Voyage to Buena Vista

When I woke up the next morning, things felt much better. There were four more additions to the hostel. They were from New York. Yes! More English! (My Spanish was still a little rusty.)

They had just been at another ASVO project about an hour south of where my project was. They informed me that my project was five to six hours away by public transit, and that I would be traveling alone. This was new information to me. I was also informed that I should arrive before 4 PM and during low tide because the river that separated the town from the beach project was ruled by a few alligators that considered you a buffet if you entered their river after 4 during high tide.

My new friends and I found a pizza place around the block from our hostel. They insisted on non-Costa Rican food. I was told I would thank them for it later, and I do. They told me all about the project they had just finished, and how the travel to their project was difficult but not impossible. Lucky for them, they all traveled together. Not so lucky for me, I would be traveling alone. Lenny confirmed that fact for me later that night.

Lenny called me into his office behind the hostel where I payed for almost everything. I had misplaced a fifty dollar bill at some point and was now short money. Thankfully, Lenny let me pay for the hostel at the end of my project since I would be staying one more night after my two weeks in Buena Vista (the location of the turtle project).

Lenny informed me that I would be traveling by cab at 5:00AM to the bus station. My bus was scheduled to leave to Nasara at 5:30AM, and I was supposed to change buses at Nicoya. Then I was to take another bus from Nicoya to Samara that left at 10:00AM. This bus would take about an hour and a half. Then I was supposed to find a cab to drive me to Playa de Buena Vista.

Along the way, I had a ton of help. I thankfully met a British guy in the train station at 5:00 AM who knew Spanish fluently and the area very well. He had given up his life in England to join some of his other English friends along the coast of Costa Rica (about an hour from where I was headed). His friends started a surfing school that had been doing very well.

I had to leave the comfort of my fellow English-speaker to change buses after 5 hours. There was a huge market with tons of people sitting, waiting for buses in 90 degree heat. A girl who spoke a bit of English and Spanish slow enough for me to understand helped me get to the bus to Samara since she was going their too.

When we reached Samara, I got off the bus into an even hotter heat. I wrestled my bags out from underneath the bus and secured my life size backpack on my bag and clipped it around my waist. I slide my other backpack onto my front like a pregnancy suit. My purse and pillow-filled Nordstrom bag with a weighed down my right arm. As I walked down the broken asphalt and sand-filled street I heard English. I walked in the direction of a skinny, white, slightly hunched man with mangled facial hair covering his sunburnt face wearing a huge smile. I told him that I was looking for Buena Vista, and he pointed toward the blue water a short walk from where I was and said "walk that way, there are cabs down there. The official cabs are small, red cars, but there are pirate taxis as well. Don't worry, I know all of those guys, they are all good guys. Just walk that way and you will see them." I thanked him and kept walking until I heard someone yell "Cab?!" I turned around to find a man of similar height to me walking toward me with hands outstreched. I started walking toward him feeling exhausted and hot, probably looking a complete mess.

He put me into the cab and arranged my bags. I put my purse at my feet and started to buckle my seatbelt. He looked at me sideways and made a motion toward the belt. "Ah," he started to say, "you don't need that. It's not dangerous, a short drive." I smiled and obliged. I pulled out the directions Lenny had given me as I had done all day, terrified of making a mistake about names, directions or money. The cab driver looked at the paper I was concentrating on, and said, "ASVO, I know where that is. Not too far." Then he started to make small talk in Spanish, which I began to understood. He talked about all of the gringas that came to visit Costa Rica and how much they liked coming to Samara to dance with them. I laughed to myself when he asked if I understood.

After 15 minutes of driving, we pulled up to a very shallow river with the bluest ocean I had ever seen as the backdrop. He told me to walk through the river, reassuring me that it was low tide, and walk about 800 meters down to the right. I, of course, had no idea how far 800 meters was, but I paid the man, thanked him and crossed the river.

I walked until a guy, a few years younger than me, ran up to me, and asked in broken English if I was looking for ASVO and introduced himself as Roberto. I said I was, and he said okay, took my small backpack and started walking up to a small house on stilts. He looked back at me and said, "No English, okay?" I said okay, and followed him up to 20 people sitting down to lunch. They were apparently expecting me since they all seemed to know my name already.

Traveling Alone-Day One

Well, I am back from Costa Rica and finally ready to write about it.

My first night in Costa Rica was terrifying, overwhelming and lonely. This was the first trip I have ever made by myself outside of the United States. After going through two rounds of customs and being cleared to head outside toward the bustle of the streets of San Jose, Costa Rica, I was "greeted" by dozens of taxi drivers calling me pretty lady and trying to get me into their cabs. There were even more people with signs with names of them. I told myself to remain calm and read every sign carefully so that I was sure that none of them were my name. Finally, I found one with my name on it. A man introduced himself as Lenny with perfect English. He walked me to his car and said that we were waiting for his son and the receptionist. His son, a four-year old boy, got into the seat behind me and speaking Spanish very quickly asked who I was. While getting into his seat, he reached both hands around my headrest and touched my face with his small fingers. I looked at him, and he smiled at me. Lenny apologized and smiled. Welcome to Costa Rica.

We arrived in the hostel run by ASVO (the company I went down there to work for). I was shown to my room by the receptionist from the car who didn't speak a word of English. I was in the Tortugeuro Room, and I had it completely to myself (pictured below). What a blessing! I settled into my room and started to cry. I was so overwhelmed and thought seriously about getting back on the plane and heading home.

The next day things got better.