It all began with an innocent question. But then again, the silliest adventures usually do. “”Quiere venir?” she asked me. My Spanish teacher, Jackie, and I had been discussing our plans for the upcoming week and a half off from school. Jackie was telling me about her hometown, Agua Buena, a small town so close to the border you can see Panama from her front porch. During her trip home there was going to be a wedding (her aunt’s), a birthday (another aunt’s), and all of the typical fiestas for Christmas and New Year’s. Her parents live on a coffee farm, and there are pigs, roosters, ducks, chickens, a goose, a few dogs, and her three really cute nieces live next door and…quiere venir? Do I want to come?, she asked me. It’s an 8 hour bus ride from San Jose, she added. My bladder shed a tear and pleaded with me to reconsider, but my mind was made up somewhere between pigs and chickens. I made a silent vow to my whiny bladder to refrain from liquids for at least 2 hours before departure, and replied, “Si! Quiero! Por supesto!” Of course I wanted to come.
Online Ticket Purchasing, Are You Kidding?
Where does this adventure begin? Buying the ticket of course! Forget all you know about online ticket shopping. There is no such thing as Buses-to-the-small-town-of-Agua-Buena.com, or even a Tracopa.com (Tracopa is the name of the bus company I was told to look for). You gotta get off your butt and go to the actual station to buy your ticket! There isn’t even a website for the city bus system in San Jose, which I discovered when I was trying to find out if the buses ran on Christmas Day. Oh how I miss metroopensdoors.com with its door-to-door turn by turn directions and schedules!!! I decided to ask my friend Marlon (a native Costa Rican) to help me buy my ticket since I knew it would be a challenge for me to do alone. We walked twenty minutes to the wrong side of town to a completely different bus station before finally getting some sound advice from someone as to where the actual Tracopa section was (and Marlon grew up in San Jose! That’s how confusing this town can be sometimes!). We headed back south and stopped for lunch, then continued south to the station. We finally arrived at the station (a pretty big terminal actually) and I purchased my ticket in Spanish (repeating the date and time twice to make sure the ticket attendant and I were on the same page) and breathed a sigh of relief when that challenge was over. I had that lingering feeling that I didn’t do something right, and my ticket was for 2010 or something, but you just have to have a little faith that it’s all good. Thanks, Marlon! ☺
The Bus Ride
My bus left on the Monday after Christmas at 8:15am. I lugged my backpack to the bus stop near my house at around 7:15am, and since I’m the first stop, I sat waiting for 20 minutes as my driver finished his coffee and newspaper before starting his route. Buses are supposed to run every 10 minutes in the morning, but the week between Christmas and New Year is very different here in San Jose…everyone in on real vacation or mental vacation. No one is going to work, so the buses don’t feel the need to run that frequently since there are no people. He finally pulled up next to me, and we began my journey. I got off at downtown San Jose and caught a cab the rest of the way (a 5 minute ride…$2). I made sure to tell the taxi driver I wanted the Tracopa station for buses to Panama, not to Guanacaste (my host dad told me to make this distinction). My taxi driver replied something I was not expecting, so of course I didn’t understand the first time and asked him to repeat. “Podemos ir a Panama si quiere!!!” He was telling me we can go all the way to Panama in the taxi if I want. Man, I love it when people here make funnies to me in a language I hardly understand. My response is typically, “OOOOH!....HAHA! Ha. Ha. Hmmm. Oh, you.”
I got to the bus station and bought a Snickers for breakfast (is it obvious I was a little nervous about the bus ride?). A man was shouting that the bus was boarding for 8am, and I went over to ask him if that was my bus, showing him my ticket. He looked at my ticket and looked at me with pity in his eyes, replying that no, mine was the 8:15 bus. Poor crazy gringa girl.
I finally made it on the bus, camera, purse, and bag full of books in tow (didn’t want to be bored for 8 hours, now did I?). The bus pulled out at 8:15am on the dot. Apparently buses are the only things that run on time in the entire country of Costa Rica. I was in complete shock.
The view from my window seat was so interesting and beautiful that I hardly cracked a book the entire way. Costa Rica, apart from its world famous beaches, is a country of rolling hills, mountains, farmland, and an immense amount of green as far as the eye can see. The roads were initially built for ox carts, and are very windy and at times steep. When the automobile came around, somebody slapped some pavement on those oxcart roads, initially designed for vehicles moving 10 miles an hour, and called it a day. If you have any problem whatsoever with motion sickness, check Costa Rican travel off your list. The bus trips are windy and bumpy and jerky. Unless you want to pay 5 times as much and take planes everywhere, and even in that situation I’m not so sure you’d feel any better. I can’t imagine the planes are much bigger than the buses.
Every time the bus stopped, I would of course get off to use the facilities. In many places you have to pay the equivalent of about $0.25 to use the bathroom (but that ensures that the bathrooms are somewhat clean, and the price includes your toilet paper, handed to you by the old dude sitting at the entrance…what a steal!). Lugging my Nikon D50, and my purse full of heavy goodies to the bathroom each time was enough for me. I left my heavy bag of books on my seat thinking, hey, if a Costa Rican REALLY wants to steal my bag full of books about learning Spanish, go for it. Joke’s on him.
The scariest part of the trip for me was that every time I got back on the bus after a bathroom break, I would hardly have my butt back in my seat before the bus would take off. I couldn’t help but think how lucky I was to have made it back on the bus in time, and that there MUST be somebody still in the bathroom since there’s no way the driver could have done a head count. But as I’ve learned, things here just seem to work out with not much planning or oversight. It could just be that people here are used to it, and whoever gets left in the bathroom shrugs their shoulder and thinks, my bad. Take too long to pee and you get left on the side of the road. Oops.
Speaking of lack of planning or oversight, Jackie knew I was taking the 8:15am bus, but insisted that I didn’t need to call her while on the road. I highly doubt that every 8:15am bus gets into Agua Buena at the same time, so I began to ask other passengers how many more stops to AB once we hit the 6 and a half hour mark. To my surprise, we were running early, and the woman I was talking to was a little concerned for the gringa asking her so many questions. Is someone going to be someone at the station for you? She asked. Uh, yeah, I think so! I must not have been too convincing, because she insisted I use her cell phone to call Jackie to let her know I was almost there. Again, everything just falls into place here, so you never have the chance to point to a disaster and say “See? Look! You should have planned better!!!” When I arrived in Agua Buena, Jackie and her niece were walking up to the station hand in hand, perfectly timed with my phone call 20 minutes earlier.
views from the bus ride
this is an example of the curvy roads
Life On The FarmWhen we arrived at the house I got a tour of the farm including the pigs, the chickens, the goose (only one), the roosters, and the three adorable nieces. The two older ones walk and talk, and they quickly went from being too shy to tell me their names to calling me and their aunt “feas!!!!” or “uglies” followed by intense giggling. This was of course instigated by the older of the two, who is very good at getting her younger sister to repeat anything she says. We went from being “fea” to being cool again, especially when I agreed to dance with them to their favorite song, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”. Jackie rolled her eyes telling me that I would be sick of this song too if I heard it 50 times in a row (apparently it’s their preferred dance track), but I danced my heart out to “A—WEEEEEEE, a-weeee-uh-wee-uh-mum-ba-way….(weemuhway a weemuh way) A-WEEEEEEE…”, so I was a huge hit with the little ones. My name, when pronounced by sub-3-year-old Spanish speakers sounds like “Ca-dee-THEE-nuh”, and is super cute. “Ca-dee-THEE-nuh!!! Mas! Mas! Baile! Tambien!!!!”
After a few rounds of wee-muh-ways, I headed back out to the farm to see my true love, heart’s desire, and the source of my greatest addiction: the coffee plants. It’s amazing how removed we are from the natural world, considering I don’t go less than 12 hours without a cup of Joe, but had no idea what the plant looked like that produced the savory, bitter liquid in my “taza”. The coffee tree is short, kind of like a bush (maybe it is considered a bush?) and coffee beans, before they’re roasted and put on your local Starbucks shelf, are green, and then red when ready (pictures below). Jackie’s father gave me a tour of his coffee plants while Jackie was in the shower one morning, very pridefully explaining how his plants are natural, and his coffee is produced without chemicals. Costa Ricans not only produce coffee, they also put their money where there mouth is and drink the stuff all day every day. I foolishly brought some instant Foldgers with me from the states just so I wouldn’t get one of my withdrawal headaches if I was ever without caffeine, but here in CR that is nunca jamas (never ever) an issue. Coffee is offered to you throughout the day like clockwork no matter what pueblo, what coast, what house, what office you’re in. And it’s all daaaamn good.
jackie's home
las sobrinas (the nieces) 
"whatchu lookin at"
the coffee
jackie's dad, the coffee man
The Ambulance
My first morning in the house I awoke to Jackie knocking on my bedroom door. I had my ear plugs strategically placed, so she had to knock a few times before I responded. I jumped out of bed and opened the door. “Quieres ir a la playa?” she asked. Apparently her cousins and aunts and uncles were coming to pick us up to go to the beach! It was about 6:30am, so we grabbed some quick breakfast, and threw on our bathing suits. Jackie made it seem like there wasn’t time for a shower, so I made due with a quick shave in my room, and thought, eh, the ocean will clean me off today (hadn’t showered since my bus ride, either…ewwww). I should have known that a pick-up phone call at 6:30am meant they would be there around 8. I’m starting to get the Costa Rican time thing, and next time I’ll just jump in the shower before anyone has time to ask any questions.
Finally Jackie yelled to me that they were here and I walked down the stairs to the street to see…an ambulance full of Jackie’s family. Yeah, no, that’s not a typo. Apparently Jackie’s cousin has a few ambulances. You know, the norm. Now these are not top of the line Seattle Grey’s luxury Ambulancias, nah, and I would spend the next 3 hours with one butt cheek on a 8” wide hard wooden bench designed for someone traveling about 10 minutes to the nearest hospital while also administering CPR. I brought a very good John Grisham for the occasion, and was happy to have the diversion. Every time we passed a slow moving vehicle on one of the windy, bumpy roads, instead of giving a little honk to the other car (as is a CR custom), our driver, Jackie’s cousin, would blip the siren. And I guess maybe it’s illegal to ride with 5 people in the back of an ambulance, because every time we passed a traffic stop, the aunts and uncles in the front (in the REAL seats) would shout to us to crouch down in the back so we wouldn’t be seen. Not sure this was actually necessary, but I would quickly dog-ear my book and crouch down with Jackie and the rest of her cousins. When in Rome…
We went to a beautiful beach called Ballena, which is one of CR’s many “Parque Nacional”s, meaning the beach and its wildlife is protected by the government. CR does a pretty great job of maintaining its natural resources (but I haven’t found any evidence of recycling in san jose…at least in homes…strange paradox?). We had stopped at a supermarket near the beach, so lunch was first. The aunts and uncles layed out bread, mayo, ham, ketchup, and cheese on a few logs that had a board between them, meant for this sort of thing I’m guessing, and began making sandwiches. I’ve quickly found out that you aren’t allowed to refuse food. If someone offers you a second sandwich, you must accept it, or you are given a look meant to convey that you have just confused and insulted the person offering you the food (if you refuse twice, the food will be forced upon you FYI). After lunch, we swam in the ocean (warm as bath water), walked about half a mile to a small river, played with hermit crabs, collected seashells, and just sat in the sun until finally it was time to return. We all showered with the outdoor showers (a lady passing by saw three girls with long hair and offered her shampoo), and then all the girls took turns precariously changing in the back of the ambulance (the windows were tinted). We took a few photos with the ambulance (apparently it was a novelty to them, too, and they wanted a record of it as well), and piled back in for the trip home. There was a stop at another lookout point as well as a stop for dinner that I didn’t know were coming. There’s never any: Cristina, we’re going to stop for dinner in about an hour! It’s more like, Oh look, we’re stopping for dinner. Anyone who needs to know the “plan” when traveling would not do so well here. At the “soda”, the name for little restaurants in CR that serve typical CR food, I was asked if I wanted fish. I had just had some really nice fried fish a few days before at a soda in San Jose, so I said sure! When someone else’s fish came, however, I saw that this place served the whole fish, and you had to pick fried pieces off the bone with your fingers. I hadn’t washed my hands since the beach, and there was no soap in the bathroom, so I quickly asked if mine could be changed to the chicken. They must have thought I was afraid of the eye balls, but really I was afraid of the bacteria on my own hands much more.
It was now dark, and again we all piled into the ambulance (I love saying that) and hit the road. I approximated that we probably had about an hour left, and gave my bladder a pep talk to stay strong. We were peacefully trucking along, a few people chatting, music playing, when the ambulance started to slow and sputter, and we slowly came to a stop on the side of the two-lane road. There was total silence in the ambulance, then someone whispered something to the driver, he said something, and everyone burst out laughing. We had passed at least 5 gas stations on road back from the beach, surely we couldn’t be out of gas. Oh, but we were.
Again, I couldn’t understand any of the plans that were unfolding, so I took my cue from everyone else, got out of the ambulance, and sat on the side of the road waiting (for what, I didn’t know). I finally found out from Jackie that someone had called a taxi in San Vito, which was only about 15 minutes away, and a driver was bringing us some gas. This is the advantage of being from a small town, she explained, because there is always someone to help. Someone always knows someone who knows someone who owns a taxi and can bring you gas when your ambulance runs out (sorry couldn’t resist). The taxi came, we were replenished, and took some funny pictures in the process. We finally made it back to Agua Buena (only after a stop at another uncle’s house for 20 minutes, again, not sure why) and I crashed in my bed reeling from the day that had just happened to me. That’s what I feel like here, things happen TO you, they don’t just happen.
New Years Eve
The next morning I finally took a real shower. I felt like a new woman, and was probably two shades lighter. Jackie and I took a beautifully scenic walk to a neighboring town, Copa Buena, where I found a $2 international phone card that gave me 6 minutes of talk time to the US. I was finally able to call my parents to let them know I had made it to Agua Buena safely (they tried not to sound TOO relieved). Jackie had told me about all of the fantastic parties that would be happened for New Years, and after dinner, around 10pm, we walked about ¾ of a mile on very rocky roads to the fiesta in question. In what looked like a deserted barn, a DJ was blasting music so loud you could feel your insides vibrate along with the bass line. There were loads and loads of chicos, but they all clutched a beer and watched the 6 or 7 couples on the dance floor looking completely uninterested. Thank goodness Jackie had some friends at the party who, after dancing one or two songs with, she would lead over to me and instruct to spin me around the floor once or twice. Her friends were good dancers, but I sorely missed my DC salsa crowd and all the throngs of men itching for a dance, eager to inquire to any solo chica waiting in the wings. I also don’t like the type of dancing here in CR. There’s a lot of bachata, meregue, and something called cumbia (spelling?). The salsa is sparse, and a lot different than in the states. It’s all a little monotonous, and boring to me, and I find it funny that I long for my Monday nights back at the Clarendon Grill with Arthi and the other guys who would spin me around the floor and throw new moves at me every 30 seconds. Miss you guys!
One Costa Rican spotted me from across the room, however, and was eager to dance with me. A little too eager. He asked me if I had a boyfriend, and told me that I was very pretty. He seemed like a sweet guy, and was a good dancer, but out of habit I asked him his age (this entire conversation was SO difficult by the way as the music was blasting so loud I had to lip read Spanish, nearly impossible). “Cuantos anos tiene???” He looked uncomfortable, and I instantly cursed my youthful appearance. Again I asked him. He responded “Veintiuno.” 21. Great. My New Years “date” was a 21-year-old small town Costa Rican farm boy who insisted I should be his girlfriend. I told him that I was sure there were other girls there that actually LIVED there and weren’t leaving the next day. He said he didn’t care, and wanted to dance with me. I was grateful for the permanent dance partner, so I humored the kid, and continued to step-two-three until midnight rolled around. When Jackie’s cousin came to pick us up (a very nice surprise), I quickly told my partner “gracias!” and left before my bewildered dance partner could say anything about us keeping in touch.
the day at the beach
the gang, and the ambulance
no mas gasolina
the taxi arrived with the gas!
My Return to the Big City
I had told Jackie I wanted to return the following day, ready to get back to my life in San Jose. I chose the 2pm bus, hoping that would give us enough time to go to the Botanical Gardens in the morning, because Jackie had said it was really beautiful and close to her house. I should have known nothing is that easy. A simple trip to the botanical gardens became a family outing with a total of 9 participants. Again, I didn’t know this was happening until everyone began piling in the car and I realized we were having a field trip. When Jackie’s cousin dropped us all off and left with the car, rather than parking and staying with us, I thought to myself…oh, crap. How would we get home? Who would pick us up? My bus is at 2 and it’s 11:15 now! There’s no way we can walk around the garden for more than an hour and a half, right? Haha…don’t be so sure. The Garden was beautiful, and really fun to explore with Jackie’s two nieces. We did indeed walk around for over an hour, and when time came to leave, the typical craziness ensued. A few phone calls were made. A cousin was coming, or maybe a taxi, no one really knew. Someone called the public telephone back. Was it the cousin? Jackies was talking to someone and then reported, “He’s coming.” Who’s coming? When? All 9 of us sat on a bench at a bus stop near the entrance to the Garden, and when cars drove by, Jackie’s mom would flag them down and ask them if they were going to Agua Buena. None of these hitchhike opportunities proved fruitful, and just as the clock was hitting 1:10, I started to panic a little bit. A taxi that passed offered a ride to Agua Buena for about $6, and I urged Jackie to take it with me. Her mom looked confused, and Jackie told her “Cristina is a little worried about missing her bus.” The mom’s response was, “Why don’t you stay until tomorrow?” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that one more day in this kind of fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants environment where I have no idea what is going on half the time would probably send me into some kind of panic attack in the next 24 hours, requiring the use of the ambulance once again, but this time for its intended purpose, so I just smiled and said that I really needed to get back to San Jose, but thank you so much for the kind offer. Just as Jackie and I were about to get into the taxi, her cousin arrived (of course!!!), and we headed back to Agua Buena.
With 40 minutes until my bus left (and I still didn’t have a ticket), I thought we would be heading back to Jackie’s house so I could finish packing and get to the bus station. Ohhhh no, that would be too easy. We pulled up at her grandmother’s house (just next door), and Jackie began to tell me that I really needed to eat lunch because it was a very long ride, and we had PLENTY of time to get to the bus station. I wanted to say I wasn’t hungry, in fact, I felt a little sick and would really be fine with a snickers at the first place the bus stops on the way home, but I knew there was no way to decline food once it had been offered, so I resigned to the circumstances and stopped checking my watch. After quickly gulping down some rice and beans, Jackie turned to me and said, “Oh, we should really get going!” Really!? NOW we should get going!?!?!? It was too comical to be stressed about. We ran back to her house, and stuffed all my stuff in my backpack (in which was a lively cockroach which I quickly scooped up and threw under the bed…no time to be grossed out!), and we headed to the bus station.
At 1:55pm we pulled up and found the guy in charge of bus tickets for the 2pm bus. He told me to wait on the bench across the street, and he took my backpack and flung it under the bus, handing me my baggage check ticket. I gave Jackie a big hug and thanked her for everything, and as she pulled away in the SUV driven by (yet another) uncle, I fell like a lump onto the bench. It was over. I knew exactly where the bus I was about to board was going. I didn’t need anyone to pick me up when I got there, I only needed to find a taxi and tell him how many feet I live from the fruit stand, and to please take me there at any cost. No more extreme variables existed, and I could sleep my way back to San Jose (which is exactly what I did). When the bus pulled up to the bench at 2:05 and I climbed on board, I gave myself a quick mental reminder not to spend too long in the bathroom, or else I might find myself stuck on the side of the road somewhere between Panama and San Jose. Seven hours later, I was in San Jose, very grateful for having experienced a taste of life in beautiful, friendly, and most of all unpredictable Agua Buena, Costa Rica.
the botanical garden
