Blogs :: back to borders

back to borders

So there I was in what is probably the dumpiest, sketchiest place I've stated in, yet (and perhaps ever). I went for the single bed as time again has proven bunk beds to be mostly noise. I switched in the middle of the night, proven wrong. Plus there weren't springs stuck in my back anymore. I was forced to pee on my tippy toes in socks for fear of the over zealous fungi. Three times that night.

The thought was to chug a few beers and pass out peacefully in the sty half pissed. Not so much. The guy renting the rooms was odd enough for me to not bother asking for sheets, hell I couldn't imagine them being any cleaner than the multi-stained pad for a mattress. I was leaving first thing in the morning anyway, no second thought. It was that kind of hostel. But how did I end up here?

The original plan was to head to the southern side Costa Rican-Panamanian border and end up in David, the second largest city in Panama, for the night. The original original plan was for Jason and I to take a bus straight out of the San Jose capitol to the Panama City capitol, but he switched up plans of his own at the last minute. I'm not actually sure where he went, gone before I woke up in the morning. One bus left at 7:30am and another at 11pm. Both 9 hours via the Pacific route into Panama. I liked the idea of 10:30am and went instead via the Carribbean coast. Lonely Planet said 5 hours and compared to the former 9, I liked my new plan. I arrived at 8pm. Damn math. Damn buses. No wait, damn borders.

That, borders, was another reason I selected to go east rather than west. The border is easier to cross so says Lonely Planet. I'm walking on wooden planks, split by a railroad, that shudder when a small car goes by, much less a semi. There was a pedestrian bridge though, it lasted for the first 50 meters. The book also mentions at every border crossing you "may", keyword "not really ever" be asked for proof of onward travel (out of the country). This I actually had, out of Panama City in less than 10 days, just not on me. Of course that didn't stop random border crossing guy who wants a tip to explain that I needed to buy a return boat ticket to Costa Rica. As I attempted to explain I had but didn't have a ticket to the immigration official, homeboy behind me is continuing to babble and I cannot concentrate, much less communicate. She says what he says. I say no. Where is the ticket? It's electronica. I need the ticket. Want to buy a boat ticket? Alright fine. Donde esta The Internet? Yes, even border towns have The Internet. Homeboy escorted me of course, whatever, fuck it, I'll have to tip him anyways for saying "Hi, I don't want your help." No really I'm fine. "Thanks for not listening and continuing to follow me." Friend. Amigo. High five. Shake shake. Slap slap.

One dollar, 75 cents printed me out a copy of my itinerary. I copied and pasted into Notepad. I could have typed it up myself, but then it might have looked too legitimate. Returning to the border, I bought my $5 tourist card and walked back next door to see my now friendly immigration official. The only problem leaving Costa Rica I had was a double take from immigration because I'd only been in the country for 2 days. He said nothing, just stamped.

Then the fun began. In the 6 hours before, I'd read the border closes early and my fear had been getting across before that happened. Now that I was over, I found out the last boat leaves at 6:30pm. The town of Chinganola was only a 10 minute cab ride away though, so no big deal. Until, I was informed the docks were closed due to heavy rains and the requirement to re-trench the river. I called bullshit at first, but another homeboy confirmed for me. Whatever, how much to Almirante? $35. Yeah right. I started at $10. I moved to $20. We were at a standstill. I could catch a bus, but the bus left in another 30 and took 45 and it was 5:30pm, leaving no time to catch the last boat. On top of that, I wasn't so stoked about getting on another two buses, chicken ones at that. Traveling alone however did not help my cause for bartering down the cost of the taxi. I had number to compare legitimate fares with, but it was for the closest town, not the second. By this point I had two homeboys not really helping. Number 2 kept checking cell phone and delaying to the last minute waiting for more people to come. They never did. We left for an agreed $21.

It wasn't even his cab. Dumbass me. Whatever, I was moving again. Unofficial tour guide who spoke English got out at the end of town and I continued onward. We negotiated traffic and came up to the turn for Almirante and the cabby pulled over. "We cannot make it in time. Too much traffic. Too many trucks." WTF? No, I told the other guy I was paying extra to guaranty I would make it. All in broken Spanish. My stay in Nicaragua had deroded my schooling in Guatemala. "Ok, ok. We try." He took off, we were stuck behind several large semi trucks. The switchbacks were worse than Hwy 6 over Loveland Pass, but the road scenic and relatively free of potholes. My window was rolled down, sucking in diesel exhaust fumes looking for when we might be able to pass. I was pointless.

Twenty minutes later I'd admitted to sleeping in someones boathouse when the cabby called another operator and assured me we would make it. Phew. I pulled my head inside and relaxed, still wishing there wasn't a giant truck or two in front. I have issues with that, but this was the only safe driver in Central America and refused to pass haphazardly. Arriving at 6:45pm, the 6:30 boat had left, but there was another. 9pm. What? Whatever, at least I was going to make it to the island and the taxi made his full fare. Then he sped into reverse and pulled over at another boathouse, 7pm launch. Sweet. I had a few extra Costa Rican Colons so I tipped him with that. Not any good to me anyways anymore. $10. Odd, there were no money changers at the border. A kid ran up and grabbed my only bag. Fifty cent tip and it didn't go but 25 steps.

I paid the $4 boat fee and got onboard. The sun gone. The realization hit. I'm hungry. Only 45 minutes to go, no problem. The bad thing about travel days and bus rides, you eat breakfast and cookies. Never a big solid meal. Who wants to take the chance of a sudden bowel disturbance? The solo meal consisting of a salami sandwich at 10am, followed by two mini-packs of Oreos and a Snickers hungry why wait had starved off the stomach as long as possible. The boat launched and made it 50 meters. Thud. Clunk. Die. It was a nice big motor, looked newish. Now it had a trap, cage, something stuck to its propeller. Thank someone for bringing cell phones to rural fishing villages in Panama, El Capitan dialed up for help. Another 30 minutes later, we were moving, out into the open waters of the Carribbean towards Bocas del Toro.

Apparently it's a rather busy little island destination. Jumping ship as soon as docked, I first wanted to drop my bags before eating. Hostel #1, no one home. Hostel #2, full. Hostel #3, dump. I'm hungry remember, long day, whatever. Asking how much I swear I was told four dollars and dropped by bag. The weird old man gave me a confused look when I only pulled out a 5 spot. It was $8. When I'd entered the hostel, by my own accord, homeboy number three for the day ran up behind me and translated what didn't need to be translated for me. He wanted a tip now. What the hell is up with these people? I argued for a second, "You didn't do anything..." before I realized I didn't want my stuff to get jacked while I searched for food. $0.75. And that's were this story started.

$1.25 sandwich, $2.75 cookies, $10 bus ride, $1.75 internet/printer, $5 tourist card, $3 homeboy #1 tip, $0.50 bano, $21 taxi, $10 leftover tip, $0.50 baggage tip, $4 boat ride, $8 room, $0.75 what for homeboy #3 tip. My math sucks. You add it up while I relax away on an island in the Carribean. Totally worth it, but borders (and travel days): suck!