Off to San Jose

Light! SHIT!  What time is it?  My phone had turned itself off in the night and had failed to wake me with an alarm.   I had put off packing until the last minute.  I woke and had a cup of coffee and was immediately prompted to evacuate the pound of granola I had consumed the previous evening.  The discharge was quick and effortless was sufficiently massive to block the the drain pipe from my bathroom toilet.  I grabbed a sufficiently long stick and prodded it, the end result being a quick discharge of the water from the bowl and sunlight greeting me from below.  My hasty and temporary repair of several years prior had failed.   I had no time to tend to this.

I stuffed clothes, toiletries and electronics into a backpack and had a few more cups of coffee with a neighbor who had shown up to give me a ride to town.  My boat was far better off at my house and water taxi drivers are not very reliable.  Besides, I had no desire to give notice that I was vacating.

While walking toward the company that was to take me to the mainland I ran into a wonderful couple I know who work for the Red Cross.  They too were bound for Changuinola.  I had to stop off and pay a fine, they were visiting the hospital.  We chatted for a bit and the conversation somehow turned to black people and their distribution in the various Central American countries. I mentioned that Livingston, Guatemala is the only place blacks live in Guatemala.  Truthfully and perhaps ingratiatingly as all the other passengers were black I mentioned that that was the place to go in the country for the best cooking.  The driver said that blacks always have the best cocaine and marijuana.  I told him what I had said and we all had a hearty laugh.

The stop at the immigration office was quick.  I paid my $150 fine for having overstayed three or four months and the woman was kind enough to take my passport and make three copies for me for thirty cents which was a significant improvement over searching out a pharmacy to make me some copies.

Onward to the border.  The immigration office had been moved a short ways and now the waiting area was covered, better to shelter those coming and going from rain and sun.   A new steel bridge had been constructed next to the dilapidated wooden bridge one must walk employ to walk over the muddy, crocodile filled river.  

The Costa Rica side had a long line and the officials were working particularly slowly.  Having fulfilled my requirements I headed down the hill to the bus stop.  I had missed the last direct bus to San Jose for many hours and caught one to Limon and transferred from there to San Jose.  Almost ten hours after leaving my house I was at the bus terminal in San Jose.  My phone, with the location and phone number for my destination was dead again.  I plugged it into my laptop to charge it while standing in a light drizzle.  A Colombian guy approached me and asked if I needed a taxi.  No help is necessary, taxis are everywhere at the bus stop.  He wiped my computer dry and I showed my phone to a taxi driver to make a phone call.  Once again the owner was not available and the maid had no idea where they were located.

In a broken down, $600 taxi cab, the engine repeatedly surging, I sat in the passenger seat, unable to see through the fogged over windshield or to roll down my window due to a missing window I handle we sat in traffic and discussed tastes in women.  He mentioned that women from the Dominican Republic were black and that they had no appeal to him, a pretty random statement.

Ten phone calls later, there are no addresses in Costa Rica we finally arrived.  Maria was standing out front and greeted me warmly.  Last time I was there she washed all my clothes for free and gave me her son's shirt. 

My son was asleep.  He had arrived earlier and was picked up by the dentist's driver and taken to the office. I woke him and he groggily gave me a hug.  The dentist had sliced open Karl's gums to reveal the titanium studs that had been implanted nearly two years prior. He was not looking his best.

Another couple, from Montreal, was staying there, the wife was being treated by the same dentist and sported a toothless grin.  Presently we had dinner and the husband dominated the airwaves.  What ensued could hardly be considered conversation.  We were unfortunate enough to learn about his moles, his treatment of same with garlic, his prostate, his worthless 42 year old son, his ex wife thankfully dying (why is it spelled with a "Y"?) of cancer, yadayayayada. STFU!