Bus, Ferry, Taxi and Airplane: The long journey back home

23 December 2010

Bus, Ferry, Taxi and Airplane: The long journey back home

I found the bus stop in a dusty lot on the edge of town. There were about forty people sitting on the ground and benches, waiting for the buses to arrive. There were Ticos and their families. There were tourists, many looking sunburned and wind swept. The hippies looked like their last bath had been in the ocean. There were those with backpacks and those with oversized rolling suitcases. It was a diverse bunch. Papa Gringo made one last appearance. He walked through the lot, picking up garbage and examining the items in the garbage can with that absent look in his eyes.

Finally two buses showed up. One was large and the other small. The large one looked familiar from the ride there at the beginning of my trip. I lined up with the many other tourists and waited to get on. When I got to the bus driver I asked for confirmation that this was, in fact, the bus to San Jose. He shook his head and pointed to the bus on the other side of the lot, the small one. There was one last seat on the sweaty little bus next to some British girls of college age.

About twenty minutes later we arrived again to the town of Cobano; the very same town where I’d spent an hour and a half waiting for the bus to Montezuma. The driver had us all get off the bus and wait at a stop. A few minutes later, the larger bus that I had almost boarded earlier in Montezuma pulled off on the curb down the street. The sign on the bus said “San Jose” so I started to approach it. A Tico man sitting on a bench nearby corrected me, telling me that the bus was not ready yet and I should go back to the stop and wait. Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, the bus drove up the thirty feet to the bus stop and now it was ready to be boarded.

While I was standing there waiting for the bus, I met another traveler, Greg. (Interesting that I met both a Greg and a Christy while on my trip as these are the names of my parents…) He was obviously Canadian from his accent. He was a tall, brawny guy from British Columbia. He’d been in Costa Rica for three weeks where he’d created his own yoga and surf retreat. He agreed that Costa Rica had been a bit more touristy than he’d have liked and wondered if he should have gone to South East Asia instead. By the time Greg and I got on the bus, it turned out we were some of the last passengers on and there was only standing room left. The bus driver tried to alleviate the situation and told us that more seats would probably open up after we unloaded at the ferry. The ride would be about an hour and a half. The British girls sat down on the floor in the bus aisle. There wasn’t much room left on the floor and I was wearing a dress, so I decided to stand. Greg was ingenious enough notice that a couple sitting right near us had a small cooler at their feet. He asked the couple if he could borrow it to sit on.

It was a bumpy ride through the rough dirt roads and winding mountain switchbacks. I had to hold on to the sides of the chairs with a strong grip so I didn’t fall over. Not long into the ride, Greg chivalrously offered to share the cooler seat with me. We took shifts sitting there throughout the remainder of the ride. An hour and a half later we were in Paquera to board the ferry.

It was dusk as we all lined up for the next leg of our journey. I commented to Greg on how absurd the whole transportation situation was, the bus, ferry and bus ride. He said, “It’s all part of the experience.” Greg was right, sometimes the most memorable parts of traveling are in the mundane events like riding a bus.

Greg and I found a seat on a bench located on the upper deck of the ferry. It was comfortable pleasant tropical night. The sun was setting; the bay we were crossing was light up in purple and pinks as the sun set behind the mountains. We shared stories from our Costa Rica travels and talked about our favorite travels in the past; mine was Cambodia, his was Bolivia. I was grateful that Greg shared his plantain chips and Canadian beef jerky with me, as I was getting hungry and had run out of colones, the Costa Rican currency.

About an hour and a half later, the ferry started to approach the town of Puntarenas. Greg and I both said that there was no way we were standing for the upcoming two and a half hour bus ride to San Jose. I said that there must be some kind of karmic rule that one should not have to stand on the bus twice in one day. We planned our exit from the ferry and very fortunately ended up being some of the first people on the bus. There were a few unlucky passengers who had to stand the entire ride again.

Greg and I sat together on the bus and entertained each other over the ensuing hours. We actually had a lot in common. We talked about our displeasure with the state of health and food in North America these days. He also loved unpasteurized dairy products. Like me, he boycotted television. We both shared a mutual dream of living on a little self-sufficient farm some where in the Pacific Northwest. Greg would probably be more successful at this endeavor than me, the girl that can barely keep a houseplant alive. His parents were in the farming industry and he himself worked for the Canadian government in some kind of environmental planning or engineering. He wanted to save up some money to buy land in British Columbia and live off the grid, power the house with wind and solar, maybe even raise some goats. I always wanted goats! When the conversation changed to music, we swapped iPods and shared new music with each other. We both liked folksy mellow country-ish music. I told him about Prairie Home Companion, he shared a Canadian Broadcast radio show with me. I now had a whole list of new artists to explore when I get home.

Greg was getting off the bus near the airport for an early morning flight to another part of Costa Rica before he headed home on Christmas day. He asked why I didn’t just stay in the area where he was going. It would have been a lovely idea, if only my backpack weren’t still at the downtown San Jose hostel. All of a sudden Greg’s stop arrived and there was the usual scramble to get off the bus. We said goodbye. I thanked him for entertaining me over the last four hours or more. It had been great meeting a like-minded person. By the time he was off the bus, it occurred to me that I hadn’t even gotten his contact information. With all that we’d had in common, it would have been fun to stay in touch. I wanted to know how his quest for self-sustainability ended up. Greg, if you are out there somewhere in cyberspace, email me! I still want to come deliver goat babies on the farm.

It was at least another thirty minutes after Greg left until I reached the Coca Cola bus depot and my final destination. The temperature in San Jose was much cooler when I stepped off the bus. I wrapped by scarf around my shoulders and looked for a cab driver take me back to my downtown hostel. I found a short and stout driver named David who brought me over to his red taxi along with a very amorous French couple who’d also just gotten off the bus. Luckily my Spanish is decent enough to understand the gist of a conversation. David explained that there was some sort of Navidad celebration going on in downtown San Jose and therefore he would have to take me on a roundabout drive to get to the hostel and would drop the French couple off on the way.

As we drove, he let us know that there would be a road closure starting tonight at 11pm and continuing until 11am tomorrow. There was some kind of bridge in the process of collapsing over a highway that led to the airport and therefore the road would be closed for repairs. David said that this closure would result in a big detour of an additional 20km in distance and double the time and cab fare. This was a big concern for me as I had a 7am flight back to New Jersey which I’d hate to miss given the fact that it would be Christmas Eve.

After David dropped the French couple off at their apartment, I told him in the best Spanish I could muster, that I thought I’d like to ditch my hostel in downtown San Jose and find a place close to the airport tonight so I could avoid the whole mess. David assured me that this would not be a problem; he would drive me there, and knew of plenty of clean, safe hotels 5 minutes drive from the airport in the same neighborhood that Greg had mentioned he’d be staying. He went on a whole rampage about how much it irritated him that these downtown hotels wouldn’t let the tourists know about road closures and inconveniences that would affect their travels; he clearly believed they were only interested in making money.

I knew my hostel wouldn’t be pleased with the fact that I was ditching the reservation at 10:30 at night, but what choice did I have? Luckily the man at the front desk spoke English well and I explained the situation. He informed me that the road closures would not start until the night of December 26th, not December 23rd. He said the driver didn’t know what he was talking about and he probably just wanted to get my additional cab fare. He insisted that I could get a quick and cheap ride to the airport in the morning. He also told me that the owner of the hostel would not be happy that I wasn’t keeping my reservation there and he wants to have 24 hour notice for cancellations. He shrugged his shoulders and said that I could do whatever I wanted, he didn’t care, but the roads were not closed.

I didn’t know who to believe! Was I being taken advantage of? I went back outside to David in his taxi and tried to explain to him what the hostel worker had told me. David seemed frustrated; he insisted that he had heard over the police radio that the road was closed tonight. He said he was just trying to help me out, that I could do whatever I wanted as well, it made no difference for him.

I went back inside the hostel and asked the man to get my big backpack out of the storage while I thought for a moment. While I stood in the lobby with my big backpack, a Taiwanese couple I’d noticed earlier in the week walked in with their two young kids. When the woman saw me with my backpack she light up. “Oooh! You are backpacker, yes?” I confirmed that it was true; I was technically a backpacker. She responded, “How many countries you visiting on your journey?” Clearly she thought that all backpackers were on some epic journey around the world. I felt bad disappointing her when I told her that Costa Rica was the only stop on my voyage this time around.

A moment later, David walked up to the hostel to discuss the situation with the hostel man. They had a heated discussion in Spanish where both insisted that they were right about the dates of the road closure. The hostel man insisted that David just wanted my cab fare. David insisted that the hotel owners downtown were taking advantage of tourists. Both reiterated that they didn’t care what I did, it was all the same to them. David left the building, and I followed him. I apologized to the man at the hostel but said that I’d rather err on the safe side than have a disaster tomorrow morning on the way to the airport and miss my flight home.

Back in the cab, David vented about the hostel guy. He said that these guys just stayed inside their hotels all day and they didn’t know what was going on in the streets like he did. I still didn’t know what to think, but I my gut told me that heading to the airport tonight was just a smarter idea. I informed David, though, that if I was to be able to pay the cab fare, we’d need to stop at an ATM. We took a detour to a bank which involved David driving backwards in the wrong direction down a one-way street. He apologized before he did this, explaining that it was much easier this way.

We had a broken conversation on the way about my travels and the Costa Rican Christmas traditions. About twenty minutes later, we got off the highway into a quiet city neighborhood and pulled up next to a hotel. The front was made of glass and fortressed with iron bars. We had to ring a bell to be let inside. David carried my heavy pack on his back while I checked in to this very basic hotel. David said the price was usually $40 but I was getting it for $30 since he knew the guy. I am sure that was all a load of bullshit, but at this point I was tired and didn’t care. Once I was assigned a room, David delivered my bags to the door. He then shook my hand and said goodbye.

The hotel was one of the sketchier places in which I’d stayed. To get to my room I walked through an open area that was probably used for a driveway. There were clothes hanging out to dry in the open area adjacent to the driveway, and if looked like someone might live in a shack back there. My room had a single and double bed inside of it and even a TV. The guy at the front desk had handed me a plastic bag, which had towels, soap, and a TV remote inside of it. After I dropped my bags on the bed, I noticed that someone already inhabited the room; it was a hefty sized cockroach. This probably would have fazed me in the past, but I was used to these palmetto bugs from living in subtropical Houston. I halfheartedly tried to kill it with my shoe, but my tired reflexes were too slow for the highly evolved creature. He ran under my bed. I just hoped he wouldn’t crawl over me in my sleep.

It was after 11pm by now and I hadn’t had a proper meal since the tacos back in Montezuma at around 1pm. I had noticed a restaurant next door to the hotel and decided I’d check it out. It was the only place in the area open besides a KFC down the road. This corner restaurant was the Costa Rica equivalent of a 24 hour dinner. There were only two other men, both sitting alone at tables, eating big plates of food. A friendly couple was running the place. I was impressed the menu was bilingual and I inquired about a rice dish to the woman. She excitedly proclaimed it was “muy, muy, muy bueno!” How could I say no to that?

I took advantage of free wifi while I sat there. Ten minutes later, the man brought me a huge plate of steaming out fried rice. I had literally ordered the Costa Rican equivalent of Chinese fried rice. There were bits of chicken, ham, egg and vegetables in the rice. It was greasy and delicious. I could have eaten the entire plate, in fact I wanted to, but I stopped myself two thirds of the way through. I’d surely already consumed a day’s worth of calories in this dish. I did not linger long, anxious to get off to bed. I paid them about $4 for the meal and returned to my hotel.

Back in the room, I took a look around at my sketchy little room. There was no lock to secure the door from inside. I hoped that I didn’t wake up in the morning to realize I had a kidney missing or find out in nine months that I was carrying a Costa Rican child. There was something resembling a bed bug or body mite crawling on the comforter. I contemplated a shower, but opted for sleep instead. I’d clean up back in the comfort of home. I would be a bit smelly but my family would love me anyway. Despite the surroundings, I had no trouble falling asleep for the next four hours until it was time to catch my flight.

The next morning I realized I had survived the night unscathed and complete with all of my organs. There were no obvious bug bites on my skin either. I quickly gathered my bags and went out front the desk. I had to wake up the guy who was working there as he had laid down in his adjacent bedroom since I’d last seen him. The taxi arrived minutes after he called it and it truly was only a five-minute ride to the airport.

I swiftly moved through check-in and security in the airport. This was clearly a much easier holiday traveling experience in Costa Rica than it would have been in any American airport. I have never seen a plane be boarded so fast and when I got on board, I realized why. At most, the plane was about one third full. Most of the rows in the back of the airplane were completely empty. It was hard to imagine that the airline even made money off that flight.

As the plane sped down the runway, I reflected on my time in Costa Rica. I had met so many people who seemed to be in search of change, self-betterment and clarity on life. I had shared some of their personal quests and so I figured it was only fair to consider my own. As 2010 draws to an end, I look back and feel great satisfaction my personal growth this year. At this very same time in 2009, I was working hard as a first year resident in Connecticut, still struggling with my lifestyle as a resident and grappling with the life decision I’d made that led to me living in Connecticut instead of Southern California. It was at the changing of the New Year one year ago, that I made the decision to leave my residency program and transfer to another. Transferring was not the simplest endeavor, and I certainly hadn’t taken the path of least resistance, but I couldn’t have been happier today with my decision.

In the past six months that I’d lived in Texas, I was happier than I’d ever been. I was putting in long hours at the hospital, but felt really satisfied with the work I was doing and the memorable patients from all over the world that I’d been able to help. Having been in the suburbs of CT last year, I loved living in Houston and exploring all that a big city had to offer. I was at home in the friendly and hospitable Southwestern US. I didn’t miss the harsh winter or cold personalities of the Northeast. I loved wearing my cowboy boots and listening to country music. I was back into running and in the best physical shape of my life. I’d made diverse, fun and wonderful new friends in Texas, most notably, a new best friend, Jason. More importantly, I felt like I had regained my independence and identity by making a leap into a big life change. I felt like I was sending out positive vibes and getting it back in return. I was living life more as an extrovert than an introvert

As happy as I felt, I realize there is always room for growth and betterment. Some of my goals for the New Year are simple: start taking pottery classes again, pay my bills on time, join a cycling group, get more sleep, and begin my resident research project. Others aspirations are more elusive: stop collecting so many material possessions, be optimistic, expand my circle of friends, live in the present moment, and find the best in all people and situations. Life is always a work in progress so I plan to take 2011 one day at a time because after all, we have no choice but to do just that. Happy New Year.