Episode 10 - Here endeth the blog, for now...

I did something I never do.  I checked in online, people! Jesus didn't come back, but here's hoping it won't be long.

 

The reason I did this was because my Chilean travel agent friend who I met on the long-awaited bus from Jaco (did I mention the amount of time spent on buses?) said that the flight from San José is always overbooked and that I should check-in online to be sure that I got a seat.  You can generally trust #BusFriends, so I took a deep breath then checked in via my phone.

I wouldn't stay in that particular budget hotel again - it wasn't the delightful one I stayed in on arrival where they treated me like long-lost family.  My last night was spent in a hotel where the walls were so thin I thought someone was breaking into my room every time anyone moved, anywhere in the hotel.  The bedding was clean but tired.  I checked-out and, as I have with every taxi in Costa Rica, ordered myself an Uber to the airport.  The joy of Uber is that you don't need to speak the language of the country; the app does it all for you.  Regular taxi drivers are not overly happy with Uber's presence, nor are the government over the whole tax situation, but for an adventurer with limited Spanish, it was fantastic, and recommended by various friends I made.

On arrival at the airport, I obtained my bag sticker from the magic machine, which knew exactly where I was going.  I recruited a staff member to help me affix the sticker as I have failed with these in the past and really wanted a reunion with Bluebird once in London.

I joined the 'Bag Drop' queue, having locked Bluebird closed with her two little padlocks.

A rotund uniformed woman with a 'Security' badge neatly sewn on her right pocket looked me up and down,

'Pasaporte'

'Si', I quivered, showing her my passport.  This wasn't the time to confirm that the angry moomin in the photo is in fact, me.  I'm not sure she'd have seen the funny side.  

Her eyes fell on the giant green 'T' sticker which the magic machine had churned out additionally, just for Bluebird.

I tried to lighten the mood - 

'I'm a bit like a Tigger because I bounce around a lot.  Hence, T for Tigger!'  

She stared at me.  I realised that her belt was not just a belt - it was home to not only a 2-way radio, a truncheon, but also, a gun.  I couldn't help wondering if it was loaded, but it didn't feel like the right time to ask.  

'Your bag.  I need to search your bag'.  She grabbed one of Bluebird's padlocks.  

'Where the key?'

'Here', I hurriedly reached into my pocket and removed the padlock.  Let's be clear - I had nothing dodgy in there, nothing to hide.  My bag hadn't been out of my possession since I'd locked it.  

Suddenly, I froze.  What if she thinks that my 165 'Inflatable Fun' cloth badges, only available for delivery in the US (hence my trip) are LSD patches?! They are iron-on so have a shiny back.  That looks dodgy.  Oh Lord, how will I explain this? I really haven't got time to be detained, I've got residentials to organise! I need to get back to my set of checklists (rather than to-do lists, which are worse, according to the time management guru who wrote the third book I have read in the last nine days) - if this means nothing, I suggest you read the rest of the blog for this trip.  She won't believe that I have 165 children in the UK waiting for their 'Inflatable Fun' badge.  

I unlocked Bluebird's main compartment and smiled at the rotund uniformed woman.  She didn't smile back.  Instead, she rubbed something over the top layer of my clothes, washbag, towel.  I held my breath.  She placed it into a machine which bleeped.  I'm being detained, I thought.  I've got to take Purple in for her surgery tomorrow! 

She looked back at me.

'Is ok'.

'Is ok?' I retorted.

'Si'.  

I went to open Bluebird's other compartment but the rotund uniformed woman stopped me.

'Is ok'.  

I looked, questioningly, if that is even a word.

'Is ok', she repeated.  

'Ok', wow this is a deep conversation, I thought.

I re-locked Bluebird's main compartment, handed her to the rotund uniformed woman and watched her put Bluebird onto the conveyor belt.

And breathe.

I headed to security which was straightforward.  When I led a group of 37 young people to Switzerland in May, I was loaded with epipens, insulin, enough Piriton to sink a battleship (well, 100ml in my hand luggage), but it being just me, it was very chilled.  

On going on into the airport, you are enveloped into an enormous gift shop on every side.  Smiling staff are there to ply you with free and delicious Costa Rican coffee whilst you peruse their colossal expanse of stuff you have lived quite happily without for your whole life.  

I purchased my standard souvenirs - a pin badge with the flag of Costa Rica, some cloth badges and a postcard.  I was disappointed to not find a thimble to add to my burgeoning collection - more than 600 thimbles document my life since the age of 7 - not that I can sew; in fact I struggle to thread a needle.

I queued up at a Currency Bureau to magic my remaining colones into pounds.  The woman behind me said -

'I'm just changing up some currency for my mom - she loves to collect different money from different countries.  I'm just after the yellow one'.

'Awww, that's nice', I said.  What I wanted to say was, 'there's a reason you're not meant to take cash out of this country.  It's people like your mother who will crash economies! Do you know how many millions of dollars is lost due to being in personal collections for no apparent reason?!'

Mind you, you can source most worldwide currencies in Plumstead High Street.  

I soon boarded for Houston - the family in front of my row were headed to Thailand.

'We have another nine hour flight after this one - we are changing in China', they said.

'To where?'

'Thailand'.

'Is it not quicker to go the other way?' I questioned.

'Oh yes!' they said, and left the plane.  

On the Houston flight, I was at the very back of the plane.  It didn't matter - we got extra snacks.  I spent the entire flight trying to finish my second Jesus book which has really stretched my thinking.  

An air hostess turned up -

'Would you like some water?', she asked me.

'Yes please'

'Still?'

'Yes, I still want it please'.  

Changing planes at Houston was not pleasant.  We were shouted at by angry guards to get into pairs with the nearest person, whether or not we knew then.  We then had to walk between two giant angry guards with two giant angry spaniels who had a good sniff of us.  If I had a spaniel, I would call it Daniel.  Daniel the spaniel.  I wondered if either of these angry spaniels with their 'DO NOT PET' coats were called Daniel, but it wasn't really the time to ask.

I was paired with someone who said upfront - 'I'm scared of dogs'.

'You'll be ok, I assured her', praying that she didn't have anything dodgy on her, as Daniel would not be happy.

Once at Houston, I was in need of a sugar hit.  I headed to Dunkin Donuts.  

'Hi there, do you have a little doughnut please? I just need something little'.

'Yes maam, we have a little blueberry finger'.

That sounds a little uncomfortable, I thought. 

'Thank you', I nodded, confident that a little blueberry finger would ease my sugar hunger.

I dug out my Revolut card (let me know if you want one, did I mention the ongoing fundraising?)

'It's ok Maam'

'Sorry?'

'There's no need'

'Sorry - no need to pay?'

She nodded.

'Is there anything I should know?'

'No Maam'

'You are very kind, thank you'.  I strolled away, with my exclusive blueberry finger.  I sat down on a thoughtfully-placed bench and opened my Dunkin Donuts bag.  Oh goodness.  There was no blueberry finger.  Instead, there were not 1, not 2, I could go on, but I'll skip to 9, yes, 9 blueberry doughnut balls! Oh wow.  I couldn't eat nine of those! I resolved to share them with the next person who sat next to me.  But everyone who sat next to me turned up wielding a bag of freshly-purchased snacks, or looking as though offering them a doughnut ball might not be in their best interests in the longer term.

The plane was delayed due to it needing to have a big wash.  I know the feeling.  I didn't mind because it gave me a chance to finish my second Jesus book - it's called 'If you want to walk on water, you've got to get out of the boat' and it is a good choice (if you are into that sort of thing - if you're not, it probably isn't)

Eventually, I boarded and made friends with those in my row.  We had some great conversations.

I'm back home now and picking up the threads of reality - five inboxes of e-mails I have studiously ignored, gazillions of actions for my ever-changing time management systems, in part thanks to my eclectic selection of books about Jesus and time management.  Jesus seemed to do well with time management, although there is no evidence that Jesus used social media, which is a commitment, let's be honest.  That said, He didn't really need to; He had loads of followers.  

So that's it, friends.  Thank you so much for sharing the adventure with me, I really do appreciate it.  Until next time.

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, 

the other person will soon be arriving.

Oh no, I thought.  I've checked into a brothel. Not again.

Fortunately something had been lost in translation and what she meant was -

the other person who wants this room, I am sending them to another hotel

which was actually a very kind thing to do.

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.

There is something about beaches; the simplicity, the strength and power of the waves. The juxtaposition of beauty and danger.

This place is teeming with wildlife. Any wildlife enthusiast, and there are a few around, would be in their element, armed with cameras, binoculars, notebooks and more. I am quite happy marveling at the beauty of creation rather than identifying everything. There are macaws around, but I am yet to see one. Macaw blimey.

There are a number of dogs wandering around the compound.  The staff told me this morning that two of the dogs are theirs, the other two just turn up and hang out here all the time.

'The three dogs, they are friendly and fine. But the other, the brown one, he likes to bite. But he will only bite you gently'.

Well that's ok then, only a risk of a gentle dog bite. I knew I should have had a rabies jab, but time was short as I manage my time badly, apparently. 

One of the dogs, a non-bitey one, to whom I've become quite attached, sat with me on the beach whilst I finished my time management book. I'm not sure how useful a read it was on reflection as it is possibly a bit dated. He listed as a success (the author, not the non-bitey dog) - 'I printed out my schedule and faxed it to my secretary, after sorting out my audio tape collection'.  I described a fax machine to a group of teenagers recently and they were convinced I was making it up.  I once watched a child trying to plug headphones into an audio tape.  It all sounds a bit 1990s if you ask me, which, whilst in my and maybe your mind, were quite recent, the 1990s were 30+ years ago!! Plus he's still on aol (the author, not the non-bitey dog, I doubt he's got an e-mail address).  But then, I'm still on Hotmail, let's not judge.  

He (still the author, not the non-bitey dog) also said 'a to-do list is a list of out-of-context items and has a natural tendency to proliferation' which undermines my entire approach to getting anything done.  He (") obviously doesn't use the to-do list app which lets you have separate lists for each topic, where you then list the tasks; for each task you can have a checklist.  When you tick things off, the ping is very satisfactory.  Sometimes I add things I forgot to add which I have already done, just to make it ping.  Maybe you do too.  

It made sense to organise to go visit some local crocodiles.  They are not known to be the friendliest of beasts, what with being crocodiles, and they don't tend to keep in touch, but, when in Tárcoles, one ought to visit the creatures for which it is famous (although I had seen crocodiles when I came over the bridge - twice - yesterday - on my lengthy bus journey through, and then back to Tárcoles.  What a muppet).  

I had walked past the crocodile place on my way here yesterday from the bus-stop. - it is very close-by.  In true 2023-style, I WhatsApp-d the Crocodile Man (also known as 'Adrian'), who confirmed my place on the final crocodile-viewing boat of the day.  I decided there was time for a power-doze before getting crocodile-ready.  On waking, there was a message from Crocodile Man saying that he had had to cancel as the two others who had booked had cancelled and they would not run a crocodile boat just for me! Well, really.  I was disappointed but it clearly wasn't meant to be - it was those crocodiles' loss - plus, if I'm honest, I'm not sure my travel insurance covers crocodile-related situations.  Instead, I headed into town for a little walk and perhaps some lunch.

I wasn't overly hungry due to the generous breakfast included in my booking, but I had passed a crêpe place on my walk yesterday so thought I would head there - you can't go wrong with a crêpe and I had visions of a nice light crêpe with a spot of cheese, or something.  I arrived and there was a grandmother wheeling a pushchair around with a tiny child in it.  I assumed she was a customer leaving, until she handed me a menu and directed me to one of twenty unoccupied tables, whilst continuing to wheel the tiny child around.  Needs must.    

I opened the menu - 'Chepes' - it proclaimed.  Not crêpes.  There were no 'crêpes' to be seen.  Turns out the place is owned by a bloke called Chepe.  The place is called 'Chepes'.  Definitely need to go back to Specsavers.

This evening, I headed back to the beach to watch the sun set over the ocean.  It was so beautiful that words don't really do it justice.  The clouds were in a magical formation, creating what felt like a planned backdrop to the sun gently edging into the sea.  God was turning a giant dimmer switch to gently fade the light.    

I've started on my fourth book, which I've started so many times before but not got very far.  I will persevere this time.  I was joined for dinner by the tiniest cutest kitten called Sukki who became my immediate friend when she realised I had ordered fish.      

Thank you so much for reading so diligently - it is lovely to know that you are sharing the adventure with me.

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.