It was about three in the afternoon, and since we had only eaten a granola bar that day, we decided to find something to eat. There didn’t seem to be many restaurants, but we went to the market, where flies and other insects competed with each other. We thought that bananas would be safe to eat, so we bought a few, and found a ledge nearby to contemplate our next move.
We wandered down to the harbour area, hoping that the immigration officer had somehow made a mistake, and that the hovercraft would operate the following day. But any hope of that happening was quickly dashed when we started talking to a young man, who was dripping wet after having swum in the lake. The next day was Sunday, and for sure, he told us there would be no boat, and no one was really sure when it would operate.
“Aeropeurto,” I said, sounding desperate, and with my arms stretched out mimicking an airplane. The guidebook suggested that San Carlos was served with flights to the capital, Managua. From there, a short taxi ride would take us to Granada. The young man led us to a small office, where one could supposedly make reservations. No one was there, but someone nearby said that it should re-open in an hour or so. We sat outside grasping a sliver of hope that a flight would leave that evening, or even the following day. For a moment, I thought that we might get to Granada sooner than if there had been a ferry. We kept glancing at our watches, but no one returned to the office. Feeling somewhat helpless and dejected, we returned to our room.
We hadn’t eaten much all day and our bottle of water was running low. We were emotionally drained. Both of us had travelled a lot, but as we sat on our beds, our heads hung low, it was the first time that we felt the road had beaten us.
The walls between the rooms in the hotel were made of thin, wood paneling. A ledge ran along the wall, and we noticed a light coloured, powdery substance on part of the ledge. We wiped it clean, but within minutes it reappeared. My wife then lifted the mattress and noticed an army of bugs moving about. “I guess we are both sleeping in one bed,” she said, after inspecting the other mattress. The thought of two people trying to sleep in a single bed in the sticky, tropical heat didn’t seem overly inviting, so I made a last attempt to see if the airline office had re-opened.
It looked as deserted as it did when we had been there earlier. It was then that I thought to myself that we should abandon our goal of reaching Granada, and return to Costa Rica the following morning. I walked along the town’s main street, where women were preparing an evening meal over open fires. I stopped and spoke to a man who sold soda and other confectionaries from his tiny home. I gave him a dollar for a large bottle of Pepsi. I made my way back to our hotel. The streets were empty. But I could hear music and singing, coming from a nearby church. I peered in, and noticed that the pews were overflowing. I stood outside for a few moments, soaking up the atmosphere. It was the most beautiful thing in this squalid and impoverished town.
I returned to our room, and pronounced that we should forget trying to get to Granada, and return to Costa Rica in the morning. My wife took the Pepsi from my hand, gulped a few mouthfuls of the warm fizzy drink, and then said matter-of-factly, “I made that decision hours ago.”
We had started the morning with a full bottle of water, but the long journey had left us with very little, and not enough to brush our teeth. We didn’t trust the tap water, so I ventured out again to see the man that sold me the pop, in the hope that he might have some bottled water. He didn’t, but he led me to a small bar of sorts, where bottles of water were lined up against the back wall. I had used up my last U.S. dollar buying the Pepsi, and all I had, apart from some traveller’s cheques, was a wallet full of Costa Rican money, which they wouldn’t accept. With no Nicaraguan Cordobas, they wouldn’t sell me any water.
After brushing our teeth, we ended up rinsing with the Pepsi. Having only eaten a granola bar and a banana that day, I was starving for anything, so I rummaged through our bag and found a package of M&Ms. I was about to tear into them, but not before my wife suggested, in a sensible yet forceful manner, that we might need them the next day. Who knew when our next meal would be, she reasoned.
We turned off the lights and tried to get comfortable in the single bed. I lay on my side, pinned again the wall, while Carrie, also on her side, fought to stay on the bed. The only saving grace was a fan that whirred away in the corner, providing some relief from the heat. Sleep wasn’t really an option that night, but when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. Around two in the morning, a torrential rain pounded down. Thunder and lightning followed. Then the power went off, and with it the fan. Soon the hot, still air in our room got feverishly thick.
The moment day broke, we hurried down to the harbour, hoping to catch an early morning boat back to Los Chiles, but the first one wouldn’t be leaving for a couple of hours. An older man, who was also waiting for a boat negotiated with someone to take us to Los Chiles in their speedboat. The cost was five dollars each--double the cost of the regular boat, but we would get there in half the time, and we wouldn’t have to wait for two or three hours. But this good news was quickly dashed when the immigration officer wouldn’t allow the boat to leave, because he saw the operator drinking alcohol.
After some time, we climbed aboard the regular riverboat, and sat on a wooden bench at the back, next to the older man that had tried to secure our release earlier. His English was limited, but good enough that we learned he was travelling to his home in Liberia, a city in northwestern Costa Rica, and a gateway to the Pacific beaches. It was where we wanted to go, so instead of enduring a long bus ride back to the capital, San Jose, and then another long ride north to Liberia, he offered to drive us. With so much that had happened over the past 24 hours, it was the kind of good fortune we needed. By nightfall, we would be in Liberia, and the following morning, we could be sitting on the beach.
Once in Los Chiles, we climbed into his old and battered car. It sputtered to life. I wondered how we would ever make it across the country. We stopped at a roadside eatery for some lunch, and not having eaten in 36 hours, I gobbled down a large plate of chicken and rice. My wife, on the other hand, poked at a sandwich that I think she still regrets ordering. We jumped back into the car and roared across Costa Rica, driving on mostly deserted and unpaved roads. There were few towns of any note, until late afternoon, when we rolled into Upala, a small town near the Nicaraguan border. Our car had been making a terrible noise for some time. We were surprised it had made it this far. While our driver got out and started hammering away at one of the wheels, we looked around wondering if we would be forced to spend the night here. But a little hammering seemed to do the trick, and we carried on. We stopped at a service station, and our driver filled the car with about $20 worth of fuel. I had considered giving our driver $25 when we got to Liberia, so I felt content that his gas would be covered, and then he would have a little extra.
It was a warm evening when we arrived in Liberia. People were congregating in the city’s main square. We asked to be let off in the centre of town, so we could easily find a hotel. We pulled our bags out of the car, thanked the driver and gave him twenty-five dollars. His demeanour changed and he demanded a hundred dollars. We had never agreed on a price, and he was driving to Liberia anyway. He wasn’t persuaded when I told him that twenty-five was enough. In hindsight, I wonder what would have happened if we just walked away. Instead, I emptied my wallet and gave him eighty dollars. We felt cheated, but were relieved to be in Liberia without having to endure an arduous bus journey.
The following day, we found a small hotel on the beach, and recounted our recent adventure. We even laughed about it. It felt as if we had been travelling for weeks, but our trip was only a few days old. Almost sadly, the rest of our vacation went smoothly. I often wonder how things would have turned out if we hadn’t taken the road less travelled, or if we had made it to San Carlos before the ferry left. Whatever the case, I still long to see Granada.
We wandered down to the harbour area, hoping that the immigration officer had somehow made a mistake, and that the hovercraft would operate the following day. But any hope of that happening was quickly dashed when we started talking to a young man, who was dripping wet after having swum in the lake. The next day was Sunday, and for sure, he told us there would be no boat, and no one was really sure when it would operate.
“Aeropeurto,” I said, sounding desperate, and with my arms stretched out mimicking an airplane. The guidebook suggested that San Carlos was served with flights to the capital, Managua. From there, a short taxi ride would take us to Granada. The young man led us to a small office, where one could supposedly make reservations. No one was there, but someone nearby said that it should re-open in an hour or so. We sat outside grasping a sliver of hope that a flight would leave that evening, or even the following day. For a moment, I thought that we might get to Granada sooner than if there had been a ferry. We kept glancing at our watches, but no one returned to the office. Feeling somewhat helpless and dejected, we returned to our room.
We hadn’t eaten much all day and our bottle of water was running low. We were emotionally drained. Both of us had travelled a lot, but as we sat on our beds, our heads hung low, it was the first time that we felt the road had beaten us.
The walls between the rooms in the hotel were made of thin, wood paneling. A ledge ran along the wall, and we noticed a light coloured, powdery substance on part of the ledge. We wiped it clean, but within minutes it reappeared. My wife then lifted the mattress and noticed an army of bugs moving about. “I guess we are both sleeping in one bed,” she said, after inspecting the other mattress. The thought of two people trying to sleep in a single bed in the sticky, tropical heat didn’t seem overly inviting, so I made a last attempt to see if the airline office had re-opened.It looked as deserted as it did when we had been there earlier. It was then that I thought to myself that we should abandon our goal of reaching Granada, and return to Costa Rica the following morning. I walked along the town’s main street, where women were preparing an evening meal over open fires. I stopped and spoke to a man who sold soda and other confectionaries from his tiny home. I gave him a dollar for a large bottle of Pepsi. I made my way back to our hotel. The streets were empty. But I could hear music and singing, coming from a nearby church. I peered in, and noticed that the pews were overflowing. I stood outside for a few moments, soaking up the atmosphere. It was the most beautiful thing in this squalid and impoverished town.
I returned to our room, and pronounced that we should forget trying to get to Granada, and return to Costa Rica in the morning. My wife took the Pepsi from my hand, gulped a few mouthfuls of the warm fizzy drink, and then said matter-of-factly, “I made that decision hours ago.”
We had started the morning with a full bottle of water, but the long journey had left us with very little, and not enough to brush our teeth. We didn’t trust the tap water, so I ventured out again to see the man that sold me the pop, in the hope that he might have some bottled water. He didn’t, but he led me to a small bar of sorts, where bottles of water were lined up against the back wall. I had used up my last U.S. dollar buying the Pepsi, and all I had, apart from some traveller’s cheques, was a wallet full of Costa Rican money, which they wouldn’t accept. With no Nicaraguan Cordobas, they wouldn’t sell me any water.
After brushing our teeth, we ended up rinsing with the Pepsi. Having only eaten a granola bar and a banana that day, I was starving for anything, so I rummaged through our bag and found a package of M&Ms. I was about to tear into them, but not before my wife suggested, in a sensible yet forceful manner, that we might need them the next day. Who knew when our next meal would be, she reasoned.
We turned off the lights and tried to get comfortable in the single bed. I lay on my side, pinned again the wall, while Carrie, also on her side, fought to stay on the bed. The only saving grace was a fan that whirred away in the corner, providing some relief from the heat. Sleep wasn’t really an option that night, but when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it did. Around two in the morning, a torrential rain pounded down. Thunder and lightning followed. Then the power went off, and with it the fan. Soon the hot, still air in our room got feverishly thick.
The moment day broke, we hurried down to the harbour, hoping to catch an early morning boat back to Los Chiles, but the first one wouldn’t be leaving for a couple of hours. An older man, who was also waiting for a boat negotiated with someone to take us to Los Chiles in their speedboat. The cost was five dollars each--double the cost of the regular boat, but we would get there in half the time, and we wouldn’t have to wait for two or three hours. But this good news was quickly dashed when the immigration officer wouldn’t allow the boat to leave, because he saw the operator drinking alcohol.
After some time, we climbed aboard the regular riverboat, and sat on a wooden bench at the back, next to the older man that had tried to secure our release earlier. His English was limited, but good enough that we learned he was travelling to his home in Liberia, a city in northwestern Costa Rica, and a gateway to the Pacific beaches. It was where we wanted to go, so instead of enduring a long bus ride back to the capital, San Jose, and then another long ride north to Liberia, he offered to drive us. With so much that had happened over the past 24 hours, it was the kind of good fortune we needed. By nightfall, we would be in Liberia, and the following morning, we could be sitting on the beach.Once in Los Chiles, we climbed into his old and battered car. It sputtered to life. I wondered how we would ever make it across the country. We stopped at a roadside eatery for some lunch, and not having eaten in 36 hours, I gobbled down a large plate of chicken and rice. My wife, on the other hand, poked at a sandwich that I think she still regrets ordering. We jumped back into the car and roared across Costa Rica, driving on mostly deserted and unpaved roads. There were few towns of any note, until late afternoon, when we rolled into Upala, a small town near the Nicaraguan border. Our car had been making a terrible noise for some time. We were surprised it had made it this far. While our driver got out and started hammering away at one of the wheels, we looked around wondering if we would be forced to spend the night here. But a little hammering seemed to do the trick, and we carried on. We stopped at a service station, and our driver filled the car with about $20 worth of fuel. I had considered giving our driver $25 when we got to Liberia, so I felt content that his gas would be covered, and then he would have a little extra.
It was a warm evening when we arrived in Liberia. People were congregating in the city’s main square. We asked to be let off in the centre of town, so we could easily find a hotel. We pulled our bags out of the car, thanked the driver and gave him twenty-five dollars. His demeanour changed and he demanded a hundred dollars. We had never agreed on a price, and he was driving to Liberia anyway. He wasn’t persuaded when I told him that twenty-five was enough. In hindsight, I wonder what would have happened if we just walked away. Instead, I emptied my wallet and gave him eighty dollars. We felt cheated, but were relieved to be in Liberia without having to endure an arduous bus journey.
The following day, we found a small hotel on the beach, and recounted our recent adventure. We even laughed about it. It felt as if we had been travelling for weeks, but our trip was only a few days old. Almost sadly, the rest of our vacation went smoothly. I often wonder how things would have turned out if we hadn’t taken the road less travelled, or if we had made it to San Carlos before the ferry left. Whatever the case, I still long to see Granada.
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