My arrival in Costa Rica began with passing through customs. I had done my homework so the answer of 90 days when asked how long I was staying got my passport stamped without having to show the return ticket that I do not have. I withdrew some Colones, the local currency (500C = 1USD) and the next adventure was wading through the horde of cab drivers yelling at me in Spanish and locating the bus station and correct shuttle to San Jose. After a brief battle in Spanish with the driver who did not want to give me change for the large bills from the ATM I was on my way. An American woman who now lives here gave me some recommendations for my visit and found a young man who spoke english to help me get to my next stop, the Coca Cola bus station in the city. Unfortunately, this guy must not have liked americans or tourists much. After a long rant about american tourists fueling the drug market here, warnings about violence against tourists, and a scolding about being a white girl on my own in town, he proceeded to send me on my way to a local hostel since I had already missed the last bus to the coast by then. 15 minutes of walking later I realized that I had fallen victim to something tourists are warned about here: Ticos (locals) with very bad directions.
A little background on the area of San Jose I ended up in. The streets are narrow and packed with old model cars and motorcycles with no emission controls. The air is acrid with exhaust and pedestrians do not have anything resembling right-of-way. Alongside the road, which has no traffic pattern control either, are high, narrow sidewalks packed with street vendors. As I walked I passed whole carcasses of pigs in uncooled carnecerias (butcher shops), crates of fruit, fresh cut flowers, panaderias (bakeries), and many more open air shops and things I didn't even recognize. The buildings are old, constructed of concrete and rusted metal with many bars and locks. It is chaotic, noisy, and foul smelling. Oh, and there are no street signs or addresses, so a map is useless. The people passing by seemed poorer and many of the women were brightly clothed. I got quite a few stares, but it seemed to be just a passing curiosity about the pale white girl hauling a trekking pack and day pack through the chaos. The police on the corner seemed not to notice me at all. I just continued to smile and greet everyone who made eye contact with a well accented !Hola!, which usually got me a confused smile and a few double takes. I've been told my accent is surprisingly good and not at all American.
I walked for a while looking for a sign for the hostel or the clothing store it was supposed to be near, but reached a bend in the road maybe a kilometer along and decided I'd missed it, which wasn't surprising in the mess of people and noise. I stopped to ask a shopkeeper, but she told me in Spanish that she had never heard of either place, so I started walking back the way I had come, but still didn't see anything. I decided to walk back again while I came up with another plan since my map was useless and it was pretty clear the kid from the bus had sent me on a wild goose hunt. As I was trying to remember how to politely address the policemen, a local man came up to me asked in heavily accented, but clear English essentially what the hell I thought I was doing here. I told him I was looking for a hostel and he told me I could not stay here and looked genuinely concerned. After asking the police for directions, which confirmed that the place did not exist, Oscar and his mother, Ana, offered to drop me off at a hostel if I wanted to join them running some errands and visting some friends in the city first. It seemed like a much better option that my current situation, so I gladly agreed.
Oscar turned out to be visiting from New Jersey and had worked as a criminal investigator and lawyer here in CR. In the US he runs a janitorial service. I tagged along to buy flowers which we then delivered to his friends at the ministry of justice and then to visit a friend and detective near the CIA building ( Don't ask my why the CIA is in Costa Rica. I don't know either.) Listening to their conversations and judging by the shocked looks I was getting from his friends as he explained how they had come to be trailing a foreigner, I gathered that the area I had been wandering about in is La Zona Roja (The Red Zone) of San Jose: the single most dangerous neighborhood in the country and the center of the drug and prostitution rings. That explains a few of the women I had seen standing around on the corners I guess!
By the end of the day my Spanish had improved from passable to functional and I was able to hold a conversation with Ana who spoke no English. Oscar and Ana invited me to stay in their home in nearby Heredia and despite some reservation, remembering my pledge not to say no to anything that wasn't obviously hazardous to my health, I accepted and also agreed to spend the following day visiting some properties in the country that Oscar was purchasing before catching the bus to the coast the morning after. Their home turned out to be in the foothills with a view the city, rainforest covered mountains, and the distant Pacific Ocean. We stopped at a carniceria on the way back and Ana cooked us the traditional Gallo Pinto (beans and rice), pollo (chicken), and some sort of sausage with fresh lemonade made using fruit we picked in their garden and some sort of candied citrus fruit for dessert. Oscar insisted despite my protests that I take his bed while he set up an air mattress on the floor for himself. Not wanting to insult anyone and not knowing the customs here I eventually stopped arguing.
Sunrise over the Mountains near San Jose
Ana and her husband Carlos went to bed early while Oscar walked me to the local tienda (sort of a convenience store) to buy a phone card to call home. On the way back things got a little less pleasant. Oscar started telling me how beautiful I am and trying to hold my hand etc. I did my best to politely avoid him and started making plans for a quick escape if needed. I had noticed a taxi stand down the street within walking distance if I needed it and I was exhausted, so I decided to see if I could put up with it for the time being. Back at the house I called home to let the folks know I had arrived (although I left out the details of my adventures in San Jose) and took a shower, discovering that hot water is not standard in the homes here. Thoroughly chilled, I made sure that all of my things were packed and ready to grab, put on jeans and a t-shirt, tucked my knife in my pocket and crawled into bed. Oscar went to bed a bit later and I pretended to be asleep to avoid conversation. I fell asleep considering the irony of the fact that I had laughed at my mother's parting warning/request not to go running off with some Tico (as the locals are called) 'Romeo' and wondering what was in store for the next day. Whatever it is I'm quite certain that my mother has no reason to worry.
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