Costa Rica - Day 3A - "Sometimes I Close Too Soon"

10/12/15, “Sometimes I Close Too Soon”

New York, New York

I am going to do something that I almost never do: reopen a trip after I close it out.  However, I would be remiss if I did not include the final leg of the Return Journey.  Recently I saw the movie “A Walk in the Woods,” in which an aging travel writer attempts to hike the Appalachian Trail with an old friend.  Every time something adventurous happens, the friend says something like, “This has to go in the book.”  When I travel with friends, my friends always say things like, “Is this going to go in the blog?”  The cab ride back home can’t not go in here.

After I closed, we soon made our descent, and I headed to the baggage claim once we landed.  The dominatrix looked so commonplace ahead of me, maybe a little Goth, but shee seemed the last person you’d expect to be engaged in such activities.  Reader, if you have Instagram, look up Mistress Tangent.  That’s her.  I’m not going to go into any more details.  The Instagram page speaks for itself.  I got a bagel, coffee, and donut from Dunkin Donuts by baggage claim.

By the time my box came out and I got outside, my bag was ripping apart, so I did something I never do: accept a ride from a car service driver.  This driver was also Uber.  As I walked towards him, a yellow taxi driver (as in, the driver of a yellow taxi, not a taxi driver was yellow, though the term fits both ways) started screaming.  The Uber driver told me to put my bag in the trunk and jump in the backseat, quickly.  The taxi driver was walking towards us.  There was an altercation, as in a physical altercation, with physical contact.  The taxi driver tried to stand in front of the car or grab the mirror or something to prevent him from taking me.  The Uber driver moved the car back and forth.  The taxi driver reached in the window and grabbed the guys arm.

The Uber driver sped off, cursing and threatening to deck him when he got back.  The entire drive was fast and erratic, and the driver didn’t wear his seatbelt.  The speedometer wasn’t even working.  I knew this had to go in the Travelogue.  I asked if I could smoke.  He didn’t care.  I lit up an H. Upmann I got at SJO.  Three times someone called him about the incident.  “The whole airport knows,” he announced to me.  He kept saying he couldn’t do anything because he had a passenger, but he would deck the taxi driver when he got back.  I asked if he was serious.  He swore on his mother’s life that he was going to lay him out, knock him to the ground with one punch when he got back.

This couldn’t not go in the Travelogue.  I was at my apartment in record time.  I changed into casual clothes and sat in my chair, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing out the trip again.  Next stop: Atlanta.

Costa Rica - Day 3 - The Return Journey

10/12/15, “The Return Journey”

San Jose, Costa Rica

Mission accomplished.  I said it.  “Central America Complete.”  I’d done it all.  16 World Heritage Sites and seven National Legislative Assemblies.  Has anyone else ever done that?  I’m not so sure.  It’s an odd combination of sites, and many are not easily accessible.  I’m sure plenty of politicians have been to all seven National Legislative Assemblies, and maybe a few tourists or conservationists have done all 16 WHSs, but who would have ever done both?  Perhaps just me.

It took me 2 years and a day, four trips in all.  First came Panama, two days of intensive driving, a chartered boat on Day 2 to Isla Coiba, Day 3 the scary drive from the fort to the canal where I almost ran out of gas and then back to Panama City for the old city and the legislative assembly.  That was relatively easy.  CA-4 was the hardest.  Six days of even more intensive driving with Fernando, racing to Tikal before it closed, finding the Biosphere Reserve almost by chance, sneaking into the Ruins of Leon Viejo, and having to find each of the four legislative assemblies as we dealt with harassment by the police the entire trip.  We did it, though.

Belize was the easiest one.  I did a boat tour out to the barrier reef and then took a taxi to the capital.  Then came this trip, and my reader will recall the adventures of the past three days.  As soon as I finish this cigar, shower, pack, change into my travelling clothes, and head to the airport.  There is not much to say since I closed last night, but I would be remiss if I didn’t write this entry.  “Pura Vida” is the unofficial motto of Costa Rica, and it is appropriate to describe what I’m feeling now.  No other phrase would suffice.

After I closed last night, and while I was writing, I was accosted by the usual gaggle of denziens.  One woman appeared to be trying to sell me some candy.  I had no interest and waved her away.  She stood there with a pouting face, trying to elicit my pity.  I had none for her.  She literally stood there until I waved her away for a second time.  Another guy sat down next to me and offered me some vodka, greeting me with “Pura Vida.”  I turned him down.  Someone else told me I was missing the world by having my head in my laptop.  Another guy warned me that someone would rob me of laptop.  The laptop was worthless, the data on it priceless.

I made my way back to the hotel and went right to sleep.  In the morning, breakfast, the exact same thing three days in a row now, was even more disappointing.  I got ready to head across the street to the Legislative Assembly.  Once I got there, I chose the best spot for a picture.  I took my ceremonial picture and announced, “Mainland Costa Rica Complete.”  I hesitated.  I wasn’t ready for it.  I could not fight back the tears.  Then I said it.  “Central America Complete.”  I lit up my Churchill, took lots more pictures, and then sat down across from the Legislative Assembly, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can upload some photos.

Juan Santamaría International Airport, Costa Rica (SJO)

Juan Santamaría is the national hero of Costa Rico.  Philip Goldson a national hero of Belize, Benito Juarez for Mexico, Monseñor Romero for El Salvador.  Why then do we have an international airport named Dulles in our capital?  I don’t even know who Dulles was?  I suppose that the capital city itself is named after our national hero, but where is Thomas Jefferson International Airport?  Where is James Madison International Airport?  Jefferson is the capital of Missouri, Madison Wisconsin, so it seems to be that in the United States, we name cities after our heroes, while the countries in the North American tropics name their capital airports after their national hero or the first prime minister/president.

Here I am at the one named after Costa Rica’s national hero, and I have about 20 minutes to write my triumphant airport entry.  Any more time, and I risk missing my flight.  I will focus more on the reflections once I get to IAH (or maybe en route to EWR), but this is the triumphant one.  I did it all.  Despite the treacherous driving, everything went perfectly.  Other than breakfast, I didn’t have a single bad meal the whole trip.  I saw everything I wanted to see, and I didn’t get lost once.  I was at the hotel by 9 PM each night, asleep by 1 AM.  It was a perfectly executed trip.  Getting to come home early is a bonus.  Yes, reader, I want to go home early, not just for work reasons.  I came here with a mission, and, once I accomplished the mission this morning, there was no point to hang around in San Jose for another day.  It was time to go home.

After I closed and uploaded my photos, I walked back through the souvenir market, getting another bag of coffee for me and some small souvenirs for my favorite friend and the two coworkers who sit behind me.  I ditched the cigar outside the hotel and got ready as quickly as possible.  I was at the car rental return by 10:30 PM, slightly behind schedule.  It was 10:50 PM by the time I got to the airport, less slightly behind schedule.  I checked in and headed outside, where I lit up my Partagas, found a seat, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can start making my way to security.

Actually, I still have a few minutes to do the reflective part.  Costa Rica is unlike any other country I’ve been to in Latin Central America.  For starters, it is nowhere near as militarized as the other countries.  Also, the police presence is much less.  I only passed one police checkpoint, and I was waved right through, unlike my adventures in Panama.  The driving is far more aggressive, even the pedestrians are more aggressive.  The roads were awful, but that was to be expected.  Just like the rest of the North American tropics, everything is slow and takes forever.  They have no sense of urgency, perhaps because time is their least precious commodity.  I suppose that is true of any poor country, that time matters least to them, when they are struggling for food.  In America, time is money, and our time is far more money than their money.  The landscapes look much the same as anywhere else in the region, so that was comforting.  In short, there was a lot different about Costa Rica, but a lot the same, too. On that note, I’ll close.

Aboard UA 1933, En route IAH-EWR

The last time I was at Bush Intercontinental, I was morose and depressed, coming off a successful trip to Central America, questioning the meaning of friendship and the claims I laid to who was truly my best friend.  Remove the words morose and depressed, and that was exactly what happened this trip.  Nine months ago, when I went to Belize, I was building a fantasy world, a house of cards that could fall with the slightest breath.  Now, I have rebuilt my life.  Now, I am focusing on me.

Gone is the euphoria from this morning.  I am simply ready to go home.  I want to be in my own bed with my beat up sheets and pillows in my cramped apartment.  I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps.  Oops, wait.  Tomorrow will be a fun day, maybe even more fun than any day from this trip.  I’m going to pick up the Aladdin Blu-ray, which has been years overdue, finally coming out tomorrow, and try to get it signed by most of the cast.  If I get in to work early enough, I should be able to get away with taking an extended lunch break and go out with my friend after the signing.  After work, my friends and I will watch Aladdin, followed by the Democratic Presidential debate.  Reader, if you think Aladdin is a fairy tale, you’ve obviously never heard Hilary Clinton speak.  Along with some cigars and Costa Rican rum, it’ll be a fun night.

I enjoy my travel, but I rarely have fun.  It is about getting away from everything.  The beach does nothing for me.  Long drives and mountains do.  I have loved my time in Central America, and, unless they add a new WHS in Central America, it will be a very long time before I return.  I need to return to Jamaica to get the WHS there, and I need to go to Nassau.  I also need to do Hispaniola.  Other than that, all of my North American travel for the next two years will be in US, Canada, and Mexico.  I will be doing extensive travels to Mexico over the next two years.  I think I need six more trips to that end.  Actually, I think I may have more trips lined up for Mexico than any other country, including the US.  Yeah, that appears to be the case.

I will miss Central America, and the places I still have remaining in the West Indies just aren’t the same, as the Greater Antilles lack the charm of the Lesser Antilles.  Bahamas, I literally have no idea what to expect.  Like, who goes to the Bahamas just to take a picture at Parliament?  Literally, that’s what I’ll be doing.  Flying into Nassau, doing my Official business, taking a picture at Parliament, getting a flag pin, writing an entry, and flying back.  No beach.  People will thinking I’m crazy.  “Where are you going this weekend?”  “The Bahamas.”  “Oh, going to spend some time on the beach?”  “No, just want to take a picture at Parliament and buy a flag pin.”  “…”

Hispaniola will be slightly more interesting, and I’d love to try to do the whole island as a three-day weekend, but it is tough to do it that way, as transportation between Santo Domingo and Port-au-Prince isn’t the best, and the flights aren’t the most convenient, either.  Either way, I’ll see it done.

Alright, enough of this, I’ve realized that I never properly reflected on the Summer of 2015 travel, and it seems a bit late to do it, now that it’s October, and the leaves are changing color.  I typically divide my travel into summer and winter, and draw the line right around now.  I can probably count this as the last summer trip.  However, the summer reflective entry is something special.  Wildest Dreams was probably the last trip that would have qualified as a summer trip, so I kind of missed my chance there.  Needless to say, it was an amazing summer of travel.  From Memorial Day weekend to my birthday weekend, I visited three continents and 9 countries, which was a little stronger than last year’s count of three continents and 6 countries.  Nothing, of course, can compare to 2013, though.

Like 2014, most of trips this year were with family and friends, or a tour guide who is a friend to me now.  In 2014, only the Memorial Day, Labor Day, and my Birthday trips were alone.  This year, was the same, though Enrique is almost a friend now, so I wasn’t alone on the Labor Day trip, though I was alone for a large part of the big summer trip.  Oh, that’s one for the record books.  It wasn’t quite as amazing as Alaska, but it was up there.  It was a trip a decade in the making.  I can no longer consider it to be summer, by any definition, as I can’t even wear shorts in NYC at night anymore.

Oh, right, my flip flops need to be retired, I think.  They are almost destroyed, and they have been to more countries than most people I know have been to.  I don’t know the exact count, but I’d expect they’d been to over 30 countries, and I’ve worn them in at least 20, I think.  Reader, pretty much any time you’ve seen a picture of me in a t-shirt, I was wearing those flip flops.  I almost left them at my hotel in San Jose, but I’d been through too much with them for them to suffer such a fate, even if I never wear them again.  Alright, I’m rambling.

After I closed at SJO, I headed through emigration security.  Each had a huge line, but, as a premier member, I was able to skip the entire line.  That was nice.  I soon found myself in a Costa Rican chocolate and coffee shop.  Needless to say, I went overboard.  Also, needless to say, none of it will go to waste, not one bean of coffee or piece of chocolate.  I then headed to duty-free, where I picked out two bottles of Costa Rican rum.  There was still an hour before my flight.  The clerk told me it was too late to send the items to the gate.  I was outraged.  He then told me there was another location closer to my gate that might be able to accommodate me.  They did.  They also put the liquor in a sealed bag, which I wasn’t sure would be allowed through security at IAH.  I also picked up a few more cigars.

There was a bar next to the gate, so I got a rum flight, three glasses of highly aged rum.  They were probably supposed to be half pours.  Instead, I wound up getting three full glasses of rum.  I was utterly and royally toasted by the time I got on the plane, and I practically passed out right away.  I got a chicken wrap and chips for eats.  When we landed at Houston, I cleared border control and then headed to security.  It turned out the bag would have been okay, except there was a small rip in it, and they wouldn’t let through with it.  I had to go to the United check-in gate, and they had these special liquor boxes that they sell you.  It was pricy but much less than the price of the rum.

Oh, did I mention that I received a call from Citibank as I landed?  They tried to run through some charges, but I told them I didn’t recognize the name of the vendor.  They said I could review it and call them back.  Anyway, these boxes were cushioned and specially designed to sell to people who wanted to check bottles of alcohol.  She spent some time packaging the box, and I handed her my debit card to pay.  It was declined.

I called the bank, which was quite a process, since they couldn’t reach a security specialist, and I wanted to get off the phone, as I had received a text message I wanted to answer.  The United agent told me they would waive the fee since I was a premier member and didn’t want me to have to bother with the whole phone process.  That was nice of them.  I immediately hung up with Citibank and responded to the text.

That was when everything started to go to hell.  It turned out that my friend had sent me some messages while I was en route, but I never got them.  She was very understanding and helped me test to see if my messages were up and working again, as we had some trouble exchanging messages even after I landed, but I soon got the feeling that I was testing her patience.  Add to that, I had sent two other people messages right before I took off, and I didn’t get responses from either of them.  If her messages didn’t come through, why would theirs?  But, was I going to message each of them asking if they responded?  If they did respond, they would tell me, but, if they hadn’t, it would really annoy them.  No one wants to get the “Did you get my text?” message if they got the message.

We were soon boarding, and I just wanted to go to sleep.  I just wanted to get home.  I couldn’t really sleep, but I noticed something unusual out of my eyes when I opened them.  The very hot (no other word works) woman who was sitting next to me had all sorts of weird emails on her screen, filled with words like “goddess,” “mistress,” and “dungeon.”  Reader, I soon learned she was some kind of BDSM mistress.  I am writing with a very small zoom now so that she can’t do what I have been doing to her (read my screen).  I had no idea what to think.

She had emails from clients and potential clients, and the way she was responding, it was so obviously fake.  I could tell how she agonized over each phrasing, trying to make it seem natural, when it wasn’t.  Her clients lived in places such as Phoenix, LA, SF, and NYC.  She even did sessions in Europe.  This was crazy.  Was I really seeing this?  Her price was outrageous.  People were lining up to pay it.  She had a full calendar schedule.  I kept reading things about people wanting to be locked in her basement in Arizona.  I was just so shocked.  She listed a website in her email signature.  I haven’t checked it out, but it’s mistresstangent.com.

Anyway, I eventually was able to stop reading her emails, for the most part, and I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish.  I will also close out this trip.  It’s been amazing, but I’m glad to be getting home, and I’ll be even gladder to get a bagel or something.  I’m starving.  Next stop: actually, I’m not entirely sure.  Probably Atlanta for the Ayn Rand Conference, if I can get the scholarship and the early departure on the Friday.  Otherwise, Vegas for my friend’s bachelor party.

Costa Rica - Day 2 - The Last Two

10/11/15, “The Last Two”

Altamira, Costa Rica (La Amistad International Park, Altamira Station)

There are 1516 World Heritage Sites in Central America.  Panama had 34, El Salvador 1, Guatemala 3, Honduras 2, Nicaragua 2, Belize 1, and Costa Rica 2.  The 1516^th WHS, the one where I am sitting right now, that is shared between Panama and Costa Rica.  I have now been to all 1516 of them.  Some have been easier than others.  The two I visted today, the last two were among the most challenging.  It was no easy feat to locate either of them, though, miraculously, after I finished my extensive research, they turned out to be exactly where I expected them to be, or close enough to follow the signs from my GPS destination.  Was this view worth the harrowing drive up the dirt road in the raid and the even more harrowing drive that will be awaiting me as I drive back down the mountain.

Perhaps not.  Saying that I’ve been to every WHS in Central America is absolutely worth it, assuming I get back to my hotel with me and the car each in one piece.  I am not looking forward to that drive, but it looks like I should be able to get back on the highway by dark.  As soon as I take my ceremonial picture at the National Assembly tomorrow morning, I’ll be able to say “Central America Complete,” have a celebratory cigar, and fly home.

Breakfast was even more disappointing than yesterday, and I was in rush to prolong the process, wanting to get as early of a start as possible.  I stopped for gas along before I left the city and lit up a Padron.  The GPS said the coastal route was faster, but I had my doubts.  Wouldn’t it be filled with people going to the beach on Sunday morning?

It was.  I really had no idea where I was going.  All I had were the latitude and longitude that were listed on the inscription page.  I entered that into Google Maps, and it said there was something a hundred meters or so away called the Finca 6 Museum Site.  That sounded promising.  My GPS didn’t recognize it, but I was able to point to the location on the map.  It did find the Finca 6 School, which was nearby.

I stopped for some snacks for the car on the way, and I listened to the radio because my phone was going through some updates.  It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to run the updates while I was travelling, in case anything went wrong.  No phone, no ceremonial pictures, no status updates, no checks-in.  It all worked out in the end, and I lit up a Joya de Nicaragua after my snack.  It was a little before noon by the time I got to the destination my GPS had for me.  There was a soccer field there.  Hmm.

I had two options.  I could ask someone in Spanish, “Dondé está el museo?” or I could try Google Maps.  I went with Google Maps.  It said it was a little further down the road.  I continued down the road, my hopes not exactly up.  I had a feeling I was going to be taking a ceremonial picture in some field and saying, “Pre-Columbian Humans built stuff here 1000 years ago.  Now it’s a school.”  Then I saw it.  The entrance gate with the WHS logo.  I almost cried.  I lit up a Romeo y Julieta and took some ceremonial pictures at the gate.

There was a small museum, which was worthless, but they had an actual archaeological site with the famous stone spheres.  I walked around with the rest of my cigar and took lots of pictures.  These spheres were a millennium, old, and they were only recently unearthed.  The site was only inscribed in 2014.  One area reminded me of the stone trolls from “Frozen.”  I texted my friend to that effect, and she concurred.  I then went back to the car.

I was looking for something called “Estación Altamira,” which served as park headquarters.  Even if I couldn’t set foot in the protected area, going to park headquarters and finding a good view would suffice.  It’s what I did in Panama with my first Central American WHS, so it would be fitting to do the last one in such a manner.  I had no idea how to find it.  I put in one possibility into my phone, another into my GPS.  Either way, I’d be doing quite a few klicks on unpaved roads, nothing new, but not my favorite thing to do, either, especially in the rain (Cf. “Alaska – To Hell and Back” entry dated 7/14/15).  The rain seems to have let up now, so that’s good.

I stopped at a tent by the soccer game for lunch (grilled meat on a stick), which was good, cheap, and quick.  It then started to pour.  As soon as I got back on the highway, I saw signs for La Amistad International Park and Altamira Station.  Actually, it was pretty easy to follow the signs all the way, only stopping a few times to confirm the direction.  I lit up a Partagas while I was on the highway, and I ditched it when I got on the dirt road.  Before long, I was at Altamira station.  As I drove, I tried to remember a worse road I had driven on?  The road to the biosphere in Honduras?  The awful road in Bosnia?  This might have won the prize, the rain making it worse, but I was in an SUV this time, so that helped.

Altamira Station was clearly what it was meant to be, and there was an entrance to the park, but I was not about to walk two klicks to the park proper.  There were great views here, and the ranger said I was in the park.  That was good enough for me.  I lit up a Punch and walked around a bit on the trail, taking some ceremonial pictures.  I said the words that I had been waiting to say: “15 down, 0 to go.”  I then went back to the car and got my laptop.  I sat down at the viewpoint, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can try to get back to the hotel at a reasonable hour.

San Jose, Costa Rica

Reader, see that building in the picture here?  The same building I have shown each of the past three nights now?  It seems such an insignificant building, so why I have paid homage to it, writing my entry from this very same seat, staring at each night, while carefully avoiding to take any selfies with it?  Well, reader, it is the last piece of the puzzle.  The Costa Rican National Legilsative Assembly.  It is all that stands between me and saying, “Central America Complete.”  After my breakfast, I will walk back to this spot, take my ceremonial picture in the daylight, make my little announcement, and light up my celebratory cigar before I come back to this seat and write the beginning of the final entry of this trip.

Yes, I have switched to the earlier flight, so I expect to be back at my apartment by 1 AM tomorrow night.  So, what has happened since I last wrote?  Not much actually, other than one of the scariest drives of my life, top five for sure, and a great dinner.  Before I recall those, a minor point of order.  There are actually 16 WHSs in Central America, not 15.  I had forgotten that Panama City itself was a WHS, the only proper city WHS in Central America, in fact.   No matter, I’ve still been to all 16 of them.

After I closed, I went to the car, first asking the ranger if he thought it was safe to drive on the wet road.  He assured me it was.  That was not even close to the hardest part of the drive.  It was bumpy and steep, but I never once felt scared or unsure of my survival.  The same cannot be said of my drive along the mountain pass of the Pan-American Highway.  I stopped once I got back on the paved road to situate myself and make preparations for the five-hour or so drive back to the hotel, which I planned to do as a straight shot.  I had plenty of gas according to the fuel gauge, and I had smokes and snacks galore in the car.  I lit up a Camacho and put on Fearless.  Five hours as a straight shot was nothing for me.  Or, I suppose I should say, it would be if the road was anywhere close to decent.

The road was not.  The rain was on and off, but there was no real problem until dark.  My GPS was giving me a ridiculous calculation, saying that I should be averaging 40-50 km/h (25-30 mph) for the drive.  That couldn’t be right.  This was supposed to be a great road.  How could it possibly be 40-50 km/h?  Either there was traffic it was calculating, or something was seriously wrong.  It was not long before I discovered the issue.  I came to the mountain pass.  I lit up my Avo and switched to Les Mis.  It was dark and raining.  It had hairpin curves.  There were no lamps.  Reader, do you see where I’m going with this?

All the sudden, 40 km/h made sense.  Even 40 km/h seemed kind of dangerous for parts of the drive.  Then I hit the fog.  That made things even more challenging.  Then the reflectors disappeared from the road, along with the lane lines.  It was next to impossible to see the black road in the dark and the rain.  The only saving grace was that oncoming traffic clearly announced itself with the headlights, so there was less of a danger of hitting a car than just falling off the road or running into a cliff.  Either one would have ruined the trip.  I checked my gas, and it said I had about 50 km more of gas than I needed to get to the hotel, but it seemed to be depleting too rapidly.

I ran some calculations and monitored the gauge.  It was using up 2 klicks of gas for every klick that I drove.  By that math, I’d run out of gas about 3 klicks before I got back to civilization.  I was petrified.  This was not how I wanted to die.  I’d have much rather died in the place of someone I loved.  (Yay, Bella!)  What were my options?  I had none.  I just had to drive carefully, watch the road best I could, and stop at the first gas station I saw.  Then it occurred to me.  Something was seriously off.

I was driving downhill, getting most of my kinetic energy from gravity, not combustion.  Why the fuck was it using so much gas?  Was it possible that the fuel gauge was miscalculating from being sloped downward?  I thought modern cars had overcome that flaw.  Well, as soon as I leveled out, the gauge started using less than a klick for every klick I travelled.  I probably could have made it back to the hotel, but I didn’t want to chance it.  Shortly after I left the mountain pass, I found a gas station.  I gassed up, it being full service, I was still in the car the whole time.

It was 9 PM by the time I got to the hotel, which was great, since I had figured I would get back to the hotel sometime between 10 PM and midnight.  I asked about the parking lot, since my usual parking spot was taken and about dinner.  He told me where the parking lot was (a block away) and recommended an Argentinian steakhouse, which was ranked at #5 of Tripadvisor and just another block from the parking lot.

The meal was excellent.  I got a beer, chorizo, an empanada, churrasco, flan, and coffee.  I don’t think I could have picked out a more Argentine meal if Eva Peron herself had sat down next to me and ordered for me.  After dinner, I headed back to my usual spot, where I lit up my Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get to sleep.  I can actually sleep in a little if I want tomorrow.  I just need to be on the road by 9 AM, and I only have one thing to do before then.  My ceremonial picture with this building and the celebratory cigar to follow.

Costa Rica - Day 1 - The Pan-American Highway

10/10/15, “The Pan-American Highway”

Guanacaste, Costa Rica (Guanacaste Conservation Area, Santa Rosa Sector)

There is a road that runs from Mexico to Panama and connects +all the major cities in between.  I have been on that road in many countries, and it is, theoretically, the best road in Central America.  It is the equivalent of Route 66 or US-1.  It is an awful road.  My first day in Panama two years ago, I drove along the road as far to the south end as it goes.  It was filled with potholes, traffic, and aggressive drivers.  The Costa Rican section was marginally better maintained, but the driving was even more challenging due to the drivers and traffic and construction.  Reader, if you have never driven outside of US, Canada, and Western Europe, don’t even think about getting on that road.  Just don’t.  That has been the bulk of my day.

It is now 2 PM local time.  I woke up at 6:30 AM, and all I have done is drive and eat and sit at this viewpoint.  I published last night, half asleep, and I got an early start after a disappointing breakfast.  It was a harrowing day.  This view makes it all worthwhile.  Traffic was horrendous for, well, the entire 200 klicks between San Jose and Liberia.  The driving way too aggressive.  I couldn’t believe it.  Even last night didn’t leave me prepared.  I lit up my Davidoff Escurio and played Red, as I always do for the first big drive of the trip.

After about four hours and also a My Father cigar, I was in Liberia, so I stopped for lunch.  I got nachos, a beer, and a plate of chicharonnes.  It was quite tasty.  The price was right.  After lunch, I headed towards the National Park, choosing as my destination the original historic center.  I chose right.  I had lit up a Montecristo Open Eagle and, before long, I was at the VC.

There was a great viewpoint on top of a hill, so I went up there.  After I took my ceremonial pictures, I sat down on the ground, where I lit up a Partagas and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can try to get back to San Jose before the gift shops close.  If I can get my souvenirs, and tomorrow goes well, I will try to switch to a flight home on a Monday so that I can get to the office by 9 AM on Tuesday, which I know will make management very happy.  There we have it, seven hours of travel in just a few short paragraphs, and the tour guide said this was impossible.  Rookies.

San Jose, Costa Rica

Well, I have to say, the seven or so hours since I closed have been far more interesting than the seven or so hours that the original entry covered.  The drive back to the hotel was rather unadventurous, much the same as the drive there.  Actually, it was exactly the same, literally, the same route, as I did not leave the highway at all from San Jose to the Park entrance.  I just retraced the route back to the hotel, the only difference being the loop caused by the one-way streets surrounding my hotel.  With all the traffic, I quickly realized that a 6 PM arrival at the hotel would be impossible, but it seemed likely some shops would be open until 7 PM.  It soon became a Munich run to get there by 7 PM.  However, the autobahn is much better for fast driving than the Pan-American Highway.

While it is perfectly safe to drive to 250 km/h (150 mph) along the autobahn, anything over 120 km/h is life-threatening on the Pan-American Highway, and even 80 km/h was pushing it for large swaths of the highway.  I probably averaged 60-70 km/h (40 mph), and I wasn’t going to risk my life for a flag pin.  I stopped for a milkshake along the road, which was quite good.  I really wanted to light up my OpusX afterwards, but I was saving it for after dinner, so I opted for a VSG.  It was just too strong of a cigar to have after the milkshake cleansed my palette.

It was like 6:45 PM when I got to the hotel, and I raced in to ask where the best souvenir shops were, if he knew anything that might still be opened.  He told me the national theatre should have some shops open out front.  My phone gave me two pieces of information.  It was a 9-minute walk.  It was 6:51 PM.  You can’t make this shit up.  I got there right at 7 PM, and I found the plaza with all sorts of shops, and another was closing every minute.  I could go left (away from the hotel) or right (back towards the hotel).  I went right.  I didn’t see any souvenir shops, none that were open at least.  I asked a guy at the Nike store if he knew where there were souvenir shops.

He told me to check the plaza in front by the National Assembly (a block from my hotel).  No, that couldn’t be right.  I didn’t see any souvenir shops there last night.  Were there like little stands maybe?  Stands that would have been gone at night?  I trusted him and made my way back that direction.  On the way, I saw a little mall that was closing.  There were two souvenir shops inside that were about to close.  The guard let me in.  No dice.  They didn’t have what I needed.  Reader, I have been to every capital city in Central America and many in the West Indies.  With two exceptions (Tegucigalpa, Honduras and Kingstown, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines), each one has had a souvenir market.  It’s just been a matter of knowing where to find it.

I asked a transit worker if he knew where the souvenir market was by the plaza.  It was half a block away, and he walked me to it.  There it was: Mercado Nacional de Artesanías (The National Artisan’s Market).  Half the shops were closed, but more than enough were still opened.  The first shop had the flag pin.  I got everything else I needed: keychains, a t-shirt, an ashtray, coffee, coffee mugs, and another flag pin.  I was set.  If I get my two WHSs tomorrow, I can be on that 12:30 PM flight to Houston on Monday and be at work Tuesday morning.

After I got my souvenirs, I was in the mood for Chinese food, so I headed back to the sign I had seen for “Barrio Chino” (Chinatown).  Apparently, it’s the only Chinatown in Central America.  I only saw one Chinese restaurant, which looked awful.  I pulled up Google Maps and typed in “Chinese Restaurants.”  There was a highly reviewed one called Tin Jo a four-minute walk away, so I went there.  I tried my usual routine that I always do at the restaurant on 28^th Street.  I asked for a Diet Coke and an egg roll and went to take my Official U.  When I do that at Chef 28, it’s always there by the time I get back to the table.  They know me there.  They love me.  I’m the mayor.  No, literally, I’m the mayor of the restaurant on Swarm.  I check in there more than anyone else does.

I had no such luck.  They said they needed to bring the waiter.  I asked the lady who poured the water, which kind of ruined things, as the Diet Coke loses its appeal after a glass of water.  She called for the waitress.  She had no idea what an egg roll was and pointed me to the sushi rolls.  I asked if this was a Chinese restaurant, only half joking.  No, she said it was more pan-Asian.  Fuck.  They only had some token Chinese dishes.  There was a real Chinese restaurant called Don Wang down the door.  I apologized for the confusion and walked out.

When I walked into Don Wang, he knew what I meant.  He also brought some fried noodles.  I asked for duck sauce.  He had no idea what that was.  I asked for sweet and sour sauce.  He brought out something that tasted like barbeque sauce.  He insisted it was sweet and sour sauce.  There went my plans to have sweet and sour chicken or pork.  The egg roll (two of them, actually) was delicious, and I was devouring the Diet Coke.  I asked for his recommendation.

He chose a noodle dish with beef and scallions.  Perfect.  When I checked in on Swarm, it told me that someone else was checked in on Swarm, too.  His name was J--- C--- V---.  I looked at his profile.  Sure enough, he was sitting right across from me.  I had so much potential for mischief.  I could have walked up to his table and said something like “Are you J--- C---?” or “Good to see you again Sr. V---.”  They were paying their check.  He walked right by me.  I was just going to go, “Adios, J--- C---.”  I looked at him.  He smiled at me in a very flirtatious manner.  I was caught off-guard and the words didn’t come.  He was gone a few seconds later.  Anyway, the meal was delicious, including the dessert (cheesecake).  I was so ready for that OpusX now.

I pulled the cigars out of my bag.  Wait, where was my baggie of the cigar bands?  No, no, no.  Could I have lost it?  In its place was the flag pin and two keychains in a baggie.  Oh, right, I had put those in the same pocket, but I had thought I put them in the bigger bag when I got the shirt.  Long story short, I put the cigar band baggie in there instead.  Rookie mistake.  Okay, now time to light the cigar.  Wait, where was my lighter?  It wasn’t in my pocket.  Hmm, maybe I left it in the car.  Well, it turned out, I was literally only a block away from the hotel, and I had to walk by it anyway to get back to the plaza by the National Assembly.  I checked the car.  No lighter.  Had it fallen out when I was taking out my cash at some point?  Oh, there it was, in the wrong pocket.  I lit up my OpusX and headed to the same plaza from last night with the same view in the same seat, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get to sleep, as I have a very ambitious day tomorrow.

However, if all goes right, I will be able to call my audible and take the earlier flight.  I will add one thing.  One might think that with all the travel I have done, I would be numb to culture shock.  One would be wrong.  I will cover this more thoroughly in the reflective entry, but Costa Rica is different than the other countries in Central America, very different.  Oh, and, reader, unless you have extensive experience driving in the Middle East, Central America, and/or Eastern Europe (I have driven in all three) and a basic ability to speak and understand Spanish, please don’t drive here.  Nothing else can prepare you for it.

Costa Rica - Day 0 - Unprepared

“Costa Rica”

10/9/15, “Unprepared”

Aboard UA 1082, En route EWR-SJO

There are exactly 10 countries in continental North America.  When I next write, I will have visited all 10 of them.  US, Mexico, and Canada I had visited by the time I was a teenager.  Panama was my first foray into Central America, two years ago this very weekend, a last minute decision, everything planned within a week.  I had been planning to save a Panama/Costa Rica trip for a weeklong trip during Passover.  Instead, I split it.  I did Panama two years ago, and now I’m doing Costa Rica.

During those two years, I managed to visit the other five countries in Central America (El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, and Belize), seeing every World Heritage Site they had to offer, along with every national congress, and collecting my flag pins.  If all went well, I would have said, “Costa Rica Complete.  Central America Complete,” by lunchtime on Monday.  All did not go well.  I am so unprepared.  This trip to Costa Rica I have had on the books for a year, I think, and, yet, I was better prepared for the Panama trip I planned within a week.

Why?  Well, it’s simple.  I have become complacent.  I was pretty new at the whole solo travel thing two years ago.  Sure, I had done a few big trips, but I still carefully planned out each detail of every trip.  Now, I’m so used to it that, more often than not, I just wing it.  I don’t confirm tour guides or reservations.  I don’t plan detailed routes or minute-by-minute itineraries.  I’m good enough at it that usually everything works out.  However, every once in a while, everything falls through.  I am experienced enough, though, to know how to adapt, and that’s I’ve had to do today, adapt.

Before I get on with the details of what happened, I want to remark on an interesting similarity between now and October 2013.  The whole reason I went to Panama was because the Government shutdown caused me to cancel my National Parks trip, because the House refused to pass a stopgap funding measure.  Now, Speaker Boehner is losing his job in no small part for passing one of those stopgap funding measures.  After the government reopened, who put together the new budget?  Paul Ryan, among others.  Now, with the Republican Party on the verge of collapse, Mr. Ryan appears to be their last, best hope for unity.  No one was prepared for any of this, least of all Paul Ryan, and there are very similar parallels to the urgency to nominate Vice President Biden for president with the impending collapse of Hillary Clinton.

Okay, so I had the flight, the tour guide, and hotel all booked.  That should have been enough.  It would have been.  I had been unsure if I would be able to leave work early today and get to work late on Tuesday, so I had booked the tour guide for just Sunday and Monday.  Wait, no, that’s not right.  Whatever it was, I booked the tour guide for Sunday and Monday, and they appeared to confirm.  I emailed her today to ask if I could change it to Saturday and Sunday.  Right, because I had originally planned to fly out Saturday morning, and now I was flying out Friday afternoon instead.  Anyway, I got a response that I had never acknowledged the confirmation, and they were now overbooked and didn’t have any availability.  Fuck!

They suggested I ask my hotel to arrange a tour guide.  The wheels in my head were spinning.  These were not exactly well known tourist spots, nor were they in any way close to the capital of San Jose.  What I’m saying is that it wasn’t anywhere as simple as hailing a taxi and having the taxi driver take me around.  I needed a knowledgeable guide with a solid commitment.  I got in touch with the travel agency, but she said it was impossible.  I hate that word.  I am not hiring your agency for trip planning advice.  I am hiring you to provide me with a car and driver to guide me.  I am well aware of the times.  My question is, is the driver willing to put in the hours and the miles.  Fernando would have done it.  Enrique would have done it.  After a lot of back and forth and numerous phone calls, I got my answer.  The driver was not willing.  I was not about to chance it with a taxi.

She suggested we drive to the first WHS on Day 1, overnight in Liberia, drive back to San Jose Day 2, and see the other WHS Day 3.  I literally booked the hotel in Liberia as we were boarding the plane.  The, price, however, was outrageous, as in it would constitute 50% of all trip-related expenses, more than air, lodging, and food combined.  I didn’t see any other option.  There was one other small problem.  I actually wanted to see two WHSs on Day 3, and I thought the other one was en route, but the driver might push back, and then I’d be fucked.  The more I thought about all this, the worse of an idea it all seemed.  There was one other option.

I went to Hertz’s website and reserved a car, a big SUV.  The price, less than a quarter of what I would have had to pay the guide.  I called the tour guide and cancelled.  In the end, I came full circle.  My first trip to Central America I went at it alone, and I haven’t done so since then.  Now, with my last trip to Central America (if everything goes well), I am going at it alone once more.  Alright, so what about Day 0?

It has become an almost unofficial tradition for me to wake up hungover on Day 0, rush to get packed, and suffer through a busy day at work.  Perhaps it is a sign of maturity at 28 that that was not the case for this trip.  However, my lack of preparations did apply to this regard.  Typically, Day -1 is beyond the scope of the Travelogue, but it speaks to the point.  I had not packed or anything by yesterday, hadn’t even done laundry, didn’t have any clean socks.

After work, I went to drop off my laundry at 8 PM, asking if they could have it ready before they closed at 11 PM.  My movie would be over by 10:45 PM or so, and I could pick up the laundry on my way home.  No, they were too busy, so they couldn’t have it ready until 9 AM the next day (today).  Crap.  I wanted to get to work early, so that was no good.  They agreed to 8 AM.  I figured that I could work remotely in the morning, get my clothes, pack my socks, shower, get dressed, and be at work by 8:30 AM.  I figured wrong.

Back to Thursday night, I went out for Chinese, but my sesame beef was too spicy, so I didn’t enjoy it.  I would have sent it back, but I didn’t have time for them to make a new dish if I was going to get to my 8:40 PM movie on time.  The movie (Pan) sucked, too, really bit the big one, which was a real shame, since I had been really looking forward to it and had high hopes for it.  I woke up at 7:30 AM, lit up a Jericho Hill, and worked remotely for an hour.  In the end, I got to work at 9:08 AM, a minute late.  Fuck.

I had a busy and highly productive day at work, especially since I had gotten the most tedious part of the day out of the way before I even got in.  I left a little before 1 PM, got my usual pre-departure lunch from Hop Won.  I then went to Duane Reade to pick up some Nexium, as I was down to one pill and did not like my chances of finding any in Costa Rica.  I went to the cigar shop, where I picked up the cigar I had dropped off in the morning, got my hand shakes, relit the cigar, and headed to Citibank to get some cash for the trip.

I found a taxi with some difficulty, but I got to the airport with plenty of time.  I checked in, went through security, and had lots of time at the gate to figure out the tour guide situation and get caught on the news.  I soon boarding the plane, and I had the entire three-seater to myself, in an exit row (better than first class) where I proceeded to write this entry once we reached cruising altitude.  I got a snack box, a Diet Coke, and, to my delight to see onboard, a Buffalo Tracve bourbon, one of my favorites.  On that note, I will close so that I can finish my bourbon and figure out how to spend the next three hours until we land.

San Jose, Costa Rica

There’s no Ottawa, Canada entry in this Travelogue, since I started the Travelogue after my big Canada trip, but the rest of them are there.  “Mexico City, Federal District, Mexico,” “Panama City, Panama,” “Washington, District of Columbia,” “Guatemala City, Guatemala,” “Tegucigalpan, Honduras,” “Managua, Nicaragua,” “San Salvador, El Salvador,” “Belmopan, Belize,” and, now, here it is, the last one, “San Jose, Costa Rica.”  Ten countries in continental North America, and now I’ve visited them all.

It’s not been easy, and it’s not even close to over.  I have numerous challenging trips left in Canada, U.S., and Mexico, and “Costa Rica Complete” is still three days away.  This is but Day 0 of what promises to be an intense trip.  Sitting here in front of the National Assembly, I finally feel prepared for the next three days.  It was slightly after 7 PM local time when I got off the plane at SJO.  The hotel was less than 20 klicks away.  I did not get to the hotel until 9 PM.  The line for immigration moved way too slowly.

After I cleared it, I picked up some cigars at duty-free.  She told me the price, I picked up nine cigars and handed her what I thought was exact change.  She handed me some change.  Wait, what?  Was my math off or my Spanish.  I got As in both subjects in high school.  Surely I could not have forgotten the difference between once and ocho, could I have?  I could have misheard, I suppose.  Either way, I was glad to have the cigars at a much lower price than I thought.  I cleared customs and went to the Hertz counter, but he told me that they do everything at the main office.  It seemed that his only purpose was to direct people to the van that took customers to the main office.  With the Immigration booths so understaffed, I found it quite ironic.  That was when the fun began.

Reader, I had a splitting headache and was starving at this point.  I just wanted that first Official meal in Costa Rica.  The van took me on some back roads, and the driver asked me where I was going.  I told him San Jose.  He said that it was usually 25 minutes.  He pointed to the traffic and said it would probably be an hour and a half.  I couldn’t tell if he was joking.  When we got to the office, the clerk told me the most ridiculous thing.  He said that because my CC didn’t have raised numbers to create an imprint, he couldn’t create a voucher, and I would have to purchase the collision damage waiver, even though my CC would have covered me otherwise.  The price he quoted me, with a large deductible, was over double the original quote.  Between the GPS, the CDW, and the third party liability, those items alone were more expensive the rental and taxes.  It was still cheaper than the guide, but only marginally so now.

Still, I figured I’d be better off going this one alone.  I got everything situated in the car and got on the road.  Reader, I had driven in four countries in Central America.  I was unprepared for the driving here.  Outside of India and Israel, I have never witnessed such aggressive driving, and this might even be the worse.  Not only aggressive, but unsafe and obnoxious.  This is not a country where you can focus on the radio or the controls.  You have to be 100% focused on the road 100% of the time.  People cut in front of you, cars back out of driveways without yielding, so much bad driving.  It was quite a harrowing experience to make it to the hotel.

I had lit up one of the Partagas cigars I picked up at duty-free once I got on the road, and I was almost finished by the time I got to the hotel.  I took a ceremonial picture, literally fighting back tears as I recognized that I had now been in all ten countries on the North American continental mainland.  I ditched the cigar and checked in.  The restaurant had a local dish and was still open, so that would be my plan.  The clerk told me they didn’t have any rooms with views available, but he could switch me to a room with a balcony Sunday night.  That would be good.  He wasn’t kidding when he said my room didn’t have a view.  There was a small, frosted window, and I couldn’t imagine it was overlooking anything interesting.  It didn’t matter, though, as I couldn’t see through it.

I changed and headed down to the restaurant.  I got guacamole and chips, a local beer, their local specialty with beef, and a crème brulee.  The main dish was very disappointing, as it was a tiny portion of beef, like really tiny, a small amount of plantain, and lots of rice, beans, and salad.  When it came out, I announced, “57,” signifying this was now my 57^th country.  I then said, “Well, that’s all ten of them, and it’s been a hell of a journey,” referring to the numerous journeys I have undertaken to see all ten countries on the continental mainland.

After dinner, I lit up an Opus X and walked the two blocks to the main plaza in front of the National Assembly, where I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can finish my cigar in this happening plaza before I got back to the hotel and get to sleep.  Oh, right, my hotel room doesn’t have AC, but it’s close to the National Assembly, so that’s what matters, I guess, and it was cheap, real cheap.