Costa Rica Excursion Part 1: Back in the USA?

(Thurs Oct 26)
We took the bus from Mérida to Moyogalpa on Thursday morning and then hopped the ferry on over to Rivas. Instead of buying tickets for Friday’s TicaBus, Rob reasoned that it would quicker and about the same price to just take a taxi to the border and go across today. I was a little apprehensive because all the guidebooks say that the border is chaotic and disorganized, so it is best to go over on a TicaBus (rather than on your own) because they take care of everything for you. Nonetheless, we decided to chance it. The border was in fact chaotic and disorganized—the biggest problem was that there was no one to tell you where to go or what to do besides small children who clung to you, asking for money. Amidst this, we managed to get ourselves to the right building and get our exit stamps for Nicaragua. As we were wondering where to go next, an ambiguously gendered border-child swooped in to show us the way. She (he?) led us across the border, all the while offering tidbits of advice on where to stay and what to do while in Costa Rica. The child pointed us in the direction of buses that would take us to Liberia (the first major town across the border) and bid us safe and happy travels. Bewildered, Rob and I kept walking for what seemed like kilometers—through mud and past about a million semi-trucks headed into Nicaragua. Eventually we came to a confusing conglomoration of people who were standing in the middle of nowhere and appeared to be waiting for buses. We stood there for a minute trying to get our bearings, and before we knew it, we found ourselves hurtled onto an air-conditioned charter bus bound for San José that would let us off at Liberia.

By this point, I had reached a state of panic because after going through all of the posts at the border, no one had ever stamped our passports with entry stamps to Costa Rica. All we had were the exit stamps from Nicaragua—nothing showing that we’d legally entered Costa Rica. I kept thinking that we must have missed a post somewhere during that long walk through the mud and semi-trucks. Rob was unconcerned—reasoning that if we had needed another stamp, we would have been stopped, plus our ambiguously-gendered border child had assured us that after leaving her/him, all we needed to do was get on a bus. I was unconvinced. The guidebooks seemed to indicate that the border is so confusing, and without going through on a TicaBus, you’re liable to leave out a step. Plus, the books said that crossing the border could be quite time consuming—taking up to 6 hours, with something like 1-3 being the norm. We’d walked through in about 15 minutes, most of that time being spent with us standing there wondering what to do.

In about an hour, we reached Liberia and got off the bus. It was so different from Nicaragua that it seemed I had stepped into an entirely different planet. In fact, it looked just like the US. There were actual paved streets (not dirt roads covered in cow manure), cars, gas stations, restaurants, buildings, houses. The bus let us off at a corner that had a Burger King and Papa John’s. Rob voted that since it was about 3pm and we hadn’t really eaten since breakfast, we should get some lunch. As I sat there waiting for food that I didn’t even want and feeling certain that we would both end up in federal prison for our passport infringements, I looked out at the traffic and felt vaguely like I was in Texas or something. I hated it. It was too overwhelming; all I wanted was to be back in green, green Ometepe, with the volcanoes and lake and monkeys.

We made our way to a hospedaje and got a room for the night. The place we chose offered daytrips to the nearby Rincón de la Vieja National Park—a place I really wanted to see. We booked our tickets to the park the next day and then headed out to a nearby supermarket to get provisions for the trip. Though still worried about the passport issue, I decided I might as well live it up in Costa Rica—especially if I was going to end up in prison afterwards.