Even with the prospect of another long travel day ahead of me, I was quite ready to leave Costa Rica. I have to say that the city of Jaco is much closer to being livable for me than San Jose. But the constant rain, frequent power outages, bugs, lags in infrastructure (there is no post office in walking distance), oppressive heat and … well, you get the idea. That’s a few too many variables. The place is a little too wild for me.
I messaged the host to let him know I was leaving and headed
to the bus stop. He had already provided
me with the info to get my ticket and had offered to see me out. It was 6:30 am, though, so I didn’t want to
wake him. Good host that he is, he still
came out after I’d already lugged my stuff to the bus stop (making sure to
carry my new luggage and keep the wheels off the Jaco sidewalks). He told me to flag the bus down to make sure
it stopped and gave me directions upon reaching the airport. We said our goodbyes, he went back inside,
and I sat down to wait. The bus arrived
about 15 minutes later. This sweet man
actually came back out to confirm it was the right bus, wave it down for me,
and put my bag in the back. Now that is
the kind of attentive host you want in an AirBNB.
Two hours later, the bus arrived at the airport. The driver pulled my bag out of the back …
but it was missing two wheels. When? How? He
handed me one of the wheels, but I have no idea where the other one went. I was too busy standing on the curb, cursing
out the bag to notice if the other wheel was still on the bus or on the curb or
…? A BRAND NEW BAG and it didn’t even
make it to the airport intact. Just …
really?
A nice man nearby helped me get the one wheel back on and I
shuffled my way to the terminal. As I
was checking in, I got a text from the airline telling me that my flight to
Atlanta was delayed. It was only 9 am. My flight to Atlanta was 12 hours later. I knew there was a storm brewing in Florida
(although, when isn’t there a storm in Florida), but still … like the
day wasn’t already off to a shaky start.
After about a two-hour flight, we reached Fort
Lauderdale. This was a new airport for
me and I didn’t know what to expect. I
will give them credit over Newark, though.
There were people waiting as I walked into the airport to tell everyone who had a
connecting flight that they had to recheck their bags. JetBlue was also good about explaining that
before the passengers deplaned. Thank
you! The check-in process may have been
a pain, but it was better than having to track down my bag like I had to do after leaving it behind in Jersey.
I had a nice conversation with the customs agent. She asked how could I stay in Costa Rica for
so long and was I retired. Nope, just a
wandering bum looking for a home. I told
her about getting laid off and my plans to move to Portugal. She wondered if that was expensive and I told
her that places like SE Asia and Türkiye were cheaper and that even though I
have a boyfriend in Türkiye, Portugal is still the plan. Surprised at hearing about Zaza (I told her
that no one was more surprised than me), she said she hoped she
didn’t see me on 90 Day Fiancé and wished me a good trip.
Then began the long wait for my flight. What was supposed to be a 3-hour layover
turned into a 7-hour layover as the flight was again delayed. The thing that killed it was that Fort
Lauderdale was sunny and dry, not a cloud in the sky. We had some turbulence coming down, but
nothing major. And yet still we sat.
This tears it. Remember
what I said about putting Miami airport on the no-fly list? Scratch that. I’m putting the entire state on
that list. Every time I go through that
place, regardless of the time of year, there’s always a problem. Seriously, stay away from Florida. It has way too many issues to even bother
with, not even for a (supposed to be short) layover.
Thanks to the plane being so late, I didn’t get to Atlanta
until after midnight. Again. At least I had my gimpy luggage with me this
time (piece of crap!). I took another
taxi to get to my hotel (yes, Uber is cheaper, but at that time of night, at my
level of fatigue, I wasn’t willing to get into a stranger’s car). Exhausted, I checked in at around 3 a.m.,
took a shower, and crashed.
It’s days like that one that make me even more eager to set
up a new home base in Europe. Even if
that means I have to get a (gulp) job sooner than I’d planned.
Just like the month prior, I had to order an Uber to take me
back to the airport to pick up my rental car.
The ride went well enough until we got about one mile from the
terminal. Then Atlanta welcomed me back
by reminding me that traffic here is a raging beast that will never be
appeased. A short, walkable distance to
the terminal and yet we were stuck. Forty-five minutes of just creeping along until
suddenly we weren’t. With no indication
of what had held us up, we were moving again.
Typical Atlanta garbage.
At least my rental car was nice. I was upgraded to a sweet Mustang Convertible. Of course, I couldn’t figure out how to pull the roof back, but it was still a fun car to drive around.
I came back to the states instead of going directly to Europe from
Costa Rica because the trip was cheaper and didn’t have any crazy layover times
in strange airports. Also, I’d set some
things in motion that I wanted to check on in Georgia before moving on.
My Bank of America debit card was about to expire, so I had stopped into
a branch before heading to Costa Rica to make sure they had my updated address. They assured me they did and I expected to find
my card in the mail when I returned. But
… no.
Time to go talk to the bank again. Since it hadn’t arrived, the bank clerk recommended
deactivating the card in case it fell into the wrong hands. I didn’t want to do that but understood why
it was a good idea. I didn’t use that card
for travel, but I liked having it as a backup in case I lost the Charles Schwab
card. Now it was dead and I had no idea
when I’d be back in the states to pick up the new card or if BoA would just not
send it because they don’t like P.O. boxes.
Either way … sigh.
I had another good conversation with the woman at Bank of
America who helped with my card. She
asked if I had plans for the holiday weekend and that was enough of a prompt
for me to blurt out my plan to head to Portugal. We talked travel and how she had also been to
Costa Rica. She wasn’t anymore thrilled
with the place than I was (too many bugs) as a potential suitable home. I asked about her accent and found out she
was from Belarus. In the very next
breath, she said “don’t go there”. The
country is right in the middle of the whole Russia/Ukraine mess and very
unsafe. She said she wouldn’t even go
back to visit her family. I
sympathized. She was the first person
I’d ever met who had a personal stake in the war.
A quick note: I had a couple of good meals while in
the states. After the gastrointestinal distress
I’d experienced in Costa Rica (seriously, it shouldn’t take days to get rid of
2 cups of coffee) and the stomach upset from the bland food in Hilton Head,
decent meals were a pleasant surprise. The
shrimp and grits were from Marlow’s while the BBQ pork was from Food Terminal.
Travel day arrived bright and early. It would be another long day from Atlanta to Boston and then overnight to Lisbon. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Boston Logan Airport and I have to say that I’m rather impressed. The terminal we arrived in was just next to the one for international flights. No train, tram, or long walk required. There was no gate number on my ticket so I assumed the flight would leave out of the E terminal with the rest of the international flights, but it turns out that my flights into and out of Logan were both from the same C terminal. Convenient.
Logan is also set up with many seating areas and charging
stations to allow passengers to work. It’s
still no Changi as far as beauty goes, but it is highly functional. Boston pride is also evident in the souvenirs,
the food, and the historical figures memorialized on the walls. I had a delicious New England Clam chowder as
part of a ridiculously overpriced meal and bought a t-shirt bearing the words “Wicked
Smaaht” on the front. I’ve always liked
that phrase.
During the six-hour layover in Boston, I got a text from Charles
Schwab concerning fraud on my debit card.
They had five transactions they wanted me to yay or nay over text. Everything looked legit until I checked the
dollar amount for the gas I’d put in the rental car that morning. $175? I’d
only put in about $25. I initially
approved the charge, then typed no instead.
This got my card blocked. My only
cash card that I was about to take overseas. Panic quickly ensued.
I called the bank and the woman explained to me that gas
stations tend to put a hold on debit cards that they take off once the amount
clears. I’d heard that before, but never
directly experienced it. Hell, I’ve barely
bought any gas in the last few months, so what do I know? Once I okayed the transaction, she sent me to
another department to get the card unblocked.
A royal pain in the butt to have to go over the same info again, to once
again prove it was really me, but the card was eventually unblocked. I sighed in relief.
With that crisis over, I was left with nothing but time to
ponder. I realized I was actually a
little nervous about going back to Portugal.
Excited, but nervous. Would I
still see the country the same way after visiting eight other countries since
that first trip in March? Maybe I had
inflated the place in my mind as some utopia when it was just another flawed country. Maybe my travels had permanently altered how
I would see the place, making it less suitable than I thought for relocation.
No comments:
Post a Comment