Mud puddle.
Road into town.
Due to Panama's visa requirement of leaving after 90 days for a minimum of 72 hours, I headed to Costa Rica for a mandatory vacation...tears for me, anyone? As fun as it sounds (and it was), it is somewhat of an expensive hassle. I drove my truck to the mechanic in David because my 4-wheel is having some issues. I expected they would want me to leave it for a few days which is what happened. Then, I hopped a bus to Paso Canoas, the border town. The bus driver was a maniac so I got there in about 45 minutes, including several stops. Once at the border, I was utterly confused. There was no line, no clear place to go to get a stamp or something, I walked right by a big room with dogs and cops searching luggage, but again there was no mandatory line so I just kept walking. I wandered into the no-man's land border town and walked over the actual border line which was indicated on the road in paint. The town looked like a bomb went off...road construction everywhere, people wondering around looking lost (including me), panhandlers, scammers, and lots of sketchiness. I kept walking and could have walked right out of the town and into Costa Rica. I knew I must have needed to get a visa stamp somewhere, so I turned around and went back to the beginning. I finally found a poorly-marked kiosk that said Panama exit. I slid my passport to the official and he stamped it with an exit stamp. Ok, now what? He told me to go to Costa Rica's office and get another stamp, but his directions were unclear as to which building. A young man saw my confusion and offered to help insisting he could get me through the border cheaply and saying he worked for the border officials (red flag). I humored him for a bit until he told me I needed to by a round-trip bus ticket to prove to Costa Rican officials I intended to leave the country...I knew this to be untrue. He was aggressively insisting I have him arrange the tickets for a good price from a friend of his. I declined, but he led me to the Costa Rican office, so I told the official I intended on staying in CR for three days. He took my passport and stamped it for a three-day passage. The young man then told me he was about to tell me if I was only there three days, I didn't need to buy a round trip to which I responded he should strongly consider getting out of my face. So, satisfied I had completed the necessary tasks to legally cross into CR, I started to look for a bus to the midway-point of my final destination, Palmara Norte. I discovered all the chicken buses stopped running at 6pm, so I had to spring for a comfy coach for $20. While in line, I met David, a documentary film-maker from Washington D.C. who was on his way to the same little surf town I was ultimately going to, Playa Dominical. David's mission was to film local exotic bird smugglers stealing birds from their nests which he had apparently arranged ahead of time. The smugglers just wanted to be in a movie, so the arrangement was easy. About half an hour into CR, the bus stopped at a checkpoint, and our visas were examined. I luckily did everything right, no thanks to any guidance from signs or officials from Panama or Costa Rica. I kept thinking how bad it would have sucked if they pulled me from the bus, fined me, and dumped me in some dinky town with no accommodations at 8pm.
Ok, for those of you who have been on my case for an update, here you are for now, and I will finish the story another time. I have a date. Peace.
I'm back!
David the bird-smuggling documentary film-maker and I arrived in Palmar Norte where the bus dropped us off. We inquired about a bus going to Dominical, but as we feared, there weren't any running this late at night. The first taxi we asked wanted $70. The second taxi agreed to $40. We ate typical CR food at a hole-in-the-wall and headed out. The ride took about an hour. Dominical is a tiny surfer haven with dirt roads. The town was dead when we got there, but luckily Jess gave me some good info on places to stay and after some searching, I found the place she told me about (it had changed names since she was here last, so I found it based on description). $25/night got David and I a two-bed private room with A/C and a swimming pool. We stayed up drinking beer and solving the world's problems.
The next morning, I went to the beach and then met David at breakfast where he was meeting a guy setting up a meeting with the local bird smugglers. Their plan was to hang in the trees with a rope and film locals physically removing baby birds from their nests. From there, they plan on following the birds through the process of bribes with officials, transportation to other locations, and the actual purchase/sale of the birds to collectors. I have no idea how they are going to pull it off, but it would be neat to see the documentary come through.
I went for a nice beach hike, ran, worked out (pushups/situps in my room), and headed to dinner at a place advertising $1 tacos and $2 margaritas. While there, a nice couple on their honeymoon (Nate and Allisa) invited me to join them. They were lots of fun and we hung out all night at different places.
Costa Rican beer.
DJ Stick Bush?? In the house.
The beach.
Beach comber.
Waves.
The following day, I rented an eighty-six inch board (shorter than I'm used to) and went surfing. The break was straight in, so the only real option was riding white water. The waves and rip currents were super powerful and it was exhausting getting out, but I got several rides with a nap break, and it was a good day overall. More drinking beer and talking to locals that night. It is a very relaxing place and one that I recommend visiting. Plus, it's low-season there, so there are not mobs of people which is nice.
San Clemente...What's up, Elvis?
The bus to Cd. Neilly.
Surf shop.
The next morning, I got up at 4:30am to catch the only bus that would get me to the border at a decent time. 5 hours of finding my happy place to endure the seemingly hundreds of stops on the chicken bus, and I arrived at Ciudad Neilly where I luckily caught another bus to the border right away. That was another hour talking to an old timer (he did most of the talking) and then the border. This time, I knew what I was doing. Three different times, I again walked right passed the security room where they were checking bags. I just didn't feel like getting searched and there were no officials enforcing it, so right on by I went. Panama does require proof on onward travel which I do not have. I pretended I was dumb and told the official I forgot a copy of my ticket in Boquete. He said OK and stamped my passport. I hopped on a bus to David with an even more maniacal driver than the first, and made it there in under an hour. I went to pick up my vehicle and discovered nothing had been fixed, and they didn't know what was wrong...so begins my anticipated headaches with a used vehicle. Talking to a mechanic is hard enough for me, but when it's in Spanish and I don't know the words for anything relating to a car, I feel like a 2-year old, pointing and grunting.
I made it back to Boquete and went out to dinner with Jess while recapping my experience. It was a fun trip, tedious at times, definitely more expensive than I thought it would be, but fun. Next time will be easier.
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