The U.S. and Onward

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.

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.

Tips for Long-Term Travel

 

                                                                   San Jose, Costa Rica 

I am, by no means, an expert in this travel thing.  But, after six months of being on the road, I have learned some things that might help you out if you are planning your own trip.  In no particular order of importance …

                                                                     Istanbul, Türkiye 

I can’t recommend enough the Charles Schwab debit card. When you open an account with them you have access to a high yield checking account, the card, and the brokerage firm.  This allows you to place trades, buy t-bills, and get financial advice while giving you a card that is insanely easy to use overseas.  You can place travel alerts online even on the day you are headed to a new country, use the card on any ATM or tap to pay machine, AND instead of paying fees for foreign transactions, you actually get money back.  It’s a great card, so go get you one.

                                                              Changi Airport, Singapore

I bought a new phone for this adventure, not only because my old phone was getting on in years, but because I wanted one that traveled well.  After looking up international plans with several companies, including my own carrier Verizon, I decided to buy a Google Pixel 6a.  The Google Fi plan gives you a good international roaming rate and works in every country I’ve been in without fail.  I am still not a big phone person.  I’m not streaming video or using a lot of data.  I mostly just use Google Maps, WhatsApp, and a few other occasional apps, so my monthly bill is usually $55 or less.                                               

The only issue with the phone plan is that Google Fi is designed to be primarily used in the U.S.  After two months of travel, I got an email from them saying that they will cut off my roaming service in thirty days if I don’t get back to the states.  The first time I got that email, I was in Dublin and about to head back to the states anyway so there was no interruption of service.  The second time I got the email, I was in Thailand and not even ready to return stateside.  They shut off my service the first week I was in Istanbul (the second trip) leaving me with no internet and emergency calls only.  Well, that wouldn’t do.  Hooking the phone up with the wi-fi in my apartment, I ended up purchasing an eSIM through a company called Airalo that was specific for Türkiye.  For about $6.50, I got 2mb of data for two weeks. Once I followed the detailed instructions to turn off Google Fi (they give you the option to turn it back on later) and install the new eSIM, I was up and running like nothing had happened.  When I got back to the states, I turned Google Fi back on and service continued as usual.  No more roaming, though.  I guess I overused it because once I got to Costa Rica, I had to purchase another eSIM.  Oh well.  It was good while it lasted.

                                                            Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Do yourself a favor; take pictures of everything.  All your documentation (passport, vaccine card, driver’s license), your luggage, everything in the luggage – have a picture of it stored somewhere you can access it.  I gave a copy of my IDs to my stepmom for safekeeping, but also keep a copy on my computer just in case.  Also, and I learned this the hard way, snap a shot of the luggage tag on your checked baggage the moment you get it.  You have no idea how easy it is to misplace that little ticket stub when you really need it.  Only had to misplace my bag once to hammer that one into my head.

                                                                    Mykonos, Greece

My company offered me a very nice severance package that included COBRA insurance.  They paid 80% for the first six months of this year leaving me with a $100 co-pay.  Starting in July, I was expected to pay the full amount of $630 to be insured in a country that I wasn’t even living in.  I declined.  I take my chances coming to the U.S. with no insurance which only helps to increase my stress while there.  When traveling, I have a policy with a company called Safety Wing for insurance.  It’s $100 a month and they cover most injuries as long as I travel outside of the U.S.  No company with such a cheap co-pay would cover me in the U.S.  So far, I haven’t had to use the insurance, but I feel secure with it when out of the country.

WhatsApp is an amazing thing.  I don’t think many Americans use this particular messaging system, but it is used extensively in Europe.  A free app that allows you to text and have voice and video calls across the miles.  It’s how I’ve stayed in touch with my stepmom in real time, how most AirBNB hosts chose to communicate (if they don’t use the AirBNB site), and it’s how I get to see my man’s face on a regular basis even when he’s in Türkiye and I’m in???  I don’t know how you could do a long-distance relationship without it.

Jet lag has never been an issue for me.  I’m not sure why.  The only thing I can think of is that planes put me immediately to sleep.  There have been times when I’ve literally been asleep before the plane has taken off.  Getting as much sleep on the plane, as well as having a consistent sleep schedule once I get to a new destination has kept my body clock on a pretty even keel.  Slow travel and lots of water also help.  I couldn’t imagine flying to Singapore from the U.S. in one shot without completely throwing your body out of whack.

Two questions you should always ask when in a new country.  Can I drink the tap water? Can I flush the toilet paper?  AirBNB hosts won’t always remember to let you know beforehand, so to avoid any issues with the water that may have you on the toilet for most of your trip, be sure to ask.  At this point, I just assume the water is undrinkable wherever I go.  I buy a bag of ice and a big jug of water as a matter of course.  The toilet issue varies.  I didn’t have any problem in Turkey, but the first place I rented in Costa Rica specifically said not to flush.  I figured it best to continue that practice in the rest of the country.

Save yourself some money and travel with as little as possible.  I carry three bags: my rolling luggage, computer bag, and a large carpet bag for everything else.  Checking the roll-on is way too expensive (particularly at Thai Asia Air – and they make the process as annoying as possible) and there is always the chance of losing it in transit.  I consider myself too old to do the backpacking thing, but I have seen how others have done it.  I appreciate the fortitude and discipline required for that style of travel but … nah.

                                                                       Dublin, Ireland

Speaking of which, there are much cheaper ways of doing this than the one I chose.  You could go the hostel/backpacking/couchsurfing route and there are websites to help you do that.  Volunteer work is a wonderful way to contribute to an environment, exchanging work for room and board while meeting other travelers at the same time.  Housesitting is another option that I seriously considered.  Through the website www.trustedhousesitters.com you pay an annual fee and can chose non-paying jobs in homes all over the world.  You get a free place to stay while taking care of someone’s pets. The point is not so much how you do it.  If travel is something you want to do, you have options to make the most out of it and personalize it for your tastes, budget, and comfort level.

I highly recommend an adult gap year, a sabbatical, a mini-retirement – whatever you want to call it.  This type of long-term travel has been a life-long dream of mine. I am thrilled to have the privilege and freedom to just chuck everything and wander for a while.  I hope my experiences give you some insight or even inspiration for your own journey.

 

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.

Back to the States for Some Beach Time

 

I had a bittersweet time leaving the apartment in Istanbul.  I knew it was time to leave, but I'd had some bad and mostly good times there.  I will always remember that place and would rent it again if I ever return to Türkiye.  But, alas, it was time for yet another long international travel day.

The first cab I hailed didn’t work out.  The driver and I had a serious communication problem.  He didn’t take cards, I only had 900 lira on me, and the drive to SAW would be at least 1000 lira.  He agreed to take me then changed his mind about a mile later and I ended up getting out.  After dragging all my stuff to try and find an ATM, I eventually just hailed another cab and convinced him to take me to a machine.  Money in hand, we finally got on our way to the airport.

Judging by every other experience I’d had with passport control, I expected a hassle over my visa.  Sure, I was leaving the country, but I had also extended my stay for an extra week and I didn’t know if that would be a problem.  I mentioned before that a visa should last for 90 days.  I had stayed for one week initially, left the country for a month, and then returned for another 14 days.  Technically, I should be okay … and it turns out I was.  The guy looked at the visa, stamped my passport and wished me well.  Whew.

I expected to get a hassle about the rug.  My initial plan was to have the shop send it directly to my storage facility, but now that I had it in my possession, it was all about dragging it through multiple airports to get it back to the states.  I thought I’d have to pay some tariff or check it for an extra fee.  Instead, no one even mentioned the rug, not the Turks, not American customs.  No one cared.  That was a relief.  Of course, I couldn’t enter the states completely scot-free.  There had to be some issue.

The last time I returned to the states, I was routed through JFK.  Now it was time to experience the other notorious airport in the area, Newark.  The only flight I could get out of Türkiye (that did not go through CDG because screw that airport) was through Rome, then Newark, then on to Atlanta. Surprisingly, the first two flights went very well.  The problem only arose when I got off the plane in Jersey.  I didn’t realize that I had to claim my bag and re-check for my last flight.  When I figured this out and tried to get back to Baggage Claim, they wouldn’t let me in because I came off an international flight.  But it’s still my bag and I want it now.  I stood in line for the United customer service, got out when I thought I could access the bag from a different way, realized nothing in life is that easy, and got back in line.  After a few minutes, one of the reps asked me the problem, told me there was nothing they could do about it, and told me to go catch my next flight.  I would have to file a claim after I got to Atlanta.  Sounds fun.

Racing across an unfamiliar airport, lugging my rug in an increasingly unstable plastic bag, wondering about my checked bag, and worrying about missing my flight, I kept thinking about how much happier I’d been in Türkiye the day before.  As much as I love to travel, love exploring new places, the travel days themselves just seem to suck more and more out of me each time.  The day had me thinking, once again, that I really wanted a permanent home base abroad that would make these trips back to the states unnecessary.

Sigh.  Being back in the U.S., boarding a connecting flight, meant that, once again, I’d have to go through security.  The line was horrific.  There was a woman elbowing her way through the line because she was late.  I said, “so am I” and this wonderful man in front just said to go on through.  He even helped me get through the dividing ropes.  Didn’t help, though.  I got through security and raced to my gate only to see my plane behind a closed door.  Boarding had ended and I had officially missed my first flight during this journey.  Welcome to America!

The gate attendant booked me for another flight in a couple of hours, warning me that the gate may change before boarding.  It did but it wasn’t too far to get to the next gate.  Then the plane got delayed.  Oy.  I had arranged for a rental car in Atlanta, but the way things were going, there was no way I’d get to the desk before it closed.  Instead of worrying about that, I spent the time texting customer service about my bag, which wasn’t easy because I had lost my claim check.  I swear if my head was not attached … the one time I really needed to save one of those luggage tags is the first time I had no idea where it went. 

Finally, I caught my flight and dutifully waited at Atlanta Baggage Claim for a bag that never arrived.  I made a claim with the lost and found, who told me that they’d contact me before 2 p.m. the next day with any info.  I had indeed gotten to the airport after midnight, so the rental place was closed.  After fumbling around in the wrong place, I eventually found my way to the taxi stand.  One very expensive ride later, and I checked into the familiar Fairfield Inn. 

The next day brought good news.  The airline had found my bag.  Yay!  I called an Uber this time and was met by a lovely woman named Larissa.  We spent the next 45 minutes talking about everything: her Brazilian roots, my travels, her singing career, and the declining state of the U.S.A. at the moment.  I was almost sorry when we got to the airport; that was one of the best conversations I’ve had in a while.

Claimed my bag and my rental car and headed back north.  I did all the normal administrative things while in the country; I checked my mail, dropped off souvenirs at the storage facility, and planned my next move.  Before I knew it, I was back at the airport.

Sitting in Atlanta airport, eating some truly mediocre food and listening to some downbeat jazz, put me in a contemplative and melancholy mood for some reason.  I missed Istanbul. And, as much as I hated to admit it, I missed Zaza.  We had been in constant contact while I was in SE Asia and then, of course, the physical contact once I was back in the city. It was a thrill to get his daily texts and endearments, even if it wasn’t real and without them, I was going through serious withdrawal.  And, yeah, I know that old saw that says ‘don’t be sad it’s over, be glad it happened’ yada, yada, yada.  Didn’t stop me from missing the interaction or from wishing it had ended differently.

A short hour of flight (which still put me right to sleep) and I landed in South Carolina.  I didn’t realize that the tiny airport was actually on Hilton Head Island and not on the highway.  I’d always driven to the island, so this was a happy surprise for me as I had a shorter cab ride to my motel.

I love Hilton Head.  This was the seventh time I’d visited the island.  I love the trees and the people on the bikes, the pristine beaches, and the laid-back island attitude.  But this time, something felt … off.  Hilton Head no longer felt like a destination, it became just a way station between other places.  I didn’t feel like I belonged there anymore.  I stayed in a motel I’d stayed in three times before, even helped a newcomer find the beach, but even the familiar nature of the place was not enough to soothe me as it usually did.  It had me on edge.

It didn’t help that it rained a couple of days while there.  It didn’t help that one of the few times I was able to get into the water, I had to cut my time short for non-weather reasons.  I’d heard other people in the water complaining about jellyfish stings.  I thought ‘oh, that’s too bad.  But I’m sure it won’t happen to ow oW OW!’ I ended up running out of the sea, batting my legs to try to alleviate the burning sensation.  Great.  Like it wasn’t bad enough that the mosquitos were going to town on me, now the ocean was attacking me as well.  I get it.  I’ve rejected the U.S. and now it’s turning one of my favorite places against me.  And, yes, I am taking all of this very personally.  With all the animal attacks, I got especially paranoid when passing any smaller body of water for fear of gators.

And there’s more!  What I’d feared in returning to the states for a longer period of time has now happened.  Europe has completely changed my palate.  American food is now bland as hell and it gave me an upset stomach.  Great! (Except for the ice cream.  That was still delicious.)

I rented a car for the last two days of my stay.  Ah!  Much better.  I didn’t realize just how much of my enjoyment of the island involved driving through it.  I have always driven there so I didn’t think much of it, but it is an integral part of the Hilton Head experience.  I know, biking is big there but so is the island.  With my hotel being at the farthest end of it, biking to the other side just isn’t feasible.  There is a shuttle, but its route is limited.  The one day I took it, I got off too early and tried to walk to the book store which was a really stupid idea.   A car on the island is still the way to go.