We had woken up at 3 in the morning for a 5 o’clock flight, flew 3 hours to Ft. Lauderdale (spring break 2002 flashbacks are tiring), 3 more hours to San Jose, CR, survived not one, but two landings on the same flight (see “Who wants a stamp in their passport?“), went through customs, immigration, 35 minutes of chasing CK in a parking lot while waiting for our rental car, a quick bite to eat at a local soda (little Ma and Pa restaurants all over Costa Rica), danced the Hokey Pokey approximately 68 times in addition to several Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes (in Spanish, Cabesa, Hombros, Rodillas, y Pies. Pies actually means feet in Spanish as opposed to Toes, which are dedos de pie. Now you understand why they changed it up. Latinos got rhythm. Dedos de pies would throw the whole song off.), and the car seat was installed, with one happy camper straight-jacketed in. It was a four-hour drive and we were probably delirious to think we could make the trip considering it was already 3 in the afternoon. But we were motivated…
He loves moving vehicles! Notice the train in his right hand. He has a natural kung fu grip, very rare for his age, but once he has something in his hands, especially toys with wheels, it's not going to come out anytime soon, kinda like Rosanne...it took some time.
I know his car seat looks like it’s out of the Barbie Doll Soccer Mom series, but it’s all they had. We asked the security guard working the lot for directions. He told us to take a right out of the lot, another right at the gas station, which will eventually turn into a highway, then look for signs or ask for directions. Vague, I know, but we were satisfied and sure we could figure it out. We saw the gas station when we were shuttled in and once we are on the highway, it shouldn’t be a problem to look for signs to Puerto Viejo. You know, those large, very detailed and clear, green signs on highways? Those signs that have everything including names of cities and streets, exit numbers, and mileage between services, to flashing lights and traffic radio stations. The only thing missing from those signs are condom dispensers.
Getting out of the parking lot was the first obstacle. I think someone forgot to add traffic laws to the constitution here. It is basically a scene out of Mad Max, everyone for yourself. The only difference is no spiked shoulder pads and no Tina Turner. The motorbikes, scooters, and motorcycles are exempt from any and all laws, including urinating in public (actually, that’s not a law here neither). They weave through traffic, fly through red lights, drive into oncoming traffic to cross the street and merge into the proper lane, and, after sliding under gasoline tankers like Jeane Claude, they drive up the back of tow trucks to catapult themselves over 18-wheelers. The first street out of the parking lot was abundant with Latin Evil Knievel clones in addition to vans, pick-up trucks, cars, cargo trucks, and a matador with his cape flying around. I recognized the scene from Mario Cart…”Battle? Let’s Go”.
Eventually we were able to merge and drove down to the gas station, surviving our first round-about, which can be a little tricky. You never know who and when someone is going to drive in or out of the circle…like a fucked up, fatal game of Duck, Duck, Goose with cars and pedestrians. CK had already started his “Rorro Song”. He gets so excited about riding in vehicles, he busts out in song. “Gwen dis rarro. gwen dis rarro. gwen dis rarro.” It’s a great song because it’s interchangeable, like RuPaul. Rarro can be replaced with bus, choo choo, neigh neigh, and even agua, when we are going to the beach. We turned right, onto the highway, and started looking for those large green signs (still haven’t found them).
I had a couple of maps, but unfortunately they were as vague as a poorly written haiku. We tried to follow what looked like the highway, but ended up on some narrow road next to the highway, dodging traffic from both sides. How do we get on that highway that was right over there? So close, but so far. Mango busted out his iPhone and told me he had prepaid for this global GPS system just in case. Well, no more than 10 minutes into the car ride, and “just in case” was a reality.
CK is better with iPhones than I am. I had a Blackberry once when I was a business owner, but it wasn’t any touch screen thing. I got rid of it soon after my work ended. My little brother, who had just gotten a new iPhone, gave me his Verizon Flintstone, which works perfectly well. You just have to start it like a lawnmower. Somehow (probably from stealing my friends iPhones when they mistakenly put them down in his reach), CK knows how to unlock iPhones and scroll through pages. He slides his finger across the screen to unlock it, then keeps sliding to look at the apps, scroll through pictures, or check his stock in Huggies. I have always had trouble with touch screens, especially texting and I get self-conscious that my fingers are too fat.
Mango helped me get to the GPS while impressively driving through Thunder Dome. I opened the application, and after about 7 minutes of loading, there we were, a little red dot going along some road. When I tried to scroll forward or zoom in and out to find turn offs that could lead us in the right direction, the GPS had a hard time keeping up. Each road led into a large brown box that featured a circle doing the “Please Wait, I’m Loading” spin. It seemed as though even the GPS had come down with a case of the “Third Worlds.” However, it was quite accurate in some aspects, like not having street names or numbers. And the few names it did have were missing letters…just like Costa Rica! Technology these days…
The phone wasn’t working much better than the maps and the next road I told Mango to take led us into the middle of a some goods supplier warehouse lot. It was a dead-end and there were a bunch of cargo vans moving in and out. There were no other cars, especially rental cars with two whiteys and a singing baby. I finally rolled down the window and motioned for one of the employees to come over and help us out. I asked him about Puerto Viejo and he asked “De Siripiqui?”. I was confused.
I busted out the map and showed him Puerto Viejo, the one on the beach.
“Ah, De Limon? por que hay Puerto Viejo de Siripiqui que esta norte de la cuidad.”
I looked down on the map and sure enough there was another Puerto Viejo a good ways north of the city, in the middle of nowehere. Why would the security guard think we wanted to go there? We are two foreigners, who just rented a car, and changed into flip-flops. I should have been more clear.
We got told to go back the way we came, past the original gas station landmark and look for signs to Limon. We did as he said, but still needed to rely on the GPS, which was assimilating to the Third World a little better than before. We worked through what seemed to be the most congested area of the city. Was it rush hour already? Mango was adapting well too and was doing his best Dale Earnhart impression keeping up with the locals. In addition to the crazy drivers, the roads are nicely decorated with potholes. Some holes seem like excavation sites and we definitely hit a few that made us turn around and check to see if the muffler was still attached. CK was still as happy as a clam. It was only a matter of time before the motion of the car puts him asleep. The current movement of the car was about as soothing as a seismograph. We finally made it to the proper road out of town and he fell fast asleep, drooling like Niagra. Quick, let’s get to the beach before he wakes up.
And.....scene.
seahorse adventures 