October Break Entry I

Tomorrow October break will be over and I will go back to work. This morning Ji-Soo and I woke at 4:30 to walk him to his 6:30 bus to the airport. We walked down the mountain as the sun rose and heard howler monkeys in the trees behind us. We saw a coyote cross the street in front of us in Cerro Plano. It was big and lanky and shiny and nimble. We thought that maybe this is why there are not chickens everywhere like there were in Nicaragua. I realized that I live in a very special place and am very lucky to be here.

October break was exciting and wonderful and I will present it to those of you who are interested in chapters (a la Ernesto Guevara in The Motorcycle Diaries) but first, this:

Dear Ji-Soo,
This is what you missed on the walk home: I saw that lady running again. It really was her this time, not some old man. The view by the gas station was amazing - steel blues and grays layered on each other and melting into the clouds. As I passed in front of the school I heard noise in the trees and looked up to see a group of ten or twelve white-faced monkeys crossing the road, way up in the branches. They crossed one at a time, and then were gone. This was particularly exciting because I have not seen white-faced monkeys in Monteverde before. I saw a bright red bird but did not get a good look at it before it flew away. I got home at 7:35, which is interesting because I walked slowly and uphill and it only took twenty minutes longer than it did for us to walk quickly downhill. When I walked in I was pretty sure that you had never been here at all, but then I changed out of my sweaty clothes, took a deep breath and sat down on the couch. I saw the coffee maker in the kitchen and your towel hung out to dry on the porch and I knew that you had been here, but were now gone, and I was sad. Then I ate the curry chicken and the banana bread, but did not drink the coffee.
Love,
Ginna

Meeting Ji in San Jose

This was pretty uneventful. I left my house last Saturday (10.10.09) at 5 a.m., walked to Santa Elena and got on the 6:30 San Jose bus. I was at the airport by 10 a.m., which was…early. Ji’s flight got in at 1:30. I had a book recommended from a student that lasted me about an hour. The remaining three hours I spent wandering around and trying to avoid the taxi drivers who kept wanting to talk to me. My favorite part was the American family who sat next to me on the bench while they waited for the Budget rental van to arrive and kept commenting on the make of the cars.
“Paul, I haven’t seen a single American made car.” Pause. Pause.
“They are all Toyotas.” Pause. Pause.
“Well, there’s a Chevy.”
Ji-Soo got in around 2, we hopped a cab to the hotel, dropped our bags and headed out to get bus tickets to Nicaragua. Why Nicarauga? Because I am horrible at paper work and had not jumped through the proper hoops in time to get my working visa, which expires at the end of the month. I had to leave the country. We made a stop at El Mercado Central for casados con chuleta, “typical” Costa Rican food (rice and beans, salad, veggies, pork chop). We got soaked in the rain even though we broke down and bought an umbrella, and the market food started me on a days long bout of tummy problems. Here we were, Ji had been in the country for less than 12 hours and already we are wandering around down town San Jose in the dark trying to find the bus station, soaking wet, with me dragging him into gas stations to find a toilet RIGHT NOW. I began to wonder – was he having fun yet?

Travel to Nicaragua

Our TicaBus bus left for Rivas, Nicaragua at 7:30 a.m. on Sunday. We had to be there one hour early and left the hotel a little after six a.m. This was now the second day of his “vacation” that Ji had gotten up before six. Maybe he thought this was fun? Doubtful.

Let me pause here to mention that I had never traveled across boarders by bus in Central America, and had no idea how to do it. I had heard from multiple sources that TicaBus and other international bus lines (TransNica) were professional and trustworthy and I should not hesitate to fork over my passport to a stranger and let him walk off the bus and into a building with it, but I was still a little unsure. Thankfully, Ji is completely comfortable traveling in foreign countries in which he barely speaks the language and has no idea what is going on. More on that later.

The first international bus tidbit that we learned was how to check our bags. Luggage theft on buses is quite a large problem and this process was very organized. As you hand in your bag they attach a paper tag to it with a number. This tag has a detachable section with a matching number which is ripped off and given to the bag owner to be used when they claim their bags at the end of their journey. I was beginning to feel more relaxed. I should not leave out that it was Ji who figured this system out. I didn’t even know that we could check our bags. Checking our bags was also nice because the man who did it for us mentioned that we had to actually check in with our ticket at the counter. Good to know.

We hopped on the bus and travel was clean and comfortable. Except for the gasoline fumes. I found them quite overwhelming and was a little worried about the fact that our bus reeked of gas, but Ji seemed pretty calm and I tried to follow his lead. I was worried at first about the state of my stomach, but am getting quite good, out of necessity, at willing my stomach into submission. With no stomach clenches to distract me, I was able to enjoy our trip. The ride to Rivas would take six or seven hours we were told, and that gave us plenty of time to chat, nap, listen to music and smile at the three year old boy who stood quietly on his mom’s knees and looked out the window for hours at a time. We watched an episode of No Reservations on Ji’s iPod (isn’t it interesting as I type this on my Mac that “iPod” is not recognized by spell check?). No Reservations is this hilarious and interesting show on the food network. Anthony Bordain is an ex-chef who travels the world and eats. Ji brought his two favorite episodes that interestingly enough correspond to the two places he considers home: Korea and New Jersey. On this bus ride we watched the Korea episode, and I loved it. Anthony Bordain is a grumpy old man, which is hilarious, especially when he gets dragged to karaoke in Seoul by a young, upbeat, cheerful Korean co-worker.

How to Cross the Border in a Bus

We arrived at the Costa Rica – Nicaragua border what seemed to be two hours ahead of schedule, until we spent two hours at the border standing in lines.

Step One: Get off the bus
This seems simple, but there were no directions given. We suspected that we were nearing the border when we started passing miles of semi-trucks waiting on the side of the road for inspection. (Ji says, “Um, I think we are at the boarder.”) The bus stopped and everyone got off, so we got off also. There were no signs explaining what to do or where to go, so we just followed the other people who had been on our bus, hoping that they knew what was going on. It was hot and I had to pee.

Step Two: Some guy stamps your passport
After about twenty minutes in a line we were allowed inside to stand on another line. There were two lines in this room, one labeled “Entrada” and one labeled “Salida”. We were not the only ones confused. Were we leaving Costa Rica or entering Nicaragua? This was the Costa Rican border and we were leaving the country, but I still don’t remember what line we were in. It was the line next to the windows, does that help?

Step Three: Get back on the bus
Seems simple, huh? Not when you are traveling with an Asian. We waited in another, shorter line to get back onto our bus. This line, however, was in the midday sun, which made it quite uncomfortable. I boarded the bus first and showed my passport and customs form to a man from the bus company who was seated in the driver’s seat. He informed me that when we entered Nicaragua I would have to pay $8 and that I had to redo my customs forms with a specific address. I had put “Ometepe”, the name of the island we were going to, but this was not good enough. When I explained that we still did not know where we would be spending the night he told me, “Put Hotel Ometepe, even though there is no such place. At least you’ll have something.” I ended up putting a random name from the guidebook. As I moved onto the bus and headed back to my seat, the man called me back. He had Ji’s passport in hand.
“You need to go inside and make some photocopies of this passport. “ He showed me three pages to copy – 1) the first page with the picture 2) the page with the stamp when Ji entered Costa Rica the day before and 3) the page with the stamp when Ji had visited Guatemala in 2003.
“What? Why?”
“We have to have photocopies of anyone who is Chinese, Japanese or Korean.”
“But why do you need a copy of when he went to Guatemala? That was in 2003.”
“This is what they ask for.”
“Even though he is a citizen of the United States?”
“It doesn’t matter. Even if they have a north american passport, that is what they ask for from anyone with a Chinese last name.” This is funny, because Ji is not Chinese and it clearly says so on his passport. Also, his last name is Park. But, we had no choice. The man assured us that the bus would not leave without us and gave us directions to where to get photocopies. I looked at Ji. He did look mighty suspicious.

Now is a good time to mention that I was having a lot of difficulty understanding the Spanish spoken at the boarder. So when we went back into the immigration building to try to get photocopies made and the lady at the photocopier had no idea what I was talking about I was doubly lost. The following is a rough guess of what happened.
“Do you need to make photocopies?”
“Yes.”
“Is it for your car?”
“No, they told us that we needed to make three copies from this passport.”
“Oh, you’ll have to ask over there.” I walked over to the counter but she called me back. “What do you need the copies of?”
“His passport.”
“Oh. You have to go to the room down the hall to get your passport stamped.”
“We already got them stamped. Then, when we went to get back on the bus-“
“The buses are out that door.”
“But the man on the bus told us…” I paused here looking for correct conjugation. She laughed, exasperated.
“I don’t know who the man on the bus is!” This was not working.
“Since he is Korean, (pointing at Ji) we need copies.” I guess these were the magic words.
“Oh! Ok.” She took the passport and made the copies. We paid and headed back to the bus. We got on the bus. We drove to Nicaragua.

Step Four: Give up your passport
Yup. He worked for the bus line. He charged us $8, shoved our passports in a small plastic bag and walked away.

Step Five: Nicaragua customs
The Nicaraguan border is about half a mile from the Costa Rican border. Once again we got off the bus only because this is what everyone else was doing. This time there were directions: we were to take everything with us off the bus and claim our luggage from the belly of the bus. People filed off the bus and into a disorganized mass, waiting to see and grab their luggage. Remember that organized system of matching numbers and tags? It did not go into affect here. It was a free for all. Anyone could have grabbed our stuff and ran, but no one did. Once we got our luggage we waited in line, again, to have our bags checked by Nicaraguan customs. I left my bags with Ji for a bit to find and chat with an American exchange student from my school that we had run into at the Costa Rican boarder. She and her mom were running into some passport/visa issues, but all seemed to be working out well so I returned to where I left Ji standing. The line moved slowly and brought us to a man at a worn, rickety wooden desk outside. I handed him my customs form, he looked at me and waved me back towards the bus. Ji, next in line, handed the customs official his form. The man turned to me and asked, “Are those his bags?” I replied that they were and we were both waved back to the bus. I’m not quite sure where the confusion came in since Ji was wearing his backpack and shoulder bag, but I guess that man could not be too sure.

Step Six: Get back on the bus
The TicaBus man with our passports had not yet emerged from the office where he was hopefully not losing my passport, so we hung out around the bus with the other passengers. I couldn’t help myself and bought fried chicken, cabbage salad and fried plantains in a plastic bag for 35 cordovas (US$1.75 US$1 = 20 cordovas). Ji looked at me, astonished. All day I have been trying my best to keep my tummy calm. “If you get sick, you get no sympathy from me.” I can’t say that I blame him. I nibbled a bit and then tossed it in the trashcan, feeling spoiled and guilty to throw away food in such an impoverished nation.
The man with the passports returned and started calling out our names, checking us with our passports, handing back the passports and letting us back on the bus. When he got to Ji’s he didn’t even attempt his first name, just calling out “Park”. We got on the bus. Thirty minutes later we were in Rivas.

Our First Night In Nicaragua

We got off the bus in Rivas, Nicaragua and had to show our numbered tabs to get our luggage out of the belly of the bus. The man who gave us out luggage spent a long time checking the numbers, too, which makes me wonder if I could have gotten my bag without the tag. We had planned to take a cab to the neighboring town of San Jorge, where we would hop the ferry to Ometepe Island. As soon as we had bags in hand a taxi driver approached us.
“Taxi?”
“Yes. We’d like to go to San Jorge.”
“Ok. Five dollars.”
“Really? We were told that it would be $1.50.” This is true. This is what it said in the two Nicaragua travel guides we brought with us. I do not like to barter, but I also do not like to be ripped off.
“Hm…I can give it to you for four dollars. Two dollars a person.” I looked at Ji. I don’t like having to do this. Ji suggested three dollars, $1.50 per person and the driver agreed. I asked how far it is to the San Jorge port and the driver told us 15-20 minutes. This is roughly what the guidebook says. In reality, it took less than ten minutes. Hm.

When we arrived in San Jorge we walked towards the port and passed the two chained up monkeys in a tree that I had been warned about. It was 3:30. A man approached us as we poked around the gate to the port. He said the ferry to Ometepe left already, at 3:30, but there was another one leaving at 4:30. I looked at the four-foot high ferry schedule next to him and didn’t see a 4:30 departure. “There is a ferry that leaves at 4:30 even though it doesn’t say it here on the schedule?” I asked, obviously skeptical. He looked at me for a second and then spoke to me slowly, as if I would have trouble understanding the complexity of his answer: the 4:30 ferry is from another company. When I learned that we didn’t have to pay until we are on the ferry I felt less defensive and forked over two dollars for an island entrance fee. Or something. Ji looked at me as we walked away and asked about the validity of the little Ometepe tourism tickets we now held in our hands. We were one hour away from leaving for Ometepe and had a solid day of successful travel behind us and I was in a good mood. “Well, they looked official enough”, I said.

We ducked into a small restaurant to sweat uncomfortably and kill an hour. Ji was excited to have a grape Fanta until he decided that the bottle was reused and had been washed in gasoline.
The ferry ride was pretty uneventful. Did I mention how unpleasantly hot it was? I get cranky when I’m hot and sweaty and Ji gets cranky when he’s hungry and we were both pushing the limits. Ji had purposefully dehydrated himself so as to not have to pee on the bus and was now parched. Luckily the ferry sold cold bottles of water for 11 cordovas. The trip had magnificent views of Ometepe Island, which is an island of two volcanoes and got much better when we mustered the energy to lug ourselves up to the top deck and sit in the breeze.

(Ji-Soo being sweaty and gross at the restaurant. I only post this picture because Ji said it was his favorite one.)


(Ji-Soo being insanely cute with his gasoline Fanta)


(waiting for the ferry)

Almost exactly an hour after pulling away from the dock in San Jorge we arrived in Moyogalpa, Ometepe. We dropped our stuff at a hotel and went out to grab a bite to eat. The waitress where we ended up was patient and kind and answered all my questions. She said they had pitaya juice, and I didn’t know what that was. After much guessing and an obvious hint that I missed but Ji got, (some people call it fruta de dragon) I ordered dragon fruit juice and ate and played with the puppies and went back to the hotel and fell asleep.


(jugo de pitaya - yum yum yum)

(real time update - I have not slept since 4 a.m. and am tired and hungry and going home. The rest of the story will come later)