Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Bonjour, Costa Rica!
As soon as I stepped off the plane in Liberia, my curly hair gained another dimension with the humidity, and I was the unlucky passenger frisked at customs (lost my granola bars in the process). I was so proud of myself for getting all of my things into one large backpack and two carry-on bags, until I started chatting with a Canadian couple next to me who were travelling twice as long as I was with only one bag each that was the size of my purse – then I felt like the car in the Ikea commercials. I made my way through the crowd of eager taxi drivers, stepped into the hotel shuttle, and then collapsed in bed at the Hilton.
The next morning my Canadian friends and I split a taxi to the bus station, and then a man standing in line pointed me in the right direction for the bus to Nosara. He stayed right behind me as we stepped onto the dusty bus and introduced himself as Antonio before settling into the small seat next to me, blowing his nose and then mopping his sweaty face with a small handkerchief. Antonio was very friendly, and to quote Seinfeld, “a very close-talker” who didn’t speak English. I was always one step behind him in our conversation because I couldn’t mentally flip through the rolodex of Spanish vocabulary in my head fast enough to respond. By the time that I translated his sentence, “Your face is sweaty, let me help you!” it was too late to protest and he wiped my entire face with his almost-drenched-from-previous-use handkerchief. It was a very long two hours until Nosara…
The bus dropped me off right at the doorstep of where Maggie and I will be living while we’re here, Café de Paris, a hotel/bakery that is owned and operated by a French couple. I’m determined not to be the fat kid in my yoga class, but living in such close proximity to Parisian chocolate croissants and baguettes might make my journey to yogi master a little longer than I thought it would be.