So I arrived to Colonia Libertad last week expecting, you might say, a hero's welcome. At least, I felt like a hero after my first flight was delayed for 4 hours and I didn't even yell at a single Continental employee. Needless to say I missed my flight into Liberia and I had to stay overnight in one of those hotel-airline ventures, a place where it was obvious to me that nobody of their own volition would ever stay there without having been directed to do so by an airline. The room was nice, though, and I got my first bath since November (ahhhh!) so really I didn't have anything to complain about. When I arrived in Liberia, I was waiting in line when I realized that the diary containing my passport had been left on the plane. So I moved to the back of the mob (you couldn't call it a line) and I had my first chance in years to show off my Spanish skills to a Costa Rican. I even managed to throw in words like "mae," "pura vida," and "tuanis." I was quite proud of myself. In spite of all the positive notes, however, the length of the journey from Seattle had already started to get to me by the time I reached Liberia (the city, not the airport) and I ended up giving into the Taxi driver who was desperate to take me all the way to Aguas Claras. After an argument with the Taxi driver over what we had agreed on (he wanted more) and another stopover and an hour-long bus ride to Colonia Libertad, I was exhausted and hungry.
Nobody seemed to know that I was coming. This was a surprise to me. They said something about a Peace Corps volunteer arriving and asked if I was him. I answered in the negative, but only after briefly considering if imitating a Peace Corps volunteer would get some of my loans forgiven. There was certainly no house waiting for me (which was, in my mind, a condition of performing my volunteer duties) and eventually a semi-retired anthropologist with some relationship to the area gave me a ride up to the farm, where I met Ana, who graciously offered me a cabin to stay for a few days.
Waking up to the Costa Rican mountains was amazing. There were horses munching away on grass, quite contentedly, and two little dogs that followed me to the school (for which I was later reprimanded). I spent the day at the school fixing computers (oh, joy) with sweat pouring down all sides of me. Lunch was the typical Costa Rican rice and beans, but there was pork, so I was less than enthusiastic but too hungry to complain. When I got back to the cabin area, I was exhausted. There was no dinner on my account, although Ana gave me a few containers of leftovers and told me to go ask the help for a microwave. I was planning to do this but I was interrupted by the offer of an ice-cold Pilsen from my neighbors, who became my newfound New Yorker friends, so I never really got around to dinner.
Alejandra, Iván, Tracy, Gabriela, and CheilaThe next day I gave my first English class to grade school students who were less than enthusiastic about the idea of learning English (I could have imagined better things to be doing with my time in first, second and third grade as well). I ate lunch with the students (pork again, this time with Spaghetti) and headed to pack my stuff to get out of there. I wasn't about to hang around for a Semana Santa (that's Easter Week for you gringos) with nothing to do. I had it all planned out: I was going to Heredia.
However, I was about to embark on the "best" adventure yet. As soon as I got to San José, I realized that I had left my debit card in with the things I left in Guanacaste (Colonia Libertad is in Guanacaste). I also realized that I had just slightly more than $10.00 left to my name. The cheapest hotel in Heredia is $28.00 and the trip back to Guanacaste would have been $7.00. Although the more logical choice seemed like heading back to Guanacaste, it was already nightfall and I had no place to spend the night. Whatsmore, I was stuck in the most crime-ridden city of Costa Rica with all of my favorite electronic devices in my backpack and no weapons to my name. So, I made the decision to head to Heredia, because I figured it was better to be broke in a small city than in a big one.
Remembering the geography of Heredia wasn't quite as easy as I had hoped it would be. It took me over an hour to find the Hotel Heredia, and by that time I was so exhausted that I could barely talk. After a long and torpid discussion with the hotel manager, we worked out that I could leave my $200.00 camera in hock for one night's stay. I had a fitful sleep and headed out in the morning to try to resolve my problem. I asked the people at Wal Mart (d.b.a. Más X Menos) if I could get money sent with the copy of my passport and they said "no." Also, the only other Western Union location in town appeared to be closed for Saturday (at least, they weren't following their online schedule). It seemed like I was in a catch-22: I had no way to get my money or my passport without my money and my passport. I started to get pretty scared. I envisioned an enraged hotel manager throwing me and all of my things out onto the street.
Then, I talked to my partner in Seattle. Suddenly, everything seemed a little brighter. I explained the situation and said partner assured me that everything would be in order by the time I found a place to receive the money. I walked back to the Western Union location which had, by some miracle, opened in the time that it took for me to make a phone call, and the cajero told me that sí, he would accept the copia of my passport as identification. Several phone calls and two hours later, I was an American again--and shamelessly so. I headed back to resolve my unpaid hotel bill. I'm planning a trip back to Guanacaste just as soon as I can figure out how to get out of here.
