Costa Rica :: Part 2

This story is being told as a series. Here’s a link to Part 1

Part 2

The only direct flight from home put me in San Jose the night before the tour was to start. The airport ATM spit out the colones I would need to start my trip and pay a cab to my hotel. The cabbie ignored me after the initial pickup, speaking in rapid-fire Spanish on his cell phone the whole way. Even if I’d cared to listen in, I would only get a stray word here and there. Instead, I tried to see something of the country through the cab window, but in the darkness I mostly got an impression of the sort of vaguely industrial castoff material one finds beside railroad tracks at home: corrugated metal, steel drums, crates. Airports are never in the pretty parts of town, I remembered. We don’t put our best foot forward.

I was distracted from these observations as we met the rush of weaving traffic in the heart of the city. It was nauseating, dreadful — I breathed slowly and deeply, focused as near to straight ahead as possible, reminded myself that, like a New York cabbie, my driver was familiar with the rules of the road here even if it seemed lawless and reckless to me.

And then we careened suddenly to the right, and the brightly lit entryway of my hotel greeted me, blinded me to the surroundings.

Though I could, theoretically, have muddled through check-in in Spanish, the front desk staff spoke beautiful, lightly accented English. And shortly I was checked in, up to my floor, settled into my room. A quick check of my office email indicated that the international service hadn’t kicked in yet. Just as well. The bed was comfortable and once in it I was asleep almost instantly.

Copyright © 2010


~ by lorakceel on April 29, 2010.

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