This whole border run business is kinda silly, but necessary; I guess. I am only allowed to be in the country for three months at a time without a work visa. Not 100% sure why I don't have one of those. I'm not officially working though. I am a tourist. I don't earn money. Not really. Not according to any government agency.
This time, because I was further north in Costa Rica, I wanted to go to Nicaragua. Besides, I have been in this part of the continent for nine months and really have not seen very much else. However, because of prior commitments, I only had so much time. Ideally, I would have liked to spend the night and take it all in. That's the thing about making too many plans; there is not much room for spontaneous movement. However, even that can have value; boundaries.
I had just spent the last month on a ranch in the area of Lake Arenal and was going back to the beach for my final days in Costa Rica. There was a big surf contest that I wanted not only to see, but to work around. This would be my opportunity to make a little cash to take home with me. I needed to be there. I also wanted to say a proper goodbye to the friends and family I had made and would be leaving behind as I made my way back to the states. Regardless, I had three days to make my journey and get back “home” to Esterillos Este.
I was looking at many hours on several busses for the full trip planned. I would be leaving the ranch by taxi and arriving in La Fortuna. From there, it would take two busses and about 3-4 hours to get me to Los Chiles, a border town where I had made a friend who offered me a place for the night. As the time grew near, however, I was offered a ride by a lady who was going all the way to the town of my bus exchange. That alone would cut my trip by at least an hour. Cool. This lady was a friend of a friend and did not speak much English. I could feel myself being led gently into a world where that would be the case. It was like baby steps to my independence.
I was grateful to have a friend to stay the night with once I arrived in Los Chiles. He was living with his father who welcomed me with open arms. Their motto is, my house is your house, and they mean it. I was intrigued to discover photos of Hugo Chavez and….. revolutionaries?….. I wish I would have had more time to spend and chat. I would have loved to hear their perspective on the situation and the influence it had on them. But alas it was not to be. Probably for the better because the language barrier makes it so difficult sometimes. Much would have been lost in the translation. Regardless, this piece of history was a welcomed sight.
The next day was going to be a long one, but I was up for it. I would have to make my way into Nicaragua and be out in time to catch a bus to San Jose, a five or six hour journey in itself. If I made it to the city in time, I would continue on a three hour ride back to the beach. If not I would spend a night in San Jose and leave early the next morning. All of it was timing, and involved letting go of any particular desired outcome. So I set out to see how it would all go down.
I was introduced to a guy, again, a friend of my friend, who was going to take me to the border, a short distance. He did not speak any English, but could understand me, and gave me good practice for my Spanish. He offered to accompany me into San Carlos, a town about a 30 minute taxi ride inside Nicaragua. Intellectually I knew that having someone with me who spoke the language and provided assistance and protection was a good idea. However, something inside me wanted to go alone. I chose to not let fear stop me, and to allow trust to guide me.
This new friend of mine stopped by another "guy" to exchange some money for me into Nicaraguan Córdobas. I was completely concerned about the exchange rate I was receiving, but I knew at least I would have what I needed. He told me once I crossed the border, to go to the taxis and look for a collective, shared, ride. He also recommended I not eat or drink anything not prepackaged, especially the water. Ok.
Though daunting because I was alone, I stamped out of Costa Rica easily enough. This time, I got the chance to walk across the border, unlike Panama, where I literally crossed the street. I was both exilerated and nervous. Am I really doing this? Holy Shit. I would have no cell service or wifi, no one to call for help. I barely spoke the language, but I knew I could communicate if need be. I mean, I’m only going in for a couple hours. However, I never ask, what could go wrong.
I’m not sure how many times I have shown my passport up to this point, but I made it to the Nicaragua entrance. I immediately recognize that I am the only gringa, as was expected. Here, standing in line, I got my first taste of the fear that I hoped to avoid. A man was standing off to the side "subtly" taking my photo with his flip phone, and then ended up in line a bit behind me. I immediately went into movie script imaginings. My photo goes out to some other man and before you know it, I’m kidnapped and yada yada yada. Ok, what do I do? Trust. Not only myself, but the Universe, God. I knew I was safe. I truly had no doubts. But still...
I have been asked on occasion, if I had a super power, what would it be. I knew I was wonder woman at heart and thought about her wrist cuffs for deflection. However, that never quite did it for me. In recent months, I have actually discovered my own power. You're welcome to try it :) I honestly discovered it in my need to clear the energetic space around me from the darkness. (I have used it for bugs too, true story.) I imagine this white light on the inside of me that I have come to know. I take an inhale an allow it to brighten. After a couple of breaths I exhale forcefully and see the way clear, as if this light were pushing back on everything that threatens me, even my thoughts.
I tried this quietly while in line, just in case. How about less than a minute later, the female guard who was ushering the lines walked by and asked me and two other people if we had passports. Yes, I do. Go with her. To the front of the line. Away from said man. Wow. Great! We walk into air conditioning. What? That’s so lovely, and rare. Standing behind me now was one of the men pulled to the front of line with me. He spoke English to me! Sweet. He gave me some tips to help me get through and basically watched out for me. I knew this was all ordained. Turned out that he was needing the same taxi as me. Of course there was trepidation about the convenience of this, but I chose not to let that color my emotions. We rode for about 20 minutes, along with six other passengers, talking and sharing, both in somewhat broken languages. I asked him about my money exchange, nervous, yet prepared for the answer. I actually received an almost exact exchange. I don't think that guy even made money off me! Wow. The support that I am feeling is unreal. I ask myself, Who are these people that have been put into my life these past days?
My traveling partner would be exiting soon, heading in a different direction. He invited me to his town where there was a celebration, a festival of some kind. I could see how that experience would have been amazing, but I had somewhere else to be. Besides, would there be hotels? Would they be clean? I didn’t have money for that with me anyway. And that whole can’t eat or drink anything; not trying to get sick here. I recognized the value of the boundary that I mentioned earlier, keeping me safe and moving forward. He departed, and I carried on to my destination.
I arrived in San Carlos as planned, exited my safe place, the taxi, and walked around. I had been the only white-skinned person for the last two days. I drew some attention here especially. It was a little strange; but I was not afraid, or at least, I kept the fear at bay.
Since I had been warned against the food and drink, having a local lunch was out of the question. To my surprise, however, I happened upon a Coca-Cola vending machine. I was thrilled! Though I rarely, if ever, drink sodas anymore, Coke was my beverage of choice in high school, and this vending machine had glass bottles, my favorite! Feeling revived with this sense of nostalgia, I set off for a little exploring. The town was similar to those I had been familiar with in Costa Rica: all outdoors shops and eateries, fruit stands. I walked along the street taking in the architecture. I came upon a body of water, maybe a lake, that was landscaped quite beautifully. Not wanting to stay longer than wisdom suggested, however, I turned back and headed for the taxi area. No way did I want to miss my ride home. I may be playing with fearlessness, but I'm not stupid. I found the collective taxi and headed back to the border.
Having completed that part of the journey, I felt better. I left Nicaragua with a sense of relief, and walked back towards my “home” country. There is always a chance coming back that immigration will make me stay longer. They have this rule about how long you have to leave the country. It used to be three days. The word is that may have changed, but no one I’ve spoken to knows. The border guards questioned my short time in Nicaragua, and in the end, gave me no trouble. I was stamped back into Costa Rica. Whew. Thank God.
It was later than expected when I returned. When I called my ride, he was unavailable and sent a friend. Another friend. Ha! I had so much trust in the path of new friends that had been presented that I didn't flinch for a second. I mean, the kid had braces. He also did not speak English, nor did he understand it. However, I was able to communicate that I needed to retrieve my suitcase, though I did not know exactly from where. He made a call and I was delighted to hear he knew right where to go. Small towns still have their value, and charm.
When we arrived I found no one to be home. That was not supposed to be the case. Shit. How do I get my suitcase? All of the windows were locked tight, and the doors too. The back patio had a chicken wire type fence around it with just enough space at the top for me to climb up and over. The back door was indeed locked. However, a phone call to the owner gave us permission to jimmy it open. (Is that how you say it?) My current driver went to his car and came back with a rather large knife. I was instructed on how to do the job, but I am not accustomed to this work. I needed his help. Though he was hoping to avoid the climb, he had no choice. He slid the knife through and worked the inside lock open. Woohoo! We were in. Thank you again sweet baby jesus. We retrieved my things and headed out.
I asked him to please drop me at the bus stop so that I could make my way to San Jose. Turns out he was going to San Jose at that moment and offered to take me along for $20. I thought, well that is random. What’s his angle? I almost said no. Then I thought about it. I was already running late for my bus. I would cut 3 hours off my trip and be provided with a front seat view of the country. Hell yeah. Why not? Absolutely.
The view was as spectacular as I hoped with winding streets and lots of green. With what little conversation I could maintain with my Spanish, I was able to understand that Micheal, my driver and new friend, was going into town to report to work. Along the way, he needed to make two stops to pick up his companions, also reporting for duty. I had no idea what was going on, but what could I do other than trust?
I see the first man standing on the side of the road wearing all black. We pulled over and he hopped in. A little ways further, the second guy. He was in full uniform, and it all became clear. They are policia! What a trip! It occurred to me that I had just broken into my friend’s house with the police. Ha! Life. I could not help but sit in a space of deep awe and wonder at how all of this had played out for me. I could not have made this up or created a more amazing journey. Graciously, they dropped me off behind a taxi in San Jose and directed the driver to take me to my next bus. I arrived in time to catch the final bus, and smiled all the way home to the beach.