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 28th
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.
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