Munich —

As wonderful of a city as Copenhagen is, tourist route begins to lose its luster and rails are calling me East. I've been to Germany before so I wasn’t interested in staying for too long, but food and beer would be a shame to miss — yet another perk of train travel. Local trains can always be caught if you simply feel like ending up in a small town outside Munich, ordering a heaping lunch and a few giant steins of local brew and making your way out same day. Needless to say, between Frankfurt and Hungarian border I was full, comfortably brewed-up, and happy as beautiful sites of central Europe flew by.

As can be expected, this type of life can take it’s toll on a person’s ability to remain conscious. By chance, when my body and mind were screaming for sleep, I happened upon a rather quiet train car. In fact, at one point a person was asked to keep noise down behind me. I thought there was going to be some sort of movie starting that necessitated such silent attention until I realized that some of train cars are specifically designated for lazy kind of traveler that I felt like being. They are quiet cars and I will snore my praises of them for years to come.

Budapest —

A city full of history, incredible architecture, and beautiful women. As you walk around city you get a definite stench of former socialist society coupled with an obvious existence of capitalist growth. The city sits on banks of Danube. The Pest side is where you would find a much more built-up city center with malls and shopping areas, not to mention late night venues. You can imagine my desire to visit other side of river.

The other side of river is Buda part of city (are you picking up on basis of name yet?). A little quieter and lush, Buda contains some beautiful homes and sites. The Gelhert Hill, marked by a statue that can be reached by hiking paths, offers an incredible view of city. I was lucky enough to meet a lovely local named Janka and I was invited to a dinner party. Hungarians are often seen as slightly less personable than some western European counterparts. This can be chalked up to a very dry sense of humour. I can attest, however, that this is not case at all. After a great, home-cooked meal and a few cocktails in a quaint apartment in hills filled with great people, including Zigga (who I knew for a few days and offered me a lift to train station), and of course beautiful Janka; I would say that kindness and generosity are staples in social diet of Hungarians. They also have an uncanny ability to have a good time.

Again, some relaxation is in order after seeing so many sites.

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By David Lazzarion, Canada, Correspondent, Jetsetters Magazine at www.jetsettersmagazine.com

The Pacuare tent camp was spartan, but comfy.

By late afternoon, we reach our camping site. Perched up on a hillside at a bend in river, it consists of a dozen one-person tents on platforms bordering a central outdoor dining area. One by one rafters disperse themselves around campsite, some hitting cool showers (with drinkable water) to wash day's exertion off, others simply slumping down in their tent to relax and reflect on day.

When Alijandro approaches me and invites me on a hike to a small town nearby, I am initially hesitant. I look at one of other rafters as he lounges in shade of his tent, an open book lying flat on his chest that rises and falls with a rhythm of someone fast asleep and yearn for a bit of rest. But then I realize Hey, pal, you're in Costa Rica. Time's a-wastin'. Sleep when you get home. I agree and Alijandro's eyes immediately light up. I lace up my soggy shoes, grab my camera and away we go.

This is no scenic hike, it's a commute.

I want to stop, to spy into trees, look for a story to talk about, but every time I look up, Alijandro has gained thirty feet on me. Sweat begins to pour off my face as we march up through dense, steamy jungle. I've forgotten to put DEET on before we left and as we muck our way up soggy, muddy path, I expect to be devoured by mosquitoes. Yet I'm surprised that there are almost no insects at all. In fact I have yet to be bitten by a single mosquito since arriving in Costa Rica (a record which will last another week until I reach Pacific coast). But as we rise higher, it grows visibly cooler and jungle around us thins. When I finally catch up with Alijandro, he is staring out over a huge expanse of green rolling hills, partially blanketed with canopy. He has a smile on his face like proud smile of child showing his parents a hand-drawn picture from school. It is a smile of sheer exhilaration.

"Beautiful," is all he says. All he needs to say.

We trudge along a dirt road now, sharing stories with each other when I ask how much longer until we reach town.

"We're here," he tells me matter of factly. I look around. Aside from a couple of scattered houses in distance, a cow here and there, I seemed to have missed something.

Rural life changes slowly in Bajo Tigre.

"Oh."

"Bajo Tigre is a very simple town. Electricity only one year," as he points to a simple power line nailed to trees. "Pura vida, eh?" he smiles. We continue along road until we reach two small, single room buildings painted brightly. A hand-painted sign in front reads "Bajo Tigre" and above, "medicianales." Alijandro explains that this is school and herb garden in front is village's natural pharmacy. He explains how this tiny school recently hosted American students for a day as a sort of exchange. He muses on fact that even though children didn't speak each other's language, they still enjoyed themselves immensely, especially when they played soccer.

"Who won?" I ask,

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By Misha Troyan, California Correspondent, Jetsetters Magazine at www.jetsettersmagazine.com