by Sky Fisher
This is the second installment in a series of stories written by Sky Fisher (above, left) of Wyalusing, who is on a self-guided missions trip in Central America. Here, she makes the trip from the beaches of Puerto Viejo in Costa Rica (top) to Granada, Nicaragua where she had some time to unwind with part-time travel companion, Grace (above, right).
Travel in Central America is infamous for being unreliable, crowded, and dirty. Costa Rica is generally an exception – tourism has improved the quality of buses, along with their frequency. Until I was leaving Puerto Viejo, every bus had arrived within a half an hour of the scheduled time.
Then my luck ran out.
“Lady, only bus today is one o’clock.”
I glanced up at the sign listing bus times from Puerto Viejo to San Jose at 9 am, 11 am, and 4 pm. The ticket clerk shook his head. “No hoy.” Not today. “Only one. I give you ticket for one in afternoon.”
I glanced at my friend who shrugged. “Fine. Ticket for 1 pm.”
Though I had hoped to leave Puerto Viejo by 11 am at the latest, 1 pm would still get me to San Jose around 5 pm, giving me just enough time to take a taxi to the Ticabus station to purchase my ticket for Nicaragua the next morning. We arrived in San Jose at 8pm.
Why? I have no idea.
When 5 pm rolled around and I realized we were in Cartago – a lovely city I had visited the week before – but still hours from San Jose, I gave up hope of traveling to Nicaragua the next day. The Ticabus office would be closed before I arrived and wandering around San Jose in the dark was the last thing I wanted to do.
The second we stepped off the bus in San Jose, we were met with a flood of Ticos yelling, “Taxi, taxi! Taxi, lady?” My general rule is to ignore anyone who gets in my face to sell something but, after a few seconds, exhaustion took over, and I gave in, paying 2 mil colones (four dollars) more than I should have.
A few hours later, I was hiding out in a quiet corner of the hostel when another late night guest arrived – one of my close friends from Costa Rica. After a few moments of “Hey! So happy to see you,” Grace and I decided that we would head to Nicaragua together. We were going to different cities but the same bus stopped in both locations.
While I love traveling solo, there are just some things that are better with a companion – catching an eight hour bus ride at 5 am is one of those things.
We spent the next day in San Jose relaxing. We made the best guacamole I’ve had and then crashed on the couch for the remainder of the day. I was more than excited to find a Harry Potter marathon playing on the TV – in English, at that!
The next morning, we caught a taxi at 4 am and began the journey to Nicaragua. Ticabus, the company we were using, offers a Central American version of Greyhound, complete with reclining seats and a bathroom – two things that are virtually unheard of on every other bus.
Two hours in, the bus was at a stand-still. Over a hundred bikers were blocking the road, even as buses and cars continuously beeped. Roads don’t get closed here for races, apparently, so the next few miles were an on-going battle between bikers and the bus.
The though of crossing the border had me stressed out, but the process was much simpler than I had anticipated. We stopped at the Costa Rican exit, waited in line for about five minutes to get the exit stamp, got back on the bus, drove another five minutes to the Nicaraguan entrance, handed our passports to one of the Ticabus employees and waited. They returned 20 minutes later with a stamped passport, and we were off.
After arriving in Granada and saying goodbye to Grace, I walked four blocks in the wrong direction before giving up and hailing a taxi. Directions of “Calle Libertad, cerca de Claro, un cuadra y media al lago” are no help when you have no idea where the Claro building or the lake (lago) happen to be. Even with the taxi, I had difficulty finding my home for the next three months and all but collapsed in a heap on my bed when I finally found it.
Granada has been my home for a little over a week now and, though overwhelming at first, I’m slowly beginning to love the city. There are so many things to do in the area and I’m only beginning to uncover the secrets of Granada. I spend my days volunteering at a school in the barrios – more on that later – and my evenings exploring the city. Something tells me Granada is going to be a difficult city to leave – unless fate calls me elsewhere.