Nomadic Narrative

After several weeks of planning, my friend was finally scheduled to arrive. I woke up at the crack of dawn to catch a bus from San José to Liberia—a 4 ½ hour trip. From Liberia, I caught another bus a few blocks away to the airport (which I recently learned was a former airstrip created by Ollie North in his battle against the Contras). Now it’s an international airport described in many guidebooks as “no larger than a Wall mart parking lot.”

I gathered in anticipation at the arrival gate. I watched two plane-loads of people run to name placards, grab taxis and embrace waiting friends and family. Twice, I jumped in front of the crowd thinking I had recognized my friend—wrong blonde in a sundress.

Forlorn, the taxi drivers I had become chatty with told me that “these things happen.” It seemed as though my friend didn’t make the plane. I talked to the airline and was told that they had no record of her checking in. I started to worry—did she have an accident on the way to the airport, or…

I called from a payphone and left her a message. Then, I thought that I may have arrived a day early. I grabbed a taxi back to town as the airport had no internet service. Sitting in a two-room internet café in a small shopping plaza, I shoot off the briefest of brief emails – WHERE ARE YOU? Not expecting a quick response, I started to write another email when I receive this: “At work. Getting ready to drive to LA. I fucked up, didn’t I? Shit!!! What am I gonna do? I’ll call the airline. Then call me on my cell phone. Fuck shit fuck…” —at least I knew she was ok.

She was able to get another flight a couple of days later, so I jumped on a bus to Playa del Coco. Exhausted, I walked into the Coco Palms Hotel and froze in my tracks when I saw the large, covered patio surrounded by a gorgeous pool, a bar and a restaurant, complete with sushi bar. What a relief! And, all of this for a reasonable $45 – one of the best deals I’ve seen in Costa Rica.

After sipping a couple of mojitos and taking a long dip in the pool. I booked a reservation for my friend and called a taxi driver I met at the airport to pick her up on her new arrival date since I had to return to the city for a few days.

A little worried about my attractive friend arriving alone in a place where she only knows a bit of the language, I sent a list of “anxiety producing” solo-female-traveler advice. This jolted her out of the “can’t-wait-to-arrive-to-beautiful-Costa-Rica” mode. Fortunately, she found her niche at the Coco Palms in less than 24 hours.

“I thought I’d be roughing it in Costa Rica,” she says on our first phone call after arriving in the country. “I spent the afternoon sipping Pinot Grigio next to an infinity pool overlooking Playa del Coco at the house of a Canadian guy I met.

It seems as though there was not much to worry about. And this is how the adventure began…