Jaco City Limits

More than ready to leave that place, I messaged the host about my departure time.  He insisted on having the key physically handed over before leaving.  I waited around until Rita appeared again, handed her the keys, and went outside to wait.  It was only as I made multiple attempts to get an Uber that I realized I probably should have warned her about the trashcan.

She figured out pretty quickly that the lidded kitchen trash was now crawling with maggots.  Hey, not my fault.  All I did was throw the trash away.  I figured living in the jungle, the hosts would be accustomed to the mad bug issues (they had provided a can of bug spray), but judging by her call to her husband, it was still a surprise.  My Spanish stinks, but I distinctly heard her lament that ‘it’s only been a few days’ as she took the can outside to hose it out.

As I mentioned, it took several attempts to find an Uber as no one was available.  I sat outside the gate on what could only marginally be called a curb in the middle of nowhere as Rita puttered around in the apartment.  Eventually, she disappeared again without a word and I saw her jump onto a golf cart that sped her away.  And there I sat, swatting away bugs and sweltering in the sun all by my lonesome.  Travel can be so much fun sometimes.

I squealed in delight when I finally booked an Uber.  Dude showed up in a tiny car with no trunk, so he shoved my stuff into the backseat while I rode shotgun.  A silent 20-minute trip later and he dropped me off in downtown Jaco.  The Uber app couldn’t find the exact address, so I ended up in front of a tourist shop.  I had to walk a bit to get to the correct building.  The host came out to help me up the stairs.  Good thing too, because even with his directions, I wouldn’t have found the place.

The apartment, it turns out, is just up a set of stairs visible from the front of a glass-fronted building.  The first landing houses a gym while the next landing has a laundry room and a door behind a security code.  The host said I had free access to the laundry room and the gym while showing me into the apartment.  With lots of wood accents and cracks in the drywall, the place felt kind of old.  Still, it was clean with an obstructed view of the water.  An odd setup, but the place is already a step up from the last place simply by having two A/C units, one in the living room and one in the bedroom. 

Getting settled in, I discovered why my suitcase had been harder to manage during the walk to the apartment.  The rutty streets of Jaco had caused one of the wheels to fall right off.  Great.  I only just bought this suitcase a couple of months ago in Bangkok.  I had to buy that one because I found out in Sunny Beach that my original bag had developed a crack.  I really need these bags to last more than a couple of months.  I only hoped that I could find a replacement in a tiny beach town in Costa Rica.

The building is right around the corner from the beach.  This is a much livelier part of the ocean, making Jaco a beacon for surfers. There are at least three surf shops in town and a couple of stands on the beach offering lessons. The swell there is incredibly strong while the water is warm and inviting.

Having no interest in doing any more moving for a minute, I booked the place for another week.  Any other towns I might want to visit (namely Tamarindo, another popular expat spot) were hours away.  There was too much unpredictable rain to solidify any plans for tours or travel.  I mostly spent my time walking the main drag or hanging out on the beach.

The apartment itself was decent other than the noise.  There was construction going on all around the building.  There was a dude with an electric saw behind the house and a new building going up next door.  Then there was the gym downstairs with its loud music and the sound of weights hitting the ground.  The banging and clanging started around 7 a.m.  Good thing I’m usually up by then.

On Sunday night it began to pour outside.  It was the rainy season, so I didn’t think much of it.  Until the sound of water got really loud.  Like ‘in the apartment’ loud. I jumped up and turned the light on in the hall only to discover that it was the light itself that was leaking.  I quickly put a pot under the leak and messaged the owner.  Before I even heard a knock on the door, I heard all this banging and stomping above my head.  The leak soon stopped and I heard voices in the hall.  I opened the door to the owner and a woman ready to clean up.  He apologized and said he was looking for the source of the water.  After the initial surprise, I was more amused that annoyed.  I knew the place was old and it does rain a lot there.  I was just glad the owner lived in the building and was on the case so fast.

The next night the power went out. It had blinked a couple of times before, but, again, I didn’t think anything of it.  This time it was more than just a blink.  A quick check outside let me know that while the entire top floor was out, the gym was just fine. The hosts returned to switch on a battery powered light in the living room, assuring me that the power would probably be back on in a few minutes.  Again, I was just amused, even when the battery powered light shut off moments later.  The power came back on after about an hour.

I’ve been a homeowner and now been on the road for almost 6 months.  I’ve learned to roll with the punches.  So on Tuesday, I found myself wondering what was going to happen next.  Other than torrential rains (still the rainy season) there was nothing out of the ordinary to report.  The power went off again a few days later, but since it was during the day (and it wasn’t raining) I bugged out to the beach to wait it out.

My last place was still worse than this one.  At least I wasn’t killing bugs every morning while sweating buckets, so … shrug.

The town has plenty of restaurants, souvenir shops, and pharmacies.  I found a place that serves a great chicken chimichanga and strong, quickly disappearing adult beverages.  There are also places to rent ATVs and cars as well as stands promoting tourism.  One thing I was not fond of was the number of people wandering the streets panhandling.  I felt for them but quickly learned to clutch my purse a little tighter while on the street.

The thing is, I wasn’t feeling the pura vida (pure life) that this country is famous for.  Mostly, I just felt a sense of desolation.  I know that doesn’t make sense.  The place is green and pretty, the beach is great, the people friendly.  But there’s something underneath that feels like everyone is just getting by, like the laid-back attitude is there because there’s no point in reaching for something more since it’s not going to happen. I’m sure I’m just projecting some of my own weird feelings of displacement onto others but that’s still the impression I got.

This is an awesome place to have an adventure.  If you want to go there and rent a 4-wheel drive and just wander around, Costa Rica has much to see.  There are beaches, waterfalls, forests, and lots of animals.  You can go surfing, parasailing, ziplining – you name it, and it’s there.  But since I didn’t enter the country with that mindset, a lot of the place’s attributes were lost on me.  I can see dealing with the bugs and the heat and the crappy roads as part of a short-term experience, but actually living there?  I don’t think so. 

Jaco A.K.A Welcome to the Jungle

 

Since San Jose was doing nothing for me, I figured I needed to get to the coast.  Water makes everything better, so I decided to visit the city of Jaco (pronounced Hock-o) and get in some beach time.

My host in San Jose was kind enough to steer me to the local bus station as Google Maps had mislead me.  Please note: Costa Ricans use the Waze app for navigation as opposed to anything else as it is the most accurate.  I managed to find my way on foot to the Terminal 7-10 station to buy a ticket to the coast. The next morning, I caught an Uber to the station (way too early – I’m accustomed to being at the airport two hours early which really isn’t an issue with buses) and caught the bus to Jaco.

The host of my next AirBNB, called the Elephant in the Room, suggested I have the driver stop directly at the entrance to the hotel/club and he would meet me there to guide me to the apartment.  I didn’t end up doing that, but it turns out that was probably the better move.  Jaco is about 1 ½ hours to the west of San Jose.  Not a bad ride but being unfamiliar with the area, I wasn’t sure what the city or my new place would look like.  I wasn’t expecting another high-rise, but what I got was … wait.  I’m getting ahead of myself.

The bus made its final stop at a building that I assumed was the bus station.  It just looked like a building to me.  I messaged the host and asked for further directions.  I ended up grabbing a cab because it turns out the property is not in the city proper but about 20 minutes further inland.  But it was advertised as having beach access.  I was confused as we left the lovely little beach town and headed back the way I’d come.  Already, I’m getting apprehensive.  The town was walkable.  I could see the beach from the road.  Where were we going?

We got to the club, but there was a hiccup.  It’s a gated community and the security guard had no idea what I was talking about when I asked to meet with Jonathan, the host.  He had sent me his wife’s number and my cab driver called her for directions.  Turns out, we were in the right place but the wrong road.  There was a public road just down the street that we had to take.

Most of that ‘road’ was nothing more than a pock-marked stretch of dirt that led to the back of the property. I found out later that these rough roads were not uncommon in Costa Rica as the infrastructure is not great (already noticed that with the sidewalks in San Jose).  As we’re bouncing around on this curvy path, I’m sitting there wondering just what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.  This felt less like an adventure and more like a colossal pain in the ass.  There is nothing on the dirt road, no shops, restaurants, or anything.  And I had no car.  Okay.

We arrived at a house and a woman came out to greet us.  This was the owner’s wife, Rita, who didn’t speak a word of English.  Thank God for my cab driver.  He was not only patient and willing to help, but he acted as translator.  Rita called her husband for confirmation and held the phone out to me.  So there I am, not sure I’m in the right place, sweating buckets while bent over the phone listening to Jonathan tell me about the place.  My cab driver is waiting nearby, leaning out of the car window for the occasional translation duty.  It took some time to realize that I was in the right place, after which the driver unloaded my luggage.  I gave him all the cash I could for a tip and it still wasn’t enough.  He earned every penny.  I only wish I’d gotten his info so he could pick me up when I was ready to leave.

Rita briefly showed me around before handing me the keys and then disappearing.  The place looks like the pictures.  With its placement beneath another home, I could tell that it was converted into an apartment.  The laundry room is huge, the walls are made of concrete, and the kitchen has plenty of counter space but no drawers.  This was just originally designed to be the basement/laundry room for the larger house.  All of that didn’t bother me.  My issue was that there was no air conditioner in the main area, just a woefully inadequate ceiling fan.  Thank goodness, there is an AC unit in the bedroom otherwise there was no way I could stay there.  Every time I opened the sliding glass door to the bedroom in the morning, a certain Guns and Roses song would run through my head.  The heat would actually leave condensation on the door each day.

Here’s a bit of advice that should be a no-brainer: don’t go to the jungle in August.  It’s freaking hot!  San Jose had lulled me into a false sense of what Costa Rica is like.  Those mountains and the rain kept things almost cold a couple of days.  The bus ride was my first indication that things were about to get steamy as each mile saw the temperature and humidity go up.  In Jaco, even when it rains, the sun is shining, and the temperature doesn’t budge.  As pretty as the area is, the apartment made me long for the place in San Jose and I didn’t even like that city.

But still, the beach is nice.  Located about a mile from the apartment, past a bunch of houses, a hotel, a restaurant, and a convenience store, the secluded beach was rarely crowded.  And hey!  Monkeys.  And I didn’t have to trek that far to see them.

And … that’s about it for attractions in the area.  Without a car, there’s not much to see.  Several of the communities between my apartment and the beach had guards restricting access.  The host told me I’d need to pay for a wristband to get to some of the other restaurants and pool areas.  Without one, I was very limited in what I could access.  That made me feel like a second-class citizen or a dirty little secret instead of a paying guest.  And it left me bored and itching to leave the place as soon as possible.

Or maybe it was just the bugs that were making me itch.

I realize that I was in the rainforest. There will be critters and yes, I was in their home.  But did they have to keep crawling on me? The bug bites multiplied as I was constantly killing things that made their way into the apartment.  Animals made noises at all hours of the day and night.  Every rustling bush had me jumping whenever I walked by.  It was a bit much.

The surprisingly well stocked convenience store had multiple brands of Costa Rican coffee for sale.  I bought a bag and eagerly prepared it on my second day there.  I had 1½-2 cups of coffee on that one day and the results were … explosive.  Days of stomach upset and rushing to the toilet. 

The power blinked a couple of times while there.  One day it went out for a bit longer, so I decided to go to the beach.  Two hours later and it was still out.  Messaged the host who said it wouldn’t be back up until 6 that evening.  I wasn’t happy about that but figured it would be fine as long as it was back up before bedtime (seriously the place was swelteringly hot. There’s no way I could sleep there without A/C. It’s not like I could open the windows without inviting in ALL the critters).  Fortunately, after being out for about three hours, the power came back on.

Yeah.  Costa Rica wasn’t feeling me either.

And I would be in the country for another two weeks.

Great.

Just a note: while I was in Jaco, news came out about the wildfires in Hawaii.  Maui is still one of my favorite places on the planet. I drove to the city of Lahaina four times while I was there.  And now it’s just gone.  I feel so bad for the residents losing their homes and all that history. 

The world is going to hell, folks. I hope you get a chance to see it before it’s all gone.

Despondent and Disconnected in San Jose

 

I don’t think I went into Costa Rica with the right frame of mind.

The general feeling of wrongness that started when I entered the states continued as I planned my next move after Hilton Head.  My initial plan when beginning this journey was to take the entire year off before establishing a new job/home situation.  But then I was sick in Türkiye, making me long for a home.  I hate watching my bank account dwindle with nothing coming in.  The thought of getting another job makes me wince and yet the thought of finally doing what I’ve always wanted to do, have a writing career, makes me cower like a scared bunny.  All of it contributes to a general air of yuckiness. 

Costa Rica is big with expats and American retirees as well as digital nomads.  I knew, though, that I really preferred Europe to South or Central America which is why I’d originally had no plans to visit there.  But, I figured, while I was in the states, I could dip down and see what all the fuss was about.  Also, spending a month in the country would reset my Schengen days so I’d be free to return to Portugal for three months without needing a short-term visa while I arranged for a year-long visa. Again, not the right frame of mind in which to visit a new country.

Then there’s the whole Istanbul situation.  I still missed the city terribly.  I started to wonder if I should scratch the plan to move to Portugal and move there instead, even if only for a short while.  But I had done no research on the country and had no idea what that would entail.  I was already cowed with the thought of dealing with Portuguese bureaucracy and I had already had enough run-ins with Turkish passport control.

And, of course, there was Zaza.  Also missing him like crazy.

So, this was where my head was at when I made the new plan.  Then it was back to the tiny Hilton Head airport to wait.  And wait.  And wait.  And watch it rain from the waiting room.  It was only a short flight to Charlotte, a necessary one since flights out of HHH only went to a few places like Atlanta and New York. I would have fallen asleep even on that flight had I not been so annoyed by the wait and by the staff who insisted that I consolidate my gear before boarding as only two carry-ons were allowed.  This included the purse on my shoulder and the passport holder around my neck.  Lady, they’re on my body!  I’m not storing this stuff.  It only pissed me off further to find out during the flight that there was some extra storage space in the overhead bins.  Sigh.  Plane travel.

After an hour, we landed in Charlotte. Waiting to exit the plane, a British woman struck up a conversation with the male flight attendant.  He mentioned how he’d worked for the company for over 30 years and that, at 63 years old, he needed to work long enough to pay off his mortgage at the age of 72.  I had to turn to look at the guy since he didn’t look anywhere near 63 years old (black guy).  He also said how much he hated Charlotte airport.  We had left Hilton Head ten minutes early and yet we were disembarking 15 minutes late.  Also, everyone on the plane had insanely tight connections and he couldn’t understand why the airline had made them.  I had to agree.

I ran through Charlotte airport to get to my next gate as there was only 45 minutes between my flights.  It didn’t help that I had to go to the restroom the entire time and had no chance to stop.  I made it to my gate and got in line just as they called my group number.  We barely got in the air when I made a mad dash for the tiny bathroom.  Isn’t it just so much fun that the tinier the airplane, the more a trip to the restroom makes it feels like you’re dropping trou in a hurricane?  All part of the travel experience, right?

From there it was onto Miami.  Now, this airport and I have history and it’s not a good one. I’ve only been through there on two separate trips and each time we were delayed for some reason.  My first trip through had me stuck in the airplane for two hours after landing because of a storm.  The second time, I was stuck in the airport for five hours because of a storm in Houston that had held up my flight crew.  And, shocker, there was a problem on this flight as well.  There was a lightning strike nearby and the airport had to shut down briefly in case there was another one.  Fortunately, this was a short delay that only held us up for a few minutes.  Okay, Miami.  This time wasn’t too bad, but you haven’t redeemed yourself with me yet.  I will continue to keep my eyes on you.  You still might end up on the no-fly list for me just like CDG (screw that airport).

I honestly don’t know how Miami airport keeps operating with all the storms and delays.  I’ve said it before and I’m saying it now; stay out of Florida, kids.  That state doesn’t like anybody.

My sense of unease about this destination only increased when I landed in Costa Rica.  I turned my phone on only to realize that Google FI, while acknowledging that I was in the country, still hadn’t turned my roaming service on.  Panicking a bit since I needed the phone to find the apartment, I didn’t notice that the practically non-existent line for passport control had disappeared and it was my turn at the desk.  When the guy asked where I was staying and I explained my phone sitch, he helpfully guided me to the airport’s wi-fi.  After regaining my internet connection, I got easily through passport control, copied the apartment info to my notes, and went hunting for a cab.

After some missteps in finding the place in the dark, we reached the high-rise called Latidud Yoses. The guy at the front desk didn’t speak much English, but he knew my name and helped me fill out some paperwork before taking me around the windy path to the elevators.

The apartment is on the 19^th floor and is nicely laid out.  The kitchen was well equipped, and the sofa and bed were comfortable.  I couldn’t throw toilet paper in the toilet, but after several months of travel, that little detail didn’t even phase me anymore. 

San Jose is not a pretty place.  Don’t let the killer view from my apartment fool you.

And I know I’m comparing the city unfairly to Istanbul.  They are on opposite sides of the planet, different climates, different people.  But I had gotten used to the gorgeous buildings and numerous points of interest in the Turkish city.  In San Jose, there are … buildings. The area around my high-rise was a mix of industrial looking places and small, private homes.  Just not very inviting.

In my wanderings, I did find some nice green spaces.  Also found a living mall.  I will say that the city is compact and easy to walk except for one thing; the sidewalks themselves.  The infrastructure in this city is sorely lacking.  The walkways are uneven, crumbling, and full of holes.  Not the first time I’ve encountered that in my travels, but it is really noticeable here.

I hated crossing the street in the city.  Crosswalks are rare, people drive fast (lots of horn honking), and the sidewalks are difficult enough to navigate on their own.  The walkways are made much worse when stepping off them.  There are huge gaps between the asphalt and the sidewalks.  If you’re not careful, you can easily slip into these gullies or misjudge the leap and break an ankle.

This sentence became my calling card and shield:  Perdoname, mi Espanol es muy malo (pardon me, my Spanish is very bad).  It’s weird, though.  I speak more Spanish than I do Turkish and yet I felt more comfortable in Türkiye.  I feel like I should be more fluent in Spanish, being American, but since I’m not, I just feel dumb.  In Türkiye, no one expected me to know the language, so it was somehow better (?).

I will say that the money is pretty. Called colones, 536 of them is the equivalent of 1 USD.   The bills are colorful, have neat clear panels, and they’re covered in animals.  Costa Rica also uses American electrical outlets so no need for an adaptor.

The apartment is across the street from a Starbucks, walking distance to several restaurants and a pretty big grocery store.  This was made all the better because … they carry my wine!  God bless them!  It was way too expensive ($16 vs $11 in the states and $5 in Portugal), but that didn’t stop me from sucking down three bottles while in the city. 

And I needed that wine because that’s all I got for positives of San Jose.  I spent the first few days in a funk thinking about needing a job, money, a home. I was just in a bad head space.  The weather was also a contributing factor.  I knew that it was the rainy season there (just like in Thailand) and it did rain a bit, but that wasn’t the worst part.  The rain and wind kept the temperature hovering around the high 60’s.  In August.  I was not prepared for such cool weather at the tail end of summer.

Since it had been bugging me for a while, I did something I never thought I’d do.  I contacted Zaza.  As I’d blocked his primary number, I texted the second number he’d used to contact me, asking if everything had been a lie.  He responded within minutes on a phone I found out belonged to one of his cousins.  That was telling – a good sign that he might actually care.

We spoke that night over video.  I was used to seeing him smile at me so it was very jarring to see him looking stern and a bit sad.  He called me by name (or at least his pronunciation of my name, “Dephna”) which I immediately hated because of the distance it implied between us.  I wanted him to call me sweetheart again. He assured me that he didn’t come on to me for money and that I’d hurt his feelings when I walked out and blocked him.  I told him how I attracted vampires and as much as I didn’t want to think that about him, when he asked for money, it just set off all my defenses.  I really hadn’t meant to hurt him, I was just protecting myself.  We came to a shaky understanding after that conversation.

I unblocked him and we started talking again.  It doesn’t feel the same as it did before, but I’m still thrilled to get a text or call from him, grateful for the lifeline.  Of course, it also means I’m now in a long-distance relationship with a man I don’t know when or if I’ll ever see again.  One set of issues just replaced another.

I also reached out to my stepmom.  I try not to do that as she has been having some health issues and I don’t want to bother her with my problems.  Sick beats sad, I know that.  But I did feel better after talking to her and I’m still so thankful to have someone in my life who cares.

Reestablishing my now two lifelines did improve my mood a bit.  It didn’t warm me up to the city, though.  As much as I liked the apartment, I had to get out of San Jose.  Time to see what else the country had to offer.