beach where cash is king. Aware it was probably a longer route, I mistakenly thought it would be nicer and give me less chances of getting lost. How hard could it be? It all started so well, following the beach and happily thinking about what a fantastic workout I was getting. I went through the resort and tried to find a way back to the beach, to no avail. For hours, I did not see another soul. There were buildings, but no humans. It started to get to me: where, exactly, was I? At no point, however, did it cross my mind to go back. I then promptly forgot the place existed… my mistake. A car! I probably did not actually exclaim out loud about the wonders of seeing a moving vehicle, but after hours alone in the heat, my brains were addled. Which probably explains what followed. The car stopped. A man came out. He was, he said, a security guard. And I, addled-brained as I had become, did not question it. Neither did I question getting in the car and being driven off to god knows where. A lot of questions were asked, in both English and Spanish. The disbelief that I was not, in fact, a local did not go away. Eventually, I got annoyed. He wanted to see a passport, but who takes a passport to the beach? Where are you going? I was informed that security had been called to check out on a strange woman in board shorts walking seemingly aimlessly around the estate. Are you afraid? Interestingly, until this point, I was not afraid in the slightest. The beach, which turned out to be Playa Langosta, was also deserted, but I felt safer already. I was out in the open and on a beach: my goal all along. Kind of. Pointing down again, the security guard stopped. At a safe distance, I turned around to see him in his shirtsleeve, smiling while he watched me go off. I should have known this adventure was not over, he looked too happy. And so, I walked on the beach. I talked out loud, berating myself for my stupidity, and I reached an estuary. I watched the tide, in, out, I tested the current, too strong. I squinted at the other side: something about crocs. Instead, I spent too long putting one foot in the water and retreating. I dawdled, walked up and down the side of the river trying to figure out a safe passage. I saw a couple of people get in their kayaks and row away. I watched the waves come in and out and counted under my breath. One, two… and I cried. I looked at my phone wondering whether I should call my mum. After all, this is the good and proper thing to do before dying, I think. Eventually, I put both my cross-body bag and my tote over my head and hopped like a madwoman from one bit of sand to another, not looking up from the swirling water around my ankles, counting and swearing probably quite loudly now that I think of it. I walked, now with a spring in my steps, having almost reached my goal. I was sweaty and felt disgusting. This was a good time for a swim. I gave up on my dream of a swim and instead sat down and told this lovely lady all about my day so far. This was not a good day for him either. And so, I reached Tamarindo. You would have thought this was the Promised Land for how happy and relieved I was. I did get cash out and I bought water. I did not, unsurprisingly, think of walking back. This, I thought, was going to be my ride. How wrong I was. After locating the surf shop where the shuttle was supposed to leave from, I was promptly informed it was not running. I sat up. As we drove along on the bumpy road, I seriously analysed every swerves and little chuckles of this man. I asked to be stopped as soon as I recognised the small local shop marking the start of Playa Avellanas, not wanting the driver to know where I stayed. This day had turned me paranoiac and I was not about to take any chances. I pretended to go off to the beach and waited for the cab to disappear before, once again, walking. Home About Write for Us. Awash with cash: daily life in Doha Jason Smart does a three-year stint in Qatar. As a westerner he's sheltered from the worst aspects of life in Life on a beach in Mogmog, Micronesia Marooned in the vast Pacific Ocean, the islands of Micronesia are amongst the remote in the world. Andy McGinley flies Bemused by banks: cash-happy on the streets of Brazil As an expatriate in Sao Paulo, Rob Dwyer finds his financial situation insecure and dramatic - just like everyone else's, Share 0. Tweet 0. Pin it 0. Sarah Kante. Asia Pacific Central Asia. View Post. Americas Deals. Search for: Search.