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.  

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'.

The staff member looked straight at me -

'Maam - you are seated in an exit row by an emergency exit.  Are you willing and able to assist if required?'

Oh goodness, I thought - what is the right answer here?

'Do I get a badge?'

'No Maam - there is no badge available'.

'Do I have to wear a uniform?'

She looked me up and down.  I'm in my adventurer kit today with my magic travel shirt with all sorts of quirky features, including a secret internal passport pocket (which is less secret now).  Plus I have my travelly trousers with an abundance of zippy pockets.  You can't go wrong with loads of pockets.     

'No Maam, your current attire will be sufficient'.

Phew, I thought.    

'So I really just sit by the window & pray a lot?'

'Yes Maam'.

I'd already missed my boarding group due to being engrossed in my Stacey Dooley book which I have now finished - wow, what a disturbing read - more on that story later - then people started mumbling that I was delaying them.

'Well, ok then'.

'If you change your mind Maam, the crew will find you another seat'. 

Considering that the flight is one-hundred percent full, I'd be interested to know where they would have put me if I had said no. Probably on the wing.  I'm not sitting there again.  

A flight attendant came to confirm that myself and the two randoms in my row were all still willing and able.  I was by the window, so I would have played the most important role, just to clarify, they were just making up the numbers really.  

Five minutes later, another flight attendant came along - 'Miss Beecher?' Oh goodness, they've had second thoughts about me being suitably attired, I thought.  

'Yes?'

'Maam, your entertainment system is not working'.

I know people who would have left the plane in protest at this disclosure.  Not me though:

'That's ok, I've nearly finished my Stacey Dooley book and then I'm going to start on my time management book'.

'Ok Maam, but it is our policy to compensate you'.  

They're going to give me a badge, or even a uniform, I thought. 

'Maam, I am giving you a $50 voucher towards your next flight with us'.

How could I break it to him that I only booked these flights because Booking.com gives a relatively large donation (4%, once it evolves, in about 2053) on easyfundraising (the fundraising goes on...) and that I hadn't even chosen this airline?

I couldn't.  

'Thank you - that's very kind', I affirmed.  

I flew to Houston then changed terminals via a quirky Sky train - the train in the sky.  

On my second flight, I was not asked to (wo)man an emergency exit row, but I tried not to overthink it.  The kindly lady who scanned my boarding pass looked at my passport photo, then at me, then at my photo, then at me -

'Awkwardly, I do look like an angry moomin in that picture', I confirmed.  She nodded.  

'Have a nice day Maam'.

I boarded and found that I had three whole seats to myself.  I buried myself in my time management book - I ticked an entire checklist in the first part, which I thought was a good thing, until I read, 'if you have ticked all of these, you have poor time management'.  Oh.  Here's me thinking that ticking all the boxes is a good thing.  

Just behind me, to the right, were two older ladies.  They were wearing matching t-shirts with a big picture of a mountain and wording around it.  I couldn't read the wording but I think they may have been holy sisters from a religious order as it said something about being the Holy Order of Travellers, or something.  I would have liked to have chatted to them but it didn't evolve, hence I am nun the wiser.  

I had booked an airport transfer due to arriving in a new country, at night.  Whilst I couldn't find the driver initially, a placard bearing the words 'Helen Beecher' awaited and here I am in Costa Rica.  I speak enough Spanish to be able to ask for directions, although I rarely understand the answers, and to order beer.  What could possibly go wrong?  

I'm sitting by a moonlight pool in San José, sipping una cerveza.  I've upgraded a bit since my early back-packing days, where I would happily share a dormitory with eleven strangers.  These days I book my own room with a bathroom and everything.

The people on reception were very friendly, although they don't seem to know the answer to my transport question for tomorrow and suggested that I look online.  Great local knowledge team! Apparently there are four different bus stations in San José for four different directions.  Which bus station is which seems somewhat ambiguous, but I'm sure I'll make some friends to help me find the right bus.

Salud! 

Episode 5 - Parking Lots

In the US, they have a whole lane for people who are car-sharing, it's called a 'car pool lane'.  This is not the lane which leads to the car-wash, as I first thought.  I thought that demonstrated a particular commitment to keeping cars clean.  I took Purple for a good wash the other day, to the car-wash on the A20, shortly after a van driver had decided to do a u-turn straight into the side of my beloved Purple, my first grown-up car.  I was a little shaken, particularly as I was on the way to the car-wash and to collect a load of donated equipment for one of my plethora of groups.  

So Purple is a little dented and is off to car hospital when I get back - yay - hopefully not at my expense.  They've offered me a courtesy car or £200.  I didn't get on with the last courtesy car when someone went into the back of Purple - in fact, I had to recruit a nearby builder to help me to get it moving; he, most awkwardly, rolled it into my neighbour's car; they've moved now.  It's doubly sad really - poor Purple had been making a noise like a helicopter for four months, to the extent that people in neighbouring boroughs could hear that I was on my way - I finally got round to taking her in for treatment, to CHL Motors in Herbert Road SE18 - highly recommended, then two days later a van went into her.  Hey ho.  If you go in the car-pool lane and don't have at least one passenger, you can be fined $341 - I thought this was a curious amount - I wonder how they came up with that.  There's no punchline, I just don't know.

Early in the morning, I had a magical hour with my nephew whilst we waited for my sister and niece who had an appointment. We played word games, drew pictures and played that game like consequences but where you make a peculiar creature. It was really fun.

We were sitting on a bench in a so-called 'parking lot' (due to there being a lot of parking).  It should really be called 'Parking Lots'.  There was a multi-storey bit.  I don't like multi-storey car-parks - there is a lot of crime; it's wrong on every level.  

We then headed all headed to an enormous park, via Dunkin Donuts where I had possibly the worst coffee I have ever had in my life, but shared a most delicious doughnut with my sister, although we mutually agreed that this doughnut had never been near any natural ingredients. Hey ho.

My nephew roller-bladed around the park whilst my intrepid niece headed to the water and bounced between strategically-placed rocks whilst making friends with ducks and cute turtles who basked in the afternoon sun.

We popped to the supermarket in the way back, where my niece kept adding clandestine items to the trolley, including a dragon fruit which looked more like a dead animal than a fruit.  

The fresh produce stall was lovingly watered with a sprinkler and spray and even had damp sound effects for added impact. Only in America.

We enjoyed a delicious dinner of steak fajitas, our last supper together for a very long while.

I loaded up Bluebird, including a precious cargo of 'inflatable fun' iron-on cloth badges for the 165 children and young people who came to our epic AirThrill takeovers a few weeks ago. This badge company - the only on the planet who do an 'inflatable fun' badge, only deliver in the US, so collecting them in person was quite expensive, but worth it.  The easyfundraising donation via Booking.com which this trip will generate, in about a year, was also, most welcome.  In case you weren't aware, AirThrill is on Catford Island in SE6. It is a cross between an obstacle course and a trampoline park. The site used to house Mecca Bingo, which was less fun for children and a bit strange for anyone en route to the nearby mosque.

Episode 4 - Risk assessing the niblings

As both of my readers will know, I spend a lot of time writing risk assessments.  Whether it's a community walk for a multitude of young children, a massive event for all ages, an international trip for teenagers, or anything else involving other people's offspring, considering the risks, mitigating then, multiplying likelihood by severity then considering impact is second nature to me.  But having sole responsibility for two children to whom you are related - well, that is entirely another situation.  I think on reflection perhaps the clipboard, hi-viz jackets, consent forms, sound-off and 2-way radios may have been a little too much, although I drew the line at organising a home contact procedure.  Author's note - I'm aware that this opening paragraph won't mean a thing to readers not involved with a certain national voluntary organisation, but stay with me.

The children rode their bicycles and Auntie Helen walked hurriedly behind - my sister and brother-in-law went to a dance event this evening - the park is about two-hundred metres away from the house, via a straight path.  My niece was more interested in climbing the surrounding trees than the play equipment, then we all three bounced up and down on the seesaw chatting about life and the world.  There was great excitement when we saw an opossum - or it may have been a snake - we only saw the tail - unless it was a snake, and they are mainly tail.  I have learnt this evening that an opossum is different from a possum, not just how one talks about a possum.  Who knew.   

Later, we had dinner, made root beer floats, then watched The Simpsons Movie - oh my goodness, what on earth was that? I have now watched three films in four days - this is unheard-of.  I am also half-way through my Stacey Dooley book which is fascinating.  Methinks saturating one's brain with all sorts of fact and fiction is a good thing; although watching Crazy Rich Asians (I went to school with Gemma Chan, you know) / Guardians of the Galaxy 3 / The Simpsons Movie / reading a book about Jesus then a book by Stacey Dooley does all seem to be causing very weird dreams.  

This morning we headed to San Clemente.  We parked ('What do you do if you see a spaceman? Park in it, man).  We wandered around the shops then had bubble tea.  I like bubble tea - I have had it three times now. 

We then jumped onto a free trolley bus - it's more like a bus than a trolley.  It trundles along the road, gathering passengers, much like other buses do.  It took us all the way to the beach where thousands of locals like my family and tourists like me enjoyed the glorious sandy beach.  I was transfixed by an incredible surfer who was effortlessly surfing wave after wave, doing incredible flips up in the air, again and again.  After ten minutes of sheer intrigue, I realised that this surfer was remote controlled.  I need to go to Specsavers.

Post paddling, we headed to an ice-cream parlour where my sister and I shared what was effectively a giant s'more wrapped around a frozen banana - quite possibly one of the best things I have ever tasted and I highly recommend that you try and make one, although it might be challenging around a campfire.

I love the road signs here; they are just so literal.  'Yield'; 'Traffic must turn right'; and my particular favourite, which I can't help thinking is a little too much after the event to be helpful - 'Wrong way'.  Story of my life.

Episode 3 - Snakes and the Middle of Lidl

The day began in the morning, as they tend to.  There was a bit of a drama when Sharktooth, my niece's friendly cornsnake, slithered unerringly into the base of the ice-cream maker, via a tiny weeny hole which didn't look big enough for a cornsnake to fit through, but somehow she did.  If you are not familiar with cornsnakes, they are a type of snake - a bit like a big snake, but smaller.  The ice-cream maker was duly dismantled using a various tools, thus freeing Sharktooth - who seemed entirely unaffected by her unexpected sojourn - and enabling us to make ice-cream later, whilst avoiding puréeing one of the family pets.      

Post sumptuous cinnamon-flavoured cappuccino hand-crafted by my brother-in-law and his magic machine, we headed to town for the Festival of Butterflies.  This consisted of a whole load of local organisations promoting themselves, fundraising and selling their wares, as well as a lively Mariachi band who were fun to listen to.  We went into the butterfly garden and saw two butterflies, or it may have been the same one twice, I couldn't be sure.  Butterflies are very pretty and do all sorts of useful environmental things.  Last weekend in the UK, the Big Butterfly Watch took place - this is for spotting all butterflies, not just big ones.

My sister and I walked to the supermarket, Trader Joe's, the equivalent of Sainsbury's rather than Waitrose or Lidl.  I've been to the Middle of Lidl a couple of times recently - if you haven't experienced it yet, you must go, although beware - you may find yourself going home with a portable garden pizza oven or a stand-up paddleboard, just because they are there.  

Trader Joe's was a friendly place - the staff on the check-outs even pack your bags for you! Not like in the UK where your purchases form an unsightly pile whilst you speedily attempt to bundle them into your plethora of planet-saving cotton bags.  Speaking of cotton bags, did you know that you have to use your cotton bag every day for sixty-nine years to balance the amount of water it took to make the cotton? I read this in The Guardian, so it must be true.  Now there's a challenge. 

We came home and the epic strawberry ice-cream making process ensued.  It was a lot of fun doing this with my sister and niece.  I had the very important job of chopping up half of yesterday's yield of strawberries from 'You Pick' or 'Pick Your Own', as we would call it in the UK.  I chopped them into tiny pieces then we puréed the rest.  Ice-cream is really just, well, ice, cream - surely not - sugar and eggs.  So you heat them all up, let it cool, freeze it, remove any family pets from the mechanism, then churn the whole lot.  We added the strawberries, both the pieces and the purée which dyed it pink and the result was sumptuous.  Author's note - do not follow these instructions if you want to make some - find a recipe or ask Alexa, if she is speaking to you.     

I've sort of planned the next part of my trip.  Booking.com tells me that I'm a 'Genius Level 2' which is quite flattering.  I messaged one of the places where I may stay to ask about transport details, to which the reply came - 'Absolutamente'.  Helpful or what.      

Episode 2 - Chickens and an absent tortoise

 'Excuse me - could I just confirm if you have had a DBS check recently, and if so, the date and issuing organisation please?' That was the question I wanted to ask the person I found myself adjacent to on the plane yesterday.  It's not really a question you can ask, in this situation.  Mind you, I think I should have said the same to the survey person yesterday who said - 'I run my own business, but it's really very complicated so I can't really explain it to you now - what's your name?

'Helen', I replied.

'And your surname?' 

'Well, it's long', then watched her duly write Helen Long.  I didn't say anything.  I suppose it makes more sense than the conference reception lady a few months ago who when I arrived at the event said 'can I take your surname?'; 'sure, it's double-barrelled...'; then before I had a chance to say more, she'd zipped straight to 'D' and assured me that there was no-one with the surname 'Double-Barrelled' on her list.  

I said to the kindly lady at the bag-drop where Bluebird begun her first journey for a while, 'is this a good seat to be in?' and showed her my boarding pass, which was definitely a boarding pass.  'No', she confirmed.

'Right - could I move somewhere else possibly then please? To another seat though, the wing might be quite uncomfortable'.

She paused, then started typing furiously.

'Sure - would you like a window seat?' 

'Yes please'.  Sure enough I found myself upgraded to Premium Economy, where my table was bamboozingly stashed in an arm-rest and I had at least ten extra centimetres of leg-room for those all-important anti-DVT exercises - I'm not sure I did them properly, I just waved my legs around every now again, which I think didn't endear me to my neighbour.  He also looked at my screen just as the women warriors of Benin had sacrificed a chicken and were sprinkling its blood over a pile of stone artefacts, which perhaps wasn't the best moment for him to glance over.  Then dinner came and it was chicken.  He requested the vegetarian option.

I stood patiently waiting for my giant orange tortoise at the baggage carousel then realised after half an hour how long a wait that would be.  Bluebird then arrived and off I trundled through customs to find my sister waiting for me.  

We cruised through the LA traffic - these six-lane freeways make the M25 look like a footpath - and soon (relative to having spent 11 hours on a plane) arrived to be greeted by my brother-in-law, nephew, niece and various pets including SAGE the dog, who was particularly busy during the pandemic.

Each week, 186 children and young people call me Helen, but there are only two in the world who call me 'Arnie Helen' and it is wonderful.

We spent my first day strawberry picking, chilling with friends, eating delicious food then watching 'Guardians of the Galaxy 3' - having never seen Guardians of the Galaxy 1, or 2, or in fact, StarWars or anything similar (apart from Superman and Spiderman, which are obviously totally real), I was gently confused by the whole situation, although I was very sad about the bit with the walrus, the rabbit and the otter, although they had said some important things about friendship, not that long before they all perished - the rest was lost on me.    

The family car is a little different to my car.  If the windows are down when you leave the family car, when you walk away, the windows go up and the car locks.  Where I live, if the windows are down when you leave the car, you'll never see the car again.

Episode 1 - This is not a boarding pass

I never check-in online. I mean, what if you check-in online & then on the way, something goes wrong - say you get stuck in a traffic jam or your train breaks down. What if you check-in online, then Jesus comes back? What happens then? Can you claim on your travel insurance? I suppose it wouldn't matter at that point. He is due - hopefully with a bit of notice though, Mondays are particularly busy for me.

So, I didn't check in online, but got a little panicked when I received four text messages whilst en route, informing me that I hadn't checked in online, as if this was news to me. Give me some new information!

The effortlessly beautiful, effervescently purple Elizabeth Line seamlessly whisked me directly from Abbey Wood to Heathrow Terminal 2, entirely on Oyster, for just £13.30. On arrival, there is about a 16-mile walk from the platform to the terminal, but thoughtfully placed travelators expedite the process.

Any of you have ever read my blog before will be familiar with my giant orange tortoise who has accompanied me on every trip for the last twenty years, having been purchased for my questionably successful Bronze DofE expedition, which was a mixture of getting lost on various golf courses, falling out with a field of alpaca and knocking on someone's door to ask for directions. That giant orange tortoise has since been with me to 70 countries; she's been lashed to the top of African bush taxis, thrown into the bowels of boats in the Carribbean sea, she's had emergency surgery in the middle of Senegal and searched on multiple occasions. I know her every nook and cranny, from the hidden internal pockets, to exactly how to strategically fit my flip-flops into the side compartment. But, as with all good things, my giant orange tortoise's life has now come to an end, and she is moving into retirement. 

So now, it is the turn of 'Bluebird' to accompany me. She is a much more recent model - with zips and everything. She has a daughter, Baby Bluebird, who zips comfortably on to her back, a bit like an actual baby, (not that babies zip on, but you get the idea), although I decided to leave her at home as attaching her made my depth increase three-fold which I thought might not endear me to anyone walking in the vicinity.

After the 16-mile walk, I attempted to check-in via a machine. I followed due process, scanning my passport, completing the details of where I'm going etc. I was perturbed when a small piece of paper printed which simply said, 'This is not a boarding pass'.

I showed it to a nearby member of staff who helpfully retorted - 'this is not a boarding pass'.

He didn't say anything else.  He just pressed button after button until a piece of paper was printed which proclaimed in bold, unquestionable letters - 'Boarding Pass'. He pressed it into my hand and said, 'this is a boarding pass'. I think he would be benefit from my course on 'Improving Communication Skills', but it didn't feel like the right time to offer.

Post-security, I enjoyed a filter coffee from Pret, where I received 50p off thanks to having my thermo-mug. Awkwardly, my trusty foldaway thermo-mug has sustained an injury and appears to be leaking. This is not a helpful situation, anywhere. But I'm not giving up on her yet - it needs further exploration to see where the leak is - and the middle of an airport is not the place for that exploration.

I then spoke with someone who was doing a survey - I love surveys! Awkwardly, I think I may have inadvertently expressed interest in a dodgy pyramid-selling scheme - I really was only being polite - whoops.

I then headed to WHSmith to buy a few presents, recruiting fellow shoppers to help with my decisions.

The flight was delayed leaving - something about some outstanding paperwork - story of my life - my paperwork is permanently outstanding.  I read an entire book before we'd even left the ground.  I've brought five books with me - two about Jesus, one by Stacey Dooley and two about time management which I have never got round to reading.

I've listened to multiple podcasts, watched a documentary about the warrior women of Benin - fascinating - plus tried listening to something which bills itself as 'audio based movies to engage your imagination. No words, no music' - I was intrigued. It turns out to be a load of prolonged sound effects. Apparently it was created with yoga instructors from across the world. But I don't think it took them very long.