Shifting Sands of Arrival

Rather than the eight hours, including two-hour lay-over, that it should have taken us to get to the Juan Santamaria international airport in Costa Rica, it took us nearly 36 hours to arrive due to mechanical breakdown of our plane (lost hydraulic fluid just before take-off, needed for steering), unexpected re-routing to Dallas and Miami, and delays at every turn. We did arrive in CR in style, though, since we were both bumped to first class on the last two flights.

What a coincidence to find Dorothy, a member of our little writing group in Fossil/Condon, on our first flight as we attempted to leave Portland. She was heading to New York, via Dallas.

And most fortuitously, we also ran into the author of the Moon Handbook travel guides for Oregon and the Columbia Gorge - who shared flights, layovers and much conversation with us all the way to Costa Rica.[Love that handbook, which gave my inn a great review and called me ‘an inspired cook’.] Stuart also wrote Moon’s early editions on Costa Rica and is currently employed as a travel guide in the country. What luck for us to catch up with him on mutual acquaintances and to get good travel and cultural tips from someone who knows the country so well. He plans to meet up with us again at Aguas Buenas for a visit and possibly the national CR blues festival in February.

Notes:

• Chaos, commotion and much jostling and shouting as we worked our way through the crowds at the airport to collect our baggage. Balmy temperatures, bright sunshine and the scent of flowers (mixed with diesel). We’d finally arrived!
• Unfortunately, three of our four checked bags had vanished. Pecos noticed that another of our bags had been removed from the conveyor by someone, and he was able to retrieve it. We left information at the claims office and while I sailed through Customs without remembering to show the necessary paperwork or being stopped, Pecos followed correct protocol.
• Stepping outside, our hotel shuttle driver was waiting, holding a sign for identification. A nimble Tico jumped between us to grab one of our pieces of luggage and he carried it to the nearby van while the driver and Pecos carried the rest. Pecos tipped the helpful one $1. Not good enough. What a tirade followed – helper was shouting, driver was shouting back, Pecos and I were stunned as the driver kept prying the man’s arms off the van as we tried to leave and the man kept leaping back, trying to grab the steering wheel through the window. The helper was shouting “Dos [two] dollar! Dos dollar!” and the driver was yelling something to him that I think meant we were gringos, what did you expect? And then with a mighty shove, we were off. I looked back and our helper was already grabbing a suitcase from a surprised-looking woman. Feeling guilty and stupid, we tipped the driver $5 when we arrived at our hotel near the airport.
• Too tired to eat dinner, we decided to get bread and fruit at a nearby market. Much of the produce was unrecognizable to us. A young, pregnant mother with a two-year-old in tow stood ahead of us in line and purchased a small bag of cornmeal and one diaper. We needed toothpaste; no one spoke English so I demonstrated brushing. A girl of about 12, clearly a market employee, brought me a small box. At first I thought it held a can of anchovies – like at Trader Joe’s – but it was toothpaste. Yes, ‘anticaries’ reads as ‘anchovies’ when one is exhausted.
• Pecos saved my life, more or less, when I nearly fell into a four-square-foot open sewer hole on the walk back from the market.
• Today, after a good night’s sleep and a breakfast of fresh eggs con pintos (with beans), orange/carrot juice, breads and an array of sweet fruits, we checked on line and found that our luggage had arrived. Thank goodness, although I was already thinking we could get by with what we did have, if necessary. We took a cab and had to wait a long time outside the airport near policio wearing bullet-proof vests and carrying guns, and then were escorted in to Baggage. Much paperwork involved, then another cab back to the hotel.
• Most people do not travel with white powder in their luggage. Not Pecos. While packing kitchen items, he tossed unopened jars of spices into one of our canvas duffle bags. Customs agents must have had a field day tearing through that bag as everything was in upheaval and the plastic lining was sliced into shreds. The large jar was half empty and garlic powder had sifted through everything and coated the contents – clothing, boots, opened CDs and DVDs, batteries, silverware, towels, hats, etc. We shook everything out in the courtyard, but the odor has permeated everything.
• We took another cab back to the airport to catch a bus to San Jose, 20 miles away. After a high speed, harrowing, turn-on-two-wheels, knock-you-around ride, we successfully found the administrative offices for Association of Residents of Costa Rica, where we joined as members of this service organization for ex-pats, mostly from U.S. and Canada. We received much information on ARCR health insurance plans, pensionado resident status for Pecos, and shipping/mail services. Staff was surprised that we own property and could bypass much of the basic information on culture and tourism. We were cool. Apparently, most of the other people there had stumbled in not knowing anything at all about Costa Rica.
• On the other hand, none of them reeked of garlic.