Helen BBlog
Sunday, 13 August 2023
Episode 10 - Here endeth the blog, for now...
Friday, 11 August 2023
Episode 9 - no-one knows the way to San José
I hadn't expected to spend so much of my Costa Rican sabbatical on a bus, but this is life.
I checked out of the delightful 'House of Macaws'. Whilst I had seen a plethora of dogs, cats, baby cats, crocodiles (from a distance), lizards and bird life, I failed on the macaw front, which was unfortunate but couldn't be helped. I spent time sitting on my tiny balcony watching for macaws, but it wasn't to be.
I arrived at the bus-stop at 10am and there was a man there waiting for a bus to he-wasn't-sure-where. Another man arrived and he also couldn't be sure where he was going, but he assured me that the San José bus would come in twenty minutes; this changed to forty minutes; then sixty minutes. I think perhaps he was just being polite.
At the end of the day, or the middle, or even the beginning - do any of us really know where we are going? This life is such a curious mixture of twists and turns. Every day throws up new decisions you didn't realise needed to be made; new experiences, good and bad.
A bus did come and they both boarded, assuring me that this wasn't my bus. I waved at the next few buses which passed, but the drivers just waved back then accelerated. It is the rainy season here, although the humidity is crushing. The heavens opened whilst I was at the bus-stop and the rain pelted the ground unapologetically.
The longest I have ever waited for a bus is eight-and-a-half hours. That was in Ghana in 2002. I was in a town called Sunyani, trying to get to Bui National Park, (which I did eventually reach; I went on a water safari and saw a hippo's ear, apparently). The process is simple - the bus goes when it is full. And filling it took eight-and-a-half hours. Time isn't always money.
After just over two hours, I decided to go back to Jaco, which is anywhere between 20 and 45 minutes away, depending on who you ask as they may never been there. Jaco is in the opposite direction and I had already passed through it twice. On arrival in Jaco, I was given three different sets of instructions as to where the bus station was. I walked and walked, with bluebird. She isn't very heavy but the humidity is tough. The third set of instructions were correct - the bus station is opposite the Best Western - you walk through a little complex of buildings and suddenly there is a 'ticquette' bureau where you buy your ticket.
We are well and truly west of West Drayton, so they don't take Oyster here unfortunately.
I already had my ticket, so showed it to the ticket man. He hesitated and said something in Spanish - I looked blank - he typed furiously on his phone - 'That is for a different company'.
I looked in my wallet. Colones look remarkably similar to M&S vouchers, but they are not accepted here.
I purchased another ticket. I had chatted to a lady who said that the ticket I had was valid, but only from Panama, which is the next country along. Yay.
This 'in-country spending' malarky, which no budget for an international trip should be without, is very important. It's all very well including the obvious - travel to the place; accommodation; food, but the additional things, like buying the wrong bus ticket, buying water (I have a LifeStraw water bottle which my brother-in-law gave me a couple of years ago - it filters water all by itself - but where is it? It is on my bedside table in my room, at home. It would be much more use in my rucksack)
In-country spending is even more important in countries like Switzerland, where you have to remortgage to buy a keyring. Don't get me started on the cost of everything there - no really, don't.
After buying my ticket, I came across a taxi driver touting for business, offering to take people direct to San José for $60. I was tempted, but having already paid for this journey twice, I didn't want to pay a third time.
I found a baños and made the mistake of looking in a mirror. I was so hot that I actually had sweat cascading down my face. I couldn't quite believe the face that looked back at me, but there was nobody else there. This is why one always takes the refreshing wipe from the aeroplane (and the sanitising wipe, and the sick-bag, just in case)
The bus was leaving at 3pm. It arrived in San José just after 6pm. Anyone who tells you that Tarcoles is an hour and a half way from San José is lying to you. It might be that long in a taxi or private car driven by someone with a sense of direction. They are big on car hire here. I struggle enough with Purple, with her steering wheel on the right side, and driving on the right side of the road. The thought of an alien car, with the steering wheel on the wrong side, driving on the wrong side of the road - well, no, just no.
I was allocated the very back seat on the 3pm bus - I bundled Bluebird into the hold, said a little prayer for her, then clambered aboard, so excited to be heading on the right bus in the right direction. I soon fell into conversation with a friendly very well-travelled Chilean travel agent who is now based in Costa Rica. We chatted all the way to San José - I wouldn't wish three hours of me on anyone, but we had a great chat about life and travels, plus she very kindly helped me to find a cab once we got to the bus station.
I went to check into my budget hotel but - despite having had a confirmation this morning - there was some problem with the booking. Due to my ongoing ineptitude in Spanish, this conversation was conducted entirely through google translate. It seemed that there were not enough rooms. Then something changed and there was a room. Would I like to see it? Of course. So I was shown to the room then presented with another google translate screen which said,
Thursday, 10 August 2023
Episode 8 - Cancelled by crocodiles
I spent the morning sitting on the most beautiful beach imaginable. Seabirds squawked at each other & I watched one very persistent sea vulture trying to extract ever last ounce of flesh from the skeleton of a large but abundantly dead, fish. The vista was perfect, ruggedly punctuated with wooden boats, seaweed, lonely trees, like the one I sat under. Plus it was untouched by commercialism, just pure beach.
Wednesday, 9 August 2023
Episode 7 - Do you know the way to San José?
Well.
Only I could make a one-and-a-half hour journey take... seven hours?!
I breakfasted at my quirky budget hotel. I think it is 'in San José' in the way that Chislehurst is 'in London', so I quite surprised how long it took to get to the bus station.
I walked to the bank first thing to get some colones which is the local currency. My Revolut card delivered and I was soon the proud owner of a whole bunch of these. There are 586 colones to the pound, making it extraordinarily difficult to work out how much anything is, unless you are a mathematical genius. I remember, back in the day on my first trip, whilst volunteering in Ghana in 2002, the biggest note was 5000 cedis, which was about 50p. I used to have to change travellers cheques (remember them?) in the bank, then emerge with inches of cedis stashed in my rucksack. Cash cards and things like that hadn't been thought of at that point, certainly not cards linked to apps, which is what Revolut is. In case you are going abroad soon, I can give you a referral link for Revolut, which will generate a fundraising donation for the Guides, just let me know.
I breakfasted and enjoyed a few free coffees - things always taste better when they are free - then checked out. The people on reception had been lovely. As I checked out, they said that they had enjoyed having me stay and that they thought I was kind. I thought this was lovely, considering that we had had very few interactions and I had only been there for a few hours. It made me happy - even the tiniest interaction can have an impact. They had wanted to take a $50 damage deposit on a credit card, which I didn't bring with me, but we compromised on $25 cash and the fact that I am a Girl Guide.
My taxi driver took me to the Tracopa bus station, a remarkably calm place where even the staff aren't really sure where the buses are going. I purchased my ticket and couldn't be entirely sure what was said, only that the stand number would be announced fifteen minutes before departure, which was at 11.45am. When the time came, I went back to the ticket office to check the stand number - '3' - the man assured me. I went over to stand 3 - 'Tarcolés?' - 'Si, Tarcolés' the driver assured me, as another directed me to pop Bluebird into the hold - I never like parting with baggage when you can't see it - in Kenya in 2004, I put my rucksack in an overhead locker in a long-distance bus and never saw it again. The saddest thing was that I lost a load of lovely letters from a group of students I had been studying with for a semester in Uganda. Hey ho, most belongings can be replaced, and that's why it's important to have travel insurance. Although you can't claim on travel insurance if you miss your flight because you misread your departure time - devoted blog readers may remember this situation from a few years ago.
Anyway, the journey seemed to go on for a long time - it was meant to be an hour-and-a-half. I don't mind, I love journeys. I love observing the landscape, watching people going about their business, seeing things which look different from elsewhere. If you rush so fast to get somewhere, you miss half the fun of getting there. I didn't write that line, it's from a poem called 'Slow Dance' which you should read.
After an hour-and-a-half, we stopped. 'Tarcolés?' I said to the man next to me. He laughed. 'Baños', he said. Well, that is one Spanish word I do know - this was a toilet stop. Great. We then continued on the road for hours and hours. I had a sudden thought - what if I've booked to go to another Tarcolés, in Argentina, or somewhere?! There are A LOT of places with the same name here. When I was planning my post-family travel - hard to believe, but I do plan - I had looked up how far it was from Los Angeles to San José and got very confused as there are eight million places called San José.
So the journey went on and on. When it got to more than three hours, I asked the man across the row, 'Por favore, Tarcolés?' He looked blank. Then the woman beside him said, 'This bus, it is not going to Tarcolés'.
My heart sank. How could this be? Where on earth was it going? She said it was going to Parrita and that I should alight there and change buses. If you look at a map, which would have been a clever thing to do first, I know this now, Parrita is much further round the coast. The bus had gone straight to Parrita, through Tarcolés, where it had never planned to stop.
Crestfallen, I sat at the bus station, having purchased another ticket from a man who seemed very annoyed. I don't think he was happy in his job, but it wasn't the time to explore this with him. I say bus station. It was two long stone benches. Two hours past, then a man that I had exchanged a few words with assured me that this was going to Tarcolés. He was correct, but awkwardly, this was a stopping service which took a further two hours as it stopped about every five minutes. It also retraced the exact same route which the Parrita bus had taken.
Readers, please be aware that had I had charge of a large group of teenagers as I very often do on international trips, be assured that I would have thoroughly researched the transport options including the route and actual location of places. When by myself, I don't tend to bother.
It gets dark early here due to the proximity to the equator. I never like to arrive at a new place in the dark, but I very nearly did tonight. So I write to you now, from my cosy budget hotel in Tarcolés, which is on the west coast of Costa Rica, which is on the left; well, I suppose it depends on where you are standing. It hadn't occurred to me to go to the west coast because I didn't realise there was one, despite it being fairly obvious on a map, what with it being Central America. It would have taken about five hours to get to the east coast, instead it took me seven hours to get to the west coast.
If you go to the east coast though, you can't give blood for 4 months; with the west coast, it's only 4 weeks. I have special, magic, in-demand blood; my blood group is B negative, which is the opposite of what I try to be, but my blood is in demand, so west coast it was.
I coated myself in Deet Femme, then enjoyed sumptuous fish, straight out of the ocean - the one on the left - I'm now sipping a cool red Fanta and making friends with the resident canines whilst accompanied by a chorus of chirruping cicadas.
Let's see what adventures tomorrow brings. Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, 8 August 2023
Episode 6 - Just popping to Costa
I scanned my boarding pass at Los Angeles terminal 6, to which my sister had very kindly driven me, after tearful goodbyes first thing this morning.
'Mehhhh', said the scanner. It put up the words 'Caution - exit row'.