Herradura

Here, hibiscus flowers don’t top drinks, they topple over walls. Iguanas flicker between twisted roots, and skinny dogs chase children on bicycles. Scarlet macaws flock to ancient, moss covered trees in front of glossy foreign-owned hotels and sweat rolls down the backs of bronzed, toothless men. Here, walking home means whistles, cat calls, and vast blue skies lined with tropical palms. It means ocean breezes that float in and out of comedores and carry the smell of rice, beans, and chicken dripping with fat in mid-morning sun. Ropa Americana is sold in back yards; O’neill hats and Roxy dresses blow in the breeze while the black-blue feathers of rooster tails wave above torn-open trash bags. Tour busses with air conditioning use the main road while the rest ride their bicycles in drunken patterns, and girls in dresses make seats out of handlebars.

Chelsey

Owner & Editor

Chelsey is a mid-20's traveler who is passionate about ditching routines, getting off the beaten path, and finding a way to make travel sustainable not only for herself - but everyone! She's a big believer in learning something new every day and never saying "no" to chocolate.

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