It was quite an adventure both getting to Boquete and returning to the Osa. Everything in between was more than perfect! The journey started out shitty when I realized the town office sent my backpack of clean clothes to Bosque and no one informed me and I was in town with no clothes! My trip to Boquete couldn’t begin with out underwear or socks and I was at the mercy that I could trust someone to send my backpack to town in the morning. At 8 AM my backpack arrived, and I sprinted to board the 8:45 ferry to Golfito. After the 25 min ferry ride I arrived in Golfito and was lucky enough to find 3 people to share a taxi with to the border: a Parision, Barcelona guy and an unfriendly Canadian. I jumped in the front seat for a better view of the road and to avoid any car sickness that I can at times incur and an hour later we were at the border.
Since I’m friendly I introduced myself to everyone in the taxi and I found out Mr. Barcelona was an ex-body guard in Spain and wanted to improve his English. At the border Mr. Barcelona waited for me to get my passport exit stamp and asked me to “take” (drink) a cup of coffee with him. Considering La Fronterra looked like a dirty wild wild west meets Chinatown of New York, I thought it couldn’t hurt to have a strong body guard by my side. Plus taking a cup of coffee is harmless, he seemed interesting and we can both practice our languages. As we sat down to a cup of coffee we discussed Puerto Jimenez (town near my resort) and how disgusting it is that most men not only have a wife but several girlfriends and this is culturally acceptable. He explained it is like this everywhere in Latin America but not in Spain. The Spaniards never cheat. He told me about his 3 kids, wife, mother-in-law and 7 dogs that all live with him. Again, I’m still in the mindset…harmless conversation. After coffee I decided it was time to buy a new pair of flip flops as mine broke in the mud and Panama’s border had a billion to choose from. So Mr. Barcelona escorted me, but after 10 min of attempting to shop in the hell hole I decided it was time to just cross the border. Being a “gentleman” carries my bag to the border and has the nerve to say “I want to kiss you!” Now I understand Europeans love to kiss on the cheeks – 2 cheeks if I’m correct. This guy had the nerve to go straight for my lips!!! Which at point I took my two hands, pushed him away and yelled “Tu tiene una esposa!!!” His response, “But I have never kissed an American!” Disgusted, shocked and just in total dismay I jumped on my bus to David and never looked back.
Things progressed to get worse! The bus was half full, so I took a seat by myself, 4 minutes later a 70 lb, 80 year old cowboy jumps on the bus and plops down right next to me. He stares not ahead but straight at my boobs which are about eye level to him because he is SO short. He’s talking gibberish Spanish and all I can understand is “Bonita”, “Mi amore,” and “Tu me amores?” He is speaking so loud and so frequent the entire bus is staring at me. By this point the bus has filled and there is no where for me to escape to so all I can do is, “no comprende”, “no se” and then I just busted into laughter hoping he would think I’m insane and just leave me alone. No such luck, 30 minutes after being harassed I’m finally able to change seats. The last leg of the trip was an old school bus from David to Boquette. I found a nice 21 year old girl with a beautiful baby to sit next to and it was a pleasant rest of the ride.
Fast forward 4 days and I’m making the same journey in reverse. Which was even worse of a nightmare and so bad it resembled an episode of “Locked up Abroad.” First of all I missed the bus because I set my alarm wrong so I took a taxi to David. Turns out my taxi driver felt the need to pick up every kid along the bus route and drop them off at school for a few extra cents. It was 6:30 AM and I was tired since I had been awoken at 3:30 AM by a 4.7 magnitude earthquake. I yelled at him “No es un autobus es un taxi” which I later regretted because these kids did need to get to school and I was being a bratty American.
After the taxi, I caught a bus from David to Boquete which was uneventful until ½ mile before the border. There I saw hundreds of semis parked along side the road, well it turns out the border was on strike. Which meant passengers got dropped off ½ mile from the border. More than anything I was amused about having to walk down the middle of a freeway to cross a border because of a strike. As I started trekking along the freeway with my huge backpack and long blond hair I heard the sounds of men hissing, whistling, and shouting “mommy” at me. (I later learned “mommy” = hot mama). I couldn’t wait to get to the border. As I handed my passport to the guy at the Panama border control he looked really confused. Turns out the entry to Panama worker never stamped my passport on May 4th. This lead to border control questioning me where had I been for the last 4 days, basically I was an illegal alien! I was sick to my stomach and so confused how this could have happened! Luckily I met 70 year old Californian man who became my Saint and translator for the morning. I explained to him my predicament and thankfully he offered to help. At the Costa Rican border we tried to explain what happened and the response I got was an extremely unsympathetic, “You are going to need to hire a lawyer!” I burst into tears, thinking where the hell was I going to find one is this shit hole of a border. I know both countries are extremely corrupt with border control and the solution was going to be a fistful of dollars but I was just extremely frustrated.
My Saint said all the right things to calm me down, “Kid, think of it as an adventure it will be a good story for all your friends, we’ll get through it.” After we found an 18 year old fraud broker it just took a couple trips back and forth between border control offices and $60 later I was back on my way to Costa Rica.
I’ve learned there are times when your hands are tied and money means nothing. I realize I could have negotiated the $60 fee but I figured the alternative was so much worse. I even hugged my fraud dealer for “helping me” at which point he tried to give me his phone number! A taxi trip, ferry ride and employee car ride later I was back at Bosque. With the exception of the lodge’s Land Rover overheating 2 miles from the lodge the rest of the trip was uneventful.
Since I’m friendly I introduced myself to everyone in the taxi and I found out Mr. Barcelona was an ex-body guard in Spain and wanted to improve his English. At the border Mr. Barcelona waited for me to get my passport exit stamp and asked me to “take” (drink) a cup of coffee with him. Considering La Fronterra looked like a dirty wild wild west meets Chinatown of New York, I thought it couldn’t hurt to have a strong body guard by my side. Plus taking a cup of coffee is harmless, he seemed interesting and we can both practice our languages. As we sat down to a cup of coffee we discussed Puerto Jimenez (town near my resort) and how disgusting it is that most men not only have a wife but several girlfriends and this is culturally acceptable. He explained it is like this everywhere in Latin America but not in Spain. The Spaniards never cheat. He told me about his 3 kids, wife, mother-in-law and 7 dogs that all live with him. Again, I’m still in the mindset…harmless conversation. After coffee I decided it was time to buy a new pair of flip flops as mine broke in the mud and Panama’s border had a billion to choose from. So Mr. Barcelona escorted me, but after 10 min of attempting to shop in the hell hole I decided it was time to just cross the border. Being a “gentleman” carries my bag to the border and has the nerve to say “I want to kiss you!” Now I understand Europeans love to kiss on the cheeks – 2 cheeks if I’m correct. This guy had the nerve to go straight for my lips!!! Which at point I took my two hands, pushed him away and yelled “Tu tiene una esposa!!!” His response, “But I have never kissed an American!” Disgusted, shocked and just in total dismay I jumped on my bus to David and never looked back.
Things progressed to get worse! The bus was half full, so I took a seat by myself, 4 minutes later a 70 lb, 80 year old cowboy jumps on the bus and plops down right next to me. He stares not ahead but straight at my boobs which are about eye level to him because he is SO short. He’s talking gibberish Spanish and all I can understand is “Bonita”, “Mi amore,” and “Tu me amores?” He is speaking so loud and so frequent the entire bus is staring at me. By this point the bus has filled and there is no where for me to escape to so all I can do is, “no comprende”, “no se” and then I just busted into laughter hoping he would think I’m insane and just leave me alone. No such luck, 30 minutes after being harassed I’m finally able to change seats. The last leg of the trip was an old school bus from David to Boquette. I found a nice 21 year old girl with a beautiful baby to sit next to and it was a pleasant rest of the ride.
Fast forward 4 days and I’m making the same journey in reverse. Which was even worse of a nightmare and so bad it resembled an episode of “Locked up Abroad.” First of all I missed the bus because I set my alarm wrong so I took a taxi to David. Turns out my taxi driver felt the need to pick up every kid along the bus route and drop them off at school for a few extra cents. It was 6:30 AM and I was tired since I had been awoken at 3:30 AM by a 4.7 magnitude earthquake. I yelled at him “No es un autobus es un taxi” which I later regretted because these kids did need to get to school and I was being a bratty American.
After the taxi, I caught a bus from David to Boquete which was uneventful until ½ mile before the border. There I saw hundreds of semis parked along side the road, well it turns out the border was on strike. Which meant passengers got dropped off ½ mile from the border. More than anything I was amused about having to walk down the middle of a freeway to cross a border because of a strike. As I started trekking along the freeway with my huge backpack and long blond hair I heard the sounds of men hissing, whistling, and shouting “mommy” at me. (I later learned “mommy” = hot mama). I couldn’t wait to get to the border. As I handed my passport to the guy at the Panama border control he looked really confused. Turns out the entry to Panama worker never stamped my passport on May 4th. This lead to border control questioning me where had I been for the last 4 days, basically I was an illegal alien! I was sick to my stomach and so confused how this could have happened! Luckily I met 70 year old Californian man who became my Saint and translator for the morning. I explained to him my predicament and thankfully he offered to help. At the Costa Rican border we tried to explain what happened and the response I got was an extremely unsympathetic, “You are going to need to hire a lawyer!” I burst into tears, thinking where the hell was I going to find one is this shit hole of a border. I know both countries are extremely corrupt with border control and the solution was going to be a fistful of dollars but I was just extremely frustrated.
My Saint said all the right things to calm me down, “Kid, think of it as an adventure it will be a good story for all your friends, we’ll get through it.” After we found an 18 year old fraud broker it just took a couple trips back and forth between border control offices and $60 later I was back on my way to Costa Rica.
I’ve learned there are times when your hands are tied and money means nothing. I realize I could have negotiated the $60 fee but I figured the alternative was so much worse. I even hugged my fraud dealer for “helping me” at which point he tried to give me his phone number! A taxi trip, ferry ride and employee car ride later I was back at Bosque. With the exception of the lodge’s Land Rover overheating 2 miles from the lodge the rest of the trip was uneventful.
Pictures: Leaving Costa Rica, Ferry to Golfito, Me walking Panama Border, Panama Border
Very entertaining Mandy! 2 things:
ReplyDelete1) Didn't Molly warn you about Spanish men? Saying Spaniards never cheat is like saying Swedes don't speak Swedish.
2) "Mommy" is the worst pet name ever. Do people have some sort of complex down there?
Hope to get to see you when you get back to SF