Our 1st trip outside of visiting the magic kingdom was to Costa Rica in 1998. As we hung out waiting for our flight to Central America in the LAX terminal, culture shock hit me. I couldn’t understand the instructions given over the PA by the airline attendant. I suffered in absolute dread: where were we going & what have I done. Sensing my discomfort, Rhoneil assured me those words were in English… that wasn’t reassuring! There was an overwhelming mix of passengers including many people headed to Guatamala carrying chicken. If I let my memory run away with me, those chickens carried onto the plane were live. As we flew into Guatemala, I witnessed absolute poverty, observing the rows of shanty homes lining the runway and as we waited in the hot, stuffy plane during the layover, two soldiers boarded briefly, carrying large automatic weapons. I didn’t feel prepared, I felt insecure and as a result I didn’t feel safe.
After this initial shock, I marveled at Costa Rica’s beauty, simplicity and security. This country was unequivocally the top destination we had in mind to experience with the children.
Our 1st stop to settle into our trip is to a very quiet beach village. The primary service is restaurants and small hotels. There is a small grocery store, one souvenir shop (to buy stamps for those postcards you’ll have to go to the next town, 10km away). The vacation property we rented is manned 24/7 by an electric gate, surround fencing topped with barbed wire and a guard. We have chosen not to rent a vehicle, choosing a more pura vida plan: walking, taking the bus, taxi and shuttles. In another frame of mind, we’ve conceded to persistent rumours of personal driving danger. The property is fabulous. There are fruit trees, a sunset view of the ocean from the second story balcony and a 3 minute walk to the mellow, clean beach. From this balcony I am watching the beautiful full moon set, shimmering, over the water. I write under the glow of the outdoor lights. Lights I can’t turn off. Lights that beckoned me awake, mimicking the sun. Lights that keep us safe.
Yesterday we planned the 10km trip to the next beach, known for shopping and celebrating. We did our research. Rhoneil conferred, over two days, with a couple of locals using gesticulation with a few Spanish words mixed in, determining the bus schedule and fares. We walked the 700m to the stop. We waited in the shade of the bus stop, for a lovely modern, air-conditioned bus. We assured the girls we hadn’t missed the bus, that in fact we arrived early. Rhoneil asked the driver if he was going to Playas del Coco. There wasn’t confirmation, but more information given and backed up by passengers on the bus – none of which we understood. It didn’t seem promising. We didn’t get on. Deflated we discussed our next step, as the next bus would arrive in 2 hours, the initial hailing of a passing taxi failed, the only number for a ride was from the friendly driver we met at the grocery store at 8am (he was picking up beer). Then a man on a bicycle stopped and asked about our trip to Coco. It was the gardener at the condo who was involved with the bus plans the previous day. It was then we learned that all buses go in the city, a 1/2 hour car ride away, and then we could take another bus to Coco. The bus could drop us 2km at the intersection to Coco and then we could walk downhill along a busy and very hot road. It made sense now why using the internet we couldn’t find directions to getting to the neighbouring beach by bus. It isn’t done.
We arrived in Coco without much delay. Then there was universal culture shock. Busy streets, dodging to avoid being hit by cars, motor bikes, buses, vans and police cars, lots of people (although looking back not that many, just more than the handful at Hermosa), many bars and repeated murmured refusals to purchase goods and services – no gracias, no gracias, no gracias. We checked out the local, larger grocery store and agreed to promptly get back to our quiet piece of paradise. We forgot the stamps.
In this paradise our primary stressor is keeping the family safe. Can we drink the water? Eat the delicious ceviche? Survive the ants? Can the girls taste the sweet and cold beach treat? Play in the ocean? Trust without be taken advantage? Trust to ask & accept assistance?
Our hope is that we learn to travel confidently, to reach out, to make new attempts, perhaps to fail but learn to regroup and recover. We’ll smile when those moments of discomfort and fear creep by, knowing it can be temporary, if we choose. Consequently, we will be engaged, more confident and therefore safe.
Cuidate: it can be spoken at goodbyes and found roadside, a sign meant to caution.
take care
Las Brisas: front gate to the left 24/7 guard house