Got hit by a car this afternoon. Nothing serious, but it must have been quite a sight from the onlookers’ responses. Her car just clipped my left elbow on her right turn and spun me around. Took all there was not to fall back onto the sidewalk. The driver was concerned and inquired about my well-being. “Nothing serious, all good,” I replied to her and the other pedestrians standing by. Tough Gringo.

What the hell am I still doing in San Jose, when I should have already arrived home? Last night I was able to catch an Uber ride with three fellow hostel Pakistani exchange students to the airport. How we, my 75 lbs. of gear divided into two large bags and their backpacks fit into that small sedan, I have no idea. They are all friends returning from a visit to a younger brother. The older friends are studying in American universities and the younger brother visited is a Costa Rican high school student. What a great cultural exchange!

We had in common the idea to save some major bucks by taking the Spirit Airlines 2am red eye. Land in Ft. Lauderdale. Me home, they onto universities in Ohio and Tennessee for the upcoming semester. What a great bunch of guys. We immediately hit it off. They were even generous enough to cover my portion of the Uber ride.

What awaited us upon airport arrival three hours before departure was a nightmare. One long line, barely moving. It was the border and customs crap all over again. We managed to move 20 feet in an hour. The line behind us continued to grow. First posted notice was that the flight would be delayed for two hours. Volcanic ash was the culprit. How at this rate were they going to get us all on that plane? Conversations were struck up with the people around us. Returning back to school and work after this holiday break were reoccurring themes. Then the big bang, the flight had been cancelled. Panic struck. Most everyone had relinquished their Costa Rican Colones and/or were on financial fumes. Spirit Airlines could return our money in a few days or put us on the next scheduled flight. That would be a week later the 13th, a Friday. Were other airlines also cancelling their flights? Back to the city, accommodations at this hour of the morning, upcoming Monday classes, work schedules- all out the door. What about our paid $29 exit airport tax? We came up with a solution. Take a local bus tomorrow to Liberia, the second Costa Rican city with an international airport and out of volcano range. That was preferable to Managua and Panama City and their frontier borders. From Liberia, American Airlines flies to Charlotte, from there catch a plane or bus to our ultimate destinations.

It was a straightforward plan. Get up early, arrange an Uber ride to the bus station. Pack the four of us into a compact car. Four hour ride to Liberia, during which we try to sleep. That gives just over three hours to eat something, airport and check in for our international flights. The guys chip in to help me carry my heavy bag of gear. At the Liberia bus station, we are swamped with taxi offers to the airport. My replies and banter flow easily. I find us a place to eat based on a passerby recommendation. Rafey has forgotten his Vanderbuilt cap on the bus. We double back to find the bus gone for refueling. While waiting, we meet a senior American who forgot to remove her luggage from the bus hold the other day. Nothing at the lost and found. Rafey’s cap is located and returned. He is overjoyed. We wish the lady luck on the return of her bag and get her on the right bus back to where she is staying. At the restaurant, there is Wi Fi. Hassim checks our flight on his laptop. ‘Our flight to Miami has been cancelled,’ he says. “That’s not funny, “we say. Big Hassim turns his laptop around. Winter storm through the southeast. We gobble lunch down and rush out the door. A passing taxi, the driver will take us to the airport for $20. “You have got to be kidding.” 15. “12.” Okay. We pack up the jalopy of a cab. I think to myself that I’ll offer him a good tip if he can step on it. The rattle of the transmission at any touch of the gas pedal makes me think otherwise.
Cabbie and I agree on a reasonable price in local currency. “Get 3 thousand colones change,” I say rushing out the door. I head for the check in. There is a manageable line and it is moving. At the counter, it seems that we are again stuck in Costa Rica. This time our airlines (American) will put us up for the night and provide us with food and beverage coupons. I return to the cab stand. Cabbie tried to pull a fast one. We’re good fogage an extra two bucks.

The two Hassims and I will stay at the Hilton; Rafey has been put in another hotel for the night. We say our goodbyes and load up for the nearby Hilton. At reception we are informed that the hotel is full. Back to the airport. There is a lot of back and forth in the airport with misdirection. The gear bag seems to be getting heavier. Guys are great maintaining our little fort of walled baggage. I arrange flights and hotel transportation. Motorcycle gear was not designed for stealth. A couple of hours into the search, we are placed on a special bus to Tamarindo. Also stranded is Lara, an American nurse on vacation. We adopt Lara into our wayward hostel group and are off to join Rafey. The trip to this hotel is two hours away; we have the entire bus to ourselves! Our destination is a luxury resort on the Pacific coast with $12 food and free beverage vouchers. The outdoor reception area is made to look like an archeological site facing the numerous pools with the beach behind. The ocean view is awesome. The guys are very impressed. We head for our respective rooms.

For me, it is the quick shedding and sink washing of the clothes to be worn for tomorrow’s flights. Unpack a swimming suit and it’s off to the beach. The sun is just setting as I’m swimming in and jumping Pacific Ocean waves.
We agree to meet in the lobby an hour later to arrange food and tomorrow’s departure. On our budget, recommendations send us out for pizza. By this point, the guys are out of cash and I’ve got a ‘what the hell’ sort of attitude. We order two large pizzas, a salad which everyone gets a bite of, and a bowl of pasta. $60 in vouchers makes a good dent in the bill. After the meal, we stroll down the tourist mecca to a small grocery store. Ice cream, cookies, water, , nuts and Pringles fill out our grocery list. Lara takes the check. Back to our side of the resort, we find a closed pool lounge and have it all to ourselves. The vacated bar has plastic cups and make due with forks for ice cream utensils. Those that drink have got it made. Someone jokingly suggests floats. It’s just that kind of night. Good feelings and conversation take over after what we have all been through. The evening is magical in spite of anticipating a 3am wakeup call. 3:30 for check out & the van, two hours back to the airport, three hours international check in for our 8am flight. After having our fill, we walk to the other side of the resort and find an open resort bar. The beverage vouchers provide us with Miami Vice, Long Island Iced Tea and Tamarindo Sunrises. We walk down the beach, till yawning gets the best of us.

It will take four flights for me to get home tomorrow, Miami, Orlando, Charlotte, and O’Hare. The Orlando flight would end up delayed by an hour, miss my connection and yet will find me the last seat on a more direct flight. Thank you Lady Luck.

Side bit: Now that I'm back in the land of reasonable Wi Fi, I would like to fill in the wordage with pictures. One of the things said to the 'coyote helpers' was that I would post their pictures, if they tried to do me wrong. While wanting to post their pics, part of me hesitates wanting to interfere with a man's way to make a living. For that reason, I will not post their pictures. Hit a border and someone offers his help. I had the right to refuse. Go into a border crossing, meet a coyote, expect to get bit. Best is to avoid the beast or at least minimalize the damage.

On the bus ride, Hassim is reading the book, ‘Pakistan, a Wild Country.’ His house just happens to be on the Silk Road. They speak Urdu in Pakistan. He has friends that could arrange a motorcycle trip. Gets me thinking,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

more pics to follow.