A large breakfast, pay the bill and hit the road. We walked a short ways, then quite a bit more. Where the hell are the taxis? Finally we caught one and I instructed him to go to Coca Cola, which is a bus station. I have no idea why it is called Coca Cola. Shit! I didn't even know there was another bus station. Of course if there were two, we were at the wrong one.
It was ten minutes after ten. The next bus wasn't until noon.
I sauntered off in pursuit of a SIM for my phone that would work in Costa Rica. Inside the bus station many food stands, all selling the exact same small selection of goods including some beautiful cake like bread, sold cards that could be used to obtain additional minutes but none sold SIMs. Many blocks from the terminal I located a pharmacy. Apparently the word in use in Costa Rica is "chip". I bought one and a paid for some time, which was registered on my phone by the seller making a phone call and registering it electronically.
No internet. I handed the phone to the guy. I had enabled packet data but I couldn't get a connection. He grabbed my phone and started typing and swiping maniacally. No button was pressed once, but tapped repeatedly as fast as he could tap. I had to offer my passport five times. He made seven phone calls. I had a confirmation message that my internet service purchase was successful. This idiot pulled up my text messages, pressed delete all, confirm before I could stop him. The phone was set to Spanish, the icons moved around, settings changed. The guy was a lunatic. Twenty minutes later I left, short seven thousand colones, still without communication and having suffered the loss of a good deal of information, geographic locations of interest, phone numbers of people and more. Nothing tragic, but completely senseless and annoying.
At noon we stood in line for for the bus. We arrived at the front and were told by the conductor that our tickets were for tomorrow. I looked at them for the first time. Sure enough 10:30 the next day. WTF? Our consternation was evident as we stepped out of line. Jesus! Not much time in Costa Rica and I sure as hell didn't want to spend it in San Jose.
A few minutes later he told us that we could sit in seats 52 and 53, the back of the bus. We made our way back and found that we had six seats all to ourselves, folded up the arm rests and snoozed the way toward Quepos.
A few hours later I awoke to miles of coconut plantations, tree trunks in straight lines, layed diagonally to the road. Then a small town with a twenty four hour restaurant a twentyfour hour internet cafe and little else, very strange. A short while later we arrived in Quepos and disembarked. With some effort we managed to get our bags, they were bound for the next stop, Manuel Antonio.
Enough getting ripped off on exchange rates, I went to the ATM to secure some Colones. I inserted my card and withdrew 250,000. (Actually that would be written as 250.000 as most countries use dots as a thousands separator). That was quick and easy. "Would you like another transaction?" No. I turned and left the booth. The next guy in line told me I had left my card in the machine. Oh, yeah, in Costa Rica, they retain your card until the transaction is done. No big deal, the bank was open and half an hour later I had my card back in hand. I think working very slowly is a requirement to work in a Central American bank.
We briefly explored Quepos, a compact town that was a strong contrast to Bocas del Toro. The buildings were concrete, freshely and gaily painted and fronted with large expanses of plate glass. Wide sidewalks were separated from the street by curbs. Their was neither trash nor large amounts of idle people peddling weed and coke. A couple of large grocery stores served the town of five thousand.
The buildings in Bocas have peeling paint over decomposing wood and steel or wooden shutters. The streets are strewn with trash when they are not overflowing with garbage being picked through by vultures. Sidewalks are narrow where present and crumble into the street. Eight out of ten buildings are either Chinese run grocery stores, hotels, restaurants, bars or water taxis stands.
Quepos did not appear to be the place to lodge and we took a taxi the six kilometers to Manuel Antonio. Four thousand Colones? The Costa Rica hustle requires no music. That turned out to be the standard, fixed, tourist fare, locals pay far less.
We spent little time picking out a spot and I rented a room in a hostel for two for five thousand colones per person, per night. That's $10 per person. We threw the bags in the room and went out to explore. By this time it was after 4:30 another day pissed away. A long winding stretch of well maintained asphalt ascended back to Quepos a few hundred meters from the shore. Lush ornamentals hugged the sidewalk, large palms spread out near the edge but never low enough to be a bother. Beside the road were beautiful hotels, one after the other as soon as one leaves the beach. A sign declared "Still more monkeys than people."
Perhaps a kilometer up the hill I spotted a place that interested me, we rang the bell and inspected the only room for rent, the rest of the quarters functioned as apartments. The balcony overlooked a sparkling swimming pool, palms, various hardwoods and the ocean bay. Time to move. We walked back down the hill to get our stuff and at a good meal at a Thai restaurant. Everybody spoke English, the menus, were soley in English. This is seriously a tourist town, but a very beautiful one. The three square mile park is the second most visited park in Costa Rica.
We grabbed a taxi up to our room, dropped off our stuff and proceeded up the hill. A World War II bomber served as a bar, a restaurant with a wooden box car on rails fronted with cool old stuff, a mechanical sugar cane press, a wooden fruit press, a cast iron pump, an old cash register and other miscellany. More exploring. A monkey on the overhead power line, then an opposum, then a sloth, a large tree frog posed, peeking between the fronds of a palm and our phones and cameras were in the room charging. We finally happened upon a fish and chips shop and I enjoyed some ceviche. We putzed around some more and returned to the deck.
Hmm. My notebook would no longer recognize my SD cards. My camera takes a special USB cable, not a micro, not a mini, yet another frigging specification. Ahh well, pictures will have to wait for a while.
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