I
knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Travel days during this journey rarely are,
and often test not only my soul, but also the will and desire to remain in
Costa Rica. Today was no exception. At 11:30 am, after waiting all morning for
the rain of this tormenta (storm) to let up, I resolved to packing everything
in my large suitcase, throwing my poncho over everything and hoofing it in
boots to the nearby bus stop. By 11:45 am I was already soaking wet, but
thankfully my bag was dry.
I
arrived in Quepos and spent the next 45 minutes trying to buy the correct
ticket to Puriscal. Neither ticket lady knew which bus I was talking about -
though two friends had made the same journey in the weeks before. After making
phone calls, buying a ticket that would take me well out of my way, and lots of
fretting, I was just about ready to give up hope, when a bus marked “Quepos,
San Jose Colectivo: Quepos X Puriscal” pulled up. I returned my way more
expensive ticket and was on my way!
But
the fun was just starting. The road between Quepos and Parrita was a disaster
from all the rain. From my window I could see cars stuck on the side of the
road, houses with ankle-deep water, and the grand prize of two stretches of
road that were completely submerged. As I would discover throughout the trip,
our chofer had a touch of bold and a dazzle of crazy, and plowed right through
areas that had cars backed up for miles. After Parrita we left the main highway
for a gravel road. Great. So many worst case scenarios filled my head as we
pressed on, and with good reason. This road up and down mountains had downed
trees that barely permitted our passage, a few landslides from above that made
narrow the path we could cross, deep ruts of mud, one of which we were stuck in
and had to reverse down the hill before trying again. Downed trees brought down
wires and for most of the ride my hands clenched the seat in front of me. Where
the road was wide enough, a truck came barreling in our direction and actually
scraped up against my side of the bus. Ugh!
The
driver knew I had to stop in Santa Rosa, and said he would let me know when we
arrived. When we passed a sign that said “ßMastatal,” I knew there was a problem. A woman and
child that boarded at the stop sat across the aisle from me and I asked if we
were close to Santa Rosa. Yup, we had passed it alright – so I hurried to the
front of the bus and asked the driver. The solution was to let me off at the
next stop with a promise that another bus would be coming in that direction to
pick me up. Yea, right. I hoofed it back up hill (of course it was up hill) to
the stop where another guy from my bus had gotten off and was waiting. Gracias
a dios for Tony – the Tico at the bus stop marked only by a covered bench. No
phone, no town nearby, nothing!
Tony
and I had a great conversation about soccer, the states, biology and his work
at a banana plantation in Parrita. When the bus was 45 minutes late we thought
about walking in the direction of Mastatal. Just then a man came down the road
with shovels in his hand saying that the road was closed and there would be no
busses. Oh no. So, Tony, myself and my 75 pound bag started walking. Gracias a
dios otra vez! A truck came up behind us and gave us a ride as far as their
house. Tony and I sat in the back with 8 crates of glass bottles as the rain
continued to beat in our faces and the afternoon light was starting to slip
into darkness. As we arrived at their house, another truck pulled up behind us
and again Tony managed to get us on board, this time the back full of concrete
and other building materials.
Our
luck ran out soon after that, when the taxi would not pass an area where the
road was almost completely gone – collapsed into the ravine below. We unloaded
our stuff and started on foot once again. To a Tico, it was not a long stretch
from here to Mastatal, but for me, in the dark with my 75 pound bag, wet,
tired, scared of snakes and other deadly creatures in the road… it wasn’t close
enough. I must have asked Tony 5 times if we were almost there and he kept
assuring me that we were. My glasses wet and foggy, I couldn’t see the road
ahead and in those moments, when Tony kept asking questions and engaging me in
conversation I was so thankful for his company. I let him know that without
him, it would be difficult to maintain faith in this journey. Although he had
another 20 minute walk after Mastatal, he was kind enough to let me stop and
give my back a rest from the heavy pack.
When
we came upon a streetlight, Tony said, “gracias a dios! Una luz. Mira, otro!!!”
Like my first night in Esperanza, this was the moment of immense inner joy. I
lugged my suitcase another 100 meters to a small soda where Tony knew the
owners, and they generously called the farm where I am staying. I bought myself
and Tony a soda, parched from the long day of traveling and the walk mostly up
hill, and waited patiently, relieved under a covered roof. After a short ride,
again uphill, which would have definitely broken my faith, we arrived at the
farm. My good friend Elizabeth was the first face I saw, along with 8 other
volunteers. I think I was just as relieved to talk to my mom tonight as she was
me. After a delicious traditional Costa Rican meal, complete with homemade
chili (a meal topper that will burn your mouth something fierce), I made my way
down here to the dormitory. In moments I will be fast asleep; happy under this
warm blanket…
