The time had come round again to leave our temporary home and find a new one, although today would also include another border crossing. We were moving on to Costa Rica so we needed to be up shortly after the sun rose for breakfast, checkout and walk to the bus stop.

We were on the Chicken Bus for the second time but this time we were taking it to the end of the line, so to speak. Even though it was early morning, waiting by the side of the dusty road was energy sapping. The bus was a little late but eventually we were on our way to the ferry port. A very bumpy, slow two and a half hour ride to Moyogolpa was only broken when the bus broke. What was actually wrong is still a bit of a mystery but there were a couple of guys half under the bus by the back wheel with iron bars, this wouldn't have been so bad had the bus not been driving backwards and forwards at the same time. For ten minutes the bus was rocking while the men shouted and the iron bars clanged onto the road. Then they just stood up, wiped their hands clean and we were off again.

The Chicken Bus itself is actually fascinating when you think about how it serves the community on the island. Unlike first world countries with all their rules and regulations, this bus was used as means to do everything. Vendors would take enormous sacks of goods to markets, bicycles without owners were delivered to houses, shopping bags of food were dropped to people on the roadside by the driver. We suspect that one could move house using the Chicken Bus and all your possessions could travel by bus without anyone blinking an eye...actually not true, everyone would probably help load and unload everything. They are very much like that here.

Despite the breakdown, we arrived at Moyogolpa with 15 minutes to spare before the ferry left. There was only one watercraft that could politely be called a barge. It had the hull of a boat but was just a flat top except for the wheel house. Half the bus was walking towards it so we guessed it must be the ferry. We followed the locals across the pier and down the old, weathered wooden plank onto the roof of the 'boat', laid our bags in the pile at the front and found a space nearer the rear to squat on the floor. A few minutes before we were due to leave, a guy on a motorbike drove right up to the gang plank, jumped off his bike and sauntered down onto the boat. What happened next was the real surprise. Instead of untying the boat and sailing off, they pushed his bike down the plank, parked it in front of us and tied it down with one little rope. This was going to be an interesting ride.

As the boat pulled out, the water on the lake was calm and there was fantastic views back onto island of the two volcanoes. It was only as we reached the half way point that the swell began to build and hit us side on.The captain did very well keeping the boat in a good position but was caught out a couple of times and we felt like we were going to slide off the roof and into the water. We didn't of course and made it to the mainland at San Jorge to be met by our taxi driver.

Jorge was taking us by car to the Peñas Blancas, the border frontier with Costa Rica. It was a busy road and as we got closer to the border, there was a queue of trucks about 2 or 3km long waiting to get through. We just drove on the other side of the road and went straight to the front. We hadn't even got out of the car and a guy with an ID badge gave us immigration papers through the open window and told there is $2 departure tax, which we already knew of. Pretty efficient we thought until he asked for $2 each for the piece of paper. This, of course, is a scam because you still need to pay the immigration officer your $2 tax. We politely laughed him off and told he could keep his papers as for sure they will have some at the border post for free.

As we were waiting in the queue for immigration, a money changer, Maribel, chased a second tout away from us and actually went and got the papers from the office for us. Our passports were stamped for exiting with no problem but the official refused to accept the departure tax in local currency (despite Maribel having checked 3 minutes earlier on our behalf how much the fee would be in Cordobas). Begrudgingly, we paid in US dollars and almost had to fight to get the change in dollars instead of Cordobas. Maribel was a bit baffled too and swapped our leftover Cordobas at a better rate because it was so little.

We walked the 1km across the border to Costa Rica's immigration office and it was a whole lot busier for some reason. It took 10 minutes to even get inside the building and then we ended up in a queue with 2 people who were not straight forward cases. We watched a dozen people in each of the other two queues move through while we continued to wait. Eventually a new officer opened a fourth queue and we got our passports stamped but only for 25 days stay. It seems that officials are cracking down on 'perpetual tourists' that hop out the country for a few days and expect a further 90 days visa. It's not that we were in that category, but we said we would only be 21 days. Without proof of pre-paid travel out of the country (which is an entry requirement and luckily didn't ask for), we decided best to leave it at that - so out by 12 June it is...

We took an overcrowded bus with no air conditioning to Liberia. It was unbearably hot at times especially when the bus slowed down or stopped as there was no air coming in from the few windows that were open. Eventually, after 1.5 hours, we reached Liberia bus station and hopped into a taxi to take us to the other side of town to Casa de Papel. It is a huge old historical house with a large covered patio full of big, chunky furniture. There is a swimming pool too which I'm sure we will make use of tomorrow. Being low season, or Green Season as they call it here in Costa Rica, it's not that busy so we got a nice big ensuite room with air conditioning and a small TV. We really felt spoiled turning the AC on after the hot bus journey.

We were pointed in the direction of Pizza Pronto for dinner which was only half a block away and we were assured they made great pizza. The courtyard seating was set around the most enormous wood fired oven and the pizza that came out definetly didn't disappoint.

After dinner we walked through town towards the supermarket and passed by the main square which was packed with kids on skateboards and BMX's. It was only when we walked back, past the square again did it click with us that these were the first kids we had seen playing in Central America. In all the countries we have been through, the kids over 7 years old are generally out selling stuff to make money for their family. It seems Costa Rica is remarkably different from the rest of Central America, it's very western with lots of English being spoken and written. There also seems to be a focus on material goods and fashion clothing which is in stark contrast to what we have seen to date.