Why must there be 2 cities with the same name in 1 small country, and why doesnt the bus station named "The Caribbean" take you to the one that is in The Caribbean? This is my question of the day and if you guessed that I went to the wrong bus station... and then traded a platano for a pair of head phones and had a staring contest with the man at the right bus station, then you, too, my friend have lived in Latin America.
Ironically, my last blog was about bus rides.
Turns out, i blogged too soon. todays entire bus experience may have been a bit more noteworthy than yesterdays.
Being a bit low on funds, the original plan was to walk to the bus station when I got to san jose from bus 1. However, hearing that the walk is rather dangerous and being a veteran of armed robberies, I decided to waste $8 to go to the wrong bus station, by taxi, have a small panic attack along the way and then get another taxi to go backwards to the right bus station, thereby saving $0 and gaining another wrinkle.
The pequeno panic attack came from the fact that taxi #1 decided to take a short cut down an abandonded graffiti'd city alley way which automatically triggered a (para)(?) Sympathetic response within me to "fight or flight", since I had been in this situation priorly in america central. So there I am, simultaneously dialing the first person I can think of in my phone, preparing for a tuck and roll car escape, and reaching into my mochila for my Leatherman and by the time I had all 3 listo we were out of the alley and into the wrong bus station. My heart was still racing as I smiled awkwardly and handed the innocent driver his wage for taking me to the place I had no use in being.
The ticket lady smiled as she said "which puerto viejo?" Confirming what I already new and adding a talleymark to her list of gringas who longed to see the carribean sea but were headed instead to a farmland.
The second driver's taxi had a broken meter (claro) so I willingly paid him double the price for half the distance I paid last time so that I could back track to where I came from. Perfecto.
Finally, I'm at the right station, albeit in debt and in dolor de cabeza.
I treat myself to an ice cream and platanos porque olvidalo I need it and while waiting online for the bus the guy in front of me literally stares me in the face, about a foot away. I continue eating my ice cream casually and stare back because the ice cream is too good to stop and I'm too tired to be offended. He continues to follow me with his eyes as he walks away and so I continue stare too until finally I think he realizes I'm not gonna sleep with him and he carries on with his life before I interuppted it with my standing and my ice cream.
Finally, a harmless fellow approaches, trying to sell a plastic bag full of instantly-breakable electronics, hoping that was exactly what I came to the right bus station for. Since I inform him, after numerous sales-expert attempts at convincing, that its not, he moves on to letting me know that I don't need to eat. I should "stay skinny", give him my platanos and take a pair of bootleg headphones. I give him some platanos, informing him that I do, in fact plan to continue my life with alimentation. He says if I learn to love then I never have to wantaanything and I tell him he is right and we laugh knowing that he is right and know ing that we both want platanos and ice cream.
And then he leaves and i giggle and shake my head and a boy a few feet ahead interprets this as an invitation to check out my legs. This is immediately followed by him askig me if he could tell me how linda I am and how nice, too, and can he please have my Facebook? Honestly, No I don't want to share that info, I say. Bit...perhaps I want to sit next to him on tbe bus? No, just want to sleep, I say. Phone number? No. Go out in San Jose sometime?
Hue la gran......
And finally, I'm here, sitting in paz, sola, on the right bus going to the right Puerto Viejo, wondering what a bore life would be if it were easy.
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