By Bus or Bust

Costa Rica is a country that moves by bus; hardly any locale is without this essential service. Buses carry passengers great distances for fares the equivalent of a dollar or less. While occasionally this mode of transportation consists of an old yellow school bus filled with people, produce and a few chickens, most often the bus resembles an older Greyhound from the States. Windows open, or window-less, curtains and dark diesel smoke blow freely as these buses cut in and out of traffic in the city and pass without hesitation on the highway.

In the rural villages, there are few household cars. Most families have a dirt bike or two – or none - and rely on the buses for necessary travel. From a distance the buses look like caterpillars slowly plying their way up the far-away slopes. These vehicles climb the steepest, most remote back roads to serve villages once or twice per day – even those that are sometimes not more than just a few houses clustered in a mountaintop opening. Our village fits that description and stands as the last bus stop on our mountain after the slow, steep climb up the narrow, twisty road. The bus returns here at 7 p.m., just after dark, and leaves again in the morning at 5:30 for San Isidro de El General and connection points from there. The bus driver sleeps in the bus, which is parked overnight on the side of the road across from the pulperia.

On the busy Pan-American Highway bus stops are located about a mile apart. In the rural areas the stops are at the villages and surprisingly also at every four or five miles along extremely remote stretches of road. Bus stops consist of four posts and often a roof of palm leaves or rusty tin. Usually there is a concrete bench, wood slab or large rock for seating. Residents walk to the bus stops carrying colorful umbrellas or huge banana or palm leaves to shade themselves. Where there is no roof, the leaves provide much-needed shade while they wait. We are told the buses stay on schedule and that often there is standing room only.

When we arrived in Costa Rica we rented a SUV for a month. Our time is up. For the last two weeks we’ve looked at several used vehicles that were for sale. Most cost two to three times what they would sell for in the U.S. Prices stay high due to the exorbitant duty taxes required to bring a vehicle into the country and the rigorous red tape needed to keep one here. Vehicles are well cared for. They retain their value and it’s not uncommon to see vehicles that are 40 years old and still in mint condition. We’ve perused the used vehicle lots in San Isidro and have stopped at almost every vehicle parked on the side of the highway with a for sale sign on it. We’ve followed a few drivers home after seeing “Se Vende” written on the back windshield. Of the few dozen vehicles we’d looked at, only two cost less than $5,000.

Then last week, there it was – a little formerly-white sedan, equal parts rust and body, parked in front of a mechanic’s shop on the highway. The sign on the windshield offered the bargain price of 350,000 colones or approximately $700. This would be perfect for our two remaining months here. Our only criteria were that whatever vehicle we would buy, it would be dirt cheap and it would have passed this year’s thorough government inspection, required annually. We would sell it just before going back to the States.

Pecos pulled in to check it out. Two men hurried out to make this sale. Pecos first asked to see under the hood. Hmmm, he said cheerfully, not knowing much about engines in the first place but wanting to make a good negotiating impression. Then he opened the door. It fell to the ground and dangled by its one hinge. From my vantage point I could see there were no back seats. The car sat about 6” from the ground. Pecos climbed in the driver’s seat, careful to not put his foot through one of the gaping holes in the floorboard, and looked dumbfounded. There was no steering column and no dashboard. Nothing. Nada. The car was stripped to bare metal inside with just the front seat remaining. La cuesta buena, the men told him. Yes, Pecos agreed, a good cost, as the car was definitely the cheapest we’d seen. We thanked them for showing it to us and sped away on our good wheels.

We returned our rental vehicle on time, meeting the driver as arranged near the park in San Isidro at the designated day and time. As we often did, we paid a one-man security force (who was loitering nearby in anticipation of such opportunity) a few colones to keep an eye on it while we shopped. Car break-ins and theft are common in the city. Later that day the Kid came to town in his jeep and picked us up. His jeep runs well – having just been tuned up with new brakes installed. The mechanics cleaned it thoroughly and even gave the interior metal a new paint job without that being requested.

The jeep sits high and has a welded metal roof and no sides, but it does have front and back seats. The seatbelts click together to close, but they also pop open on the largest bumps. The Kid and Pecos climbed up front as I scaled the rear tire to heave myself into the back, surrounded by produce from the market. I clutched my seatbelt strap and straw hat for dear life as we sped home down the highway, closing my eyes whenever we were passed by speeding vehicles on blind curves. Halfway along the slow up-and-down climb on the mountain, the brakes overheated. The Kid used his cell phone to call the mechanic, several miles away, who said he would come up at dawn and that we should wait there for him. I thought about nocturnal snakes and pondered walking the several miles home, wondering if I could possibly get home before dark. No chance of that as Pecos and The Kid decided we would drive on. Thus we scaled up the steep hills in first gear, then careened down every slope without brakes. A few people came to their doors to see what vehicle was plowing past as I waved feebly from the back seat as we whizzed by in a blur.

We are home now for a few days. I welcome the quiet, unhurried pace. To use the internet for my work we’ll take the bus round trip to San Isidro every few days, although we also have a plan to take the bus into town on some Wednesdays and stay overnight. We can ride home again in The Kid’s jeep when he comes to the city on Thursdays for market day. If the brakes aren’t fixed, we’ll rely on the bus for round trip. I’m just hoping the bus ride itself is as slow and steady as it looks and that those in charge drive defensively and most attentively. 