Day 6 – Manuel Antonio The plan was this: I would take an early bus to the beach town of Manuel Antonio (I had already delayed my loose plans by 1 day to see the caves) and then spend the rest of my time on the beach doing nothing. No more hostels for this girl – I planned on staying at a decent place with hot water and a view of the ocean. But of course, what ever went as planned on this trip? 7:30 am, and I was waiting and waiting and waiting for the Interbus (the tourist bus) to arrive. I had chosen this interbus bc it was a 5.5 hr ride over the 8+ hr ride via the local bus. By 8:15 still no bus. A few of the people I had met at the hotel told me that I should find Noel and see if he knew anything. So I found him, only to discover the bus was coming at 2:20pm. Which meant I would basically waste a day traveling on the bus, and arrive at Manuel Antonio at night. Not an option. I grabbed my things and went to the Interbus office that I had seen in passing a million times before. My goal was to get on a bus of any sort that led me out of La Fortuna. Through a combination of Spanish and English, I was able to communicate with the Interbus guy that I was supposed to be on an 8am bus, and that I wanted to know why it didnt come. He looked up my name, only to discover that there were no reservations made under my name and that is why the 8am bus left this morning, completely full – not empty as Noel had told me. I asked if he could check the 2:20 bus and again he checked his computers. “You\’re not Emily, are you? Because we only have a reservation for Emily.” This pissed me off more than I coudl say. We called up Noel. Noel said he was sorry but didnt know what to do (for the record, I was there when Noel made the reservation so I really do not know who\’s fault this was). And then the Interbus guy said sorry, he didnt know what he could do.
So then, with tears of frustration, I mustered up the most perfect Spanish of my entire life and delivered an oscar-worthy performance – “It\’s my last day in Costa Rica and I don\’t want to spend it on a bus.” It was something like that, but in Spanish and accompanied with puppy eyes. I got up slowly from my chair, only to be told, “Un momento. Un momento por favor.” The Interbus guy made a series of phone calls and just like that, a bus shows up outside the door. “Especial. For you, ok?”
I ended up riding in this makeshift seat to the town of San Rafal, where I switched buses (this is not the normal practice, btw) and got on an Interbus to Manuel Antonio. The second driver of the 2nd bus (bc there is usually a driver and a 2nd driver) gave up his seat so that I could sit in the passenger side. I arrived in Manual Antonio with no place to go so I just randomly picked a hotel that was close to the water. Because I arrived late, and b/c the guy at reception was flirty, he gave me a deal on the room. It was nice – not glamourous – but king sized bed, fold out couch, tv with cable, air conditioned, private balcony, private bath with hot water – everything you could want in costa rica. I took it without hesitation.
What I was planning to do was stay in Manuel Antonio for 2 nights – something that was kind of risky bc that meant that on Saturday, Id have to rely on either the Interbus or the public bus to get me to the airport in San Jose (a 4 hr trip at least) in time to catch my 2pm flight. The receptionist told me to go into Quepos immediately bc my best option was the 6am local bus. The problem with the local bus, however, is that it fills up quickly.
In Quepos, I took one look at the bus station and said hell no. Even though I dont think of Costa Rica as being 3rd world, this bus station sure as hell was. There were just mobs of people there — some waiting outside, some clustered in groups yelling, many lined up outside the ticket booth. I didn\’t know what was going on, but I did not want any part of the pandemonium. So I did what every tourist should do: accept her fate as a tourist and go to a travel agency.
At the travel agency, the guy told me of a third option: for $50 (only $20 more than the Interbus), I could fly to San Jose. I asked him if it was safe, and of course he said it was. I asked him if the flights were on time, and of course he said it was. Despite my lingering doubt (and fear of crashing into the side of a mountain in a rain forest like the crash of 2002), I made a reservation. Providing I didn\’t die, it was my best bet.
Back in Manuel Antonio – I tried to salvage what remained of the day by heading out the to the beach. I stayed until the sun set, and then dressed in sweatpants, tshirt, glasses, and flipflops (aka what I wore to bed), I went to a local restaurant. Again – the plan was to eat some fish, then go to the place next door and diddle daddle on the internet for the rest of the night. Instead, 3 guys who overheard that I was eating alone, asked if I would care to join them (never have I been so happy to see American men). I spent the rest of the night hanging out with these guys from New York – 2 doctors and an accountant – doing shots and dancing the night away. As they told me, “you are just like one of the guys.” I don\’t know if thats good or bad, but considering I didn\’t really want to be gang-raped, I figured that was a good thing.
So here’s what happened with these guys – I had dinner with them. We talked, but the conversation was kind of hard, and I did a lot of the talking. They were nice though. One of the guys was pretty standoffish in a way most people associate with New yorkers – a very hard nut to crack. One of the guys was pretty friendly and jovial, and i liked him the most in the sense that he made me feel the most comfortable. The other was a guy who looked like Brian Austin Greene. He was the one who asked me to sit down with them.
Of course, I wasted no time in giving them shit. The hardened new yorker was giving me shit right back, which I enjoyed – not in a flirtatious way, but in a funny shit-talking way. After we got through all the small talk where are you from what do you do buillshit, we finished up and went to another bar. This bar was located upstairs. There was a slide show of random travel pictures going on, and some island-type music. Me and the hardened new yorker watched the slideshow and then started using it as a type of Rorshak test – yelling out the one word that the picture reminded us of.
After a ton of drinks (we were drinking some costa rican drink that I want to say was straight up vodka with lime, but I could be wrong on this), we started talking about guys and girls and the Game. They laughed bc they had been reading it during their trip, and were surprised I had heard of the book (as if its some secret)! I talked about Southern boys, they talked about New York girls, and then after a few more drinks, we left to go to a dance club.
I can’t remember the name of the club – I think it was called The Lounge. At first, as we were getting into the cab, I politely declined, saying that I was going to go home so that they could pick up other girls. They wouldn’t hear of it – this is where “come on, you’re one of the guys” came up. Like I said, i guess that’s good? We took a cab to The Lounge – a Costa Rican replica of what they think an American lounge should be like. It was very dark in there with white cubist seats, billowing white drapes, loud music, and and indoor/outdoor tropical vibe. The boys bought me a drink, but I declined. Instead I offered them drinks and flirted with the bartender (heh…and cute!)
We danced a bit before 2 of the guys (hardened new yorker, and jovial guy) decided to leave for a nearby town, leaving me and Brian Austin Greene. Um, well, it was awkward. I didn’t think anything of these guys, and I got the impression the same was true for them. Plus…I was wearing sweatpants…in a trendy nightclub where all the other girls were wearing tiny skirts and halter tops. Brian was trying to get me to dance, but I was like – look what I’m wearing…sweatpants? glasses. Brian laughed and said, “come on, like aI care. You can’t get out of it.”
And so…we danced like crazy. I got even more drunk. He asked me if I wanted a drink, and I said, “fuck drinks, lets do shots.” What is wrong with me? He responded, “I have no idea what that means, but I think I like it.” So we did tequila shots, and danced and drank and danced and laughed, and the world started spinning by and everything was awesome.
I don’t know how or why we left, but at one point, we decided to leave. Brian walked me home – which was a very long walk – past this restaurant that has an airplane (I swear there were people living inside the plane), past his hotel, and to the beach. At this time at night/morning, the beach was deserted. The only thing pierciing the blackness of teh night was the white crests of the waves rolling in closer and closer to shore, and the beautiful brilliantly bright stars. I know that I am setting the stage for romance, but it didn’t exist. We had 2 choices while being that drunk – one was to be completely carnal and the other was to ignore the fact that he was a guy, and I was a girl.
We stood there, playing in the waves and enjoying the night. The simplistic beauty of that moment, and the fact that I felt completely at ease with this person of the opposite sex – as a friend – is something that I rarely ever experience as an adult. There was no bullshit, no innuendos, no promises of that night or tomorrow morning – just 2 people sharing a brief and special moment in time. It felt childlike. I felt as if I were a kid again when people were people and girls and guys could be friends.
Afterwards, we went back to my place – kind of embarrassing bc I had made friends with the desk staff, and they gave me this knowing look when he gave me my key. All we did back at my place was watch Spanish TV. I had this king bed which was actually composed of 2 smaller beds stuck together, and he took one side, and I took the other, and we watched tv and made fun of the shows (like high school), and then he fell asleep. And I fell asleep. I woke him up a little bit later and asked him if he thought his friends were back since they were the ones w/the keys to his place. he said he was going to go find them. So I walked him out to the gate, and he kissed me on the cheek. And that was it – very sweet. In fact, one of the sweetest moments I have ever had with a guy. And no, I didn’t feel anything beyond that kiss on the cheek. It was a nice way to say goodbye.
Day 7 – Manual Antonio Part 2
My last day in costa rica was spent in the park – Manual Antonio. Half rain forest, half beaches, the park is known for 2 things: monkeys and beautiful stretches of coastline. Two things that I\’m a huge fan of. I hiked all the way to the tip of the park and found a secluded beach where I spent the majority of my day (except for my friend the iguana that kept following me). On my way back I saw all kinds of monkeys – jumping around in the branches, chasing each other, and making all kinds of squealing noises. Again, I ended my day watching the sunset at the beach. It was starting to get cloudy, and the wind was picking up, so I left early, went back to my place, and got ready for my last night on the town. Unfortunately, it began to pour. And when I say pour, I mean pour-like-youre-in-the-middle-of-a- tropical-forest-during-wet-season pour. Needless to say, I didn\’t go out that night, but instead hung out with this weird surfer guy at the hotel\’s restaurant before falling asleep to spanish tv.
Day 8 – Back to San Jose
By morning, it was still raining. Not as violently as it had all night, but still enough to where I was praying to the Gods that it wouldn\’t effect my flight to San Jose. I realized when the plane pulled up that the plane taking me to San Jose was none other than a 10-seat (or less) Cessna. Fuck. Prop plane is one thing, Cessna – that\’s another. But what were my choices. In blinding rain, we took off. That thing shook like a fucking rattle, so much so that both of the pilots were clinging on dearly to anything they could get a hand on. Also frightening was the Richard Simmons-meets-John Denver douchebag who was taking pictures the whole time. Whether or not using electronic devices messes at all with the plane\’s computers, I don\’t know. I can tell you that I really did not want to find out. And if we didn\’t die on this plane, I swore to God I woudl kill him with my own bare hands. 35 minutes of turbulence later, we landed safe and not-so-sound in San Jose Airport. I practically kissed the ground the moment I stepped off the plane.
In conclusion: Traveling alone was quite the experience. I have done it before, but not quite with as much intention. For me, it was exactly what I needed, and as cheesy as it sounds, I learned a lot about myself, even in this short amount of time. I also met so many people – many just for a few hours or a day – that completely colored my experience in Costa Rica. I am convinced that had I had the comfort of a friend traveling with me, my trip would not have been the same. I know it wouldn\’t have.
There were two things I joked I didn\’t want to have happen to me on this trip – 1. I didn\’t want to get raped. and 2. I didn\’t want to die in a plane crash on a the side of a mountain. Well, lucky me, I nearly got to experience both. It was like looking in the eyes of the devil and walking away with my life. Okay, it really wasn\’t like that.
One of my favorite quotes that I came across during my trip in Costa Rica was, “We go far away and we try to bring home the things we believe we must remember.” But to sum it up in my own words: it was a fucking amazing trip. It couldn’t have come at a better time. After all the shit I had gone through in the previous months, to go somewhere – alone – and to “find myself” was exactly what I needed.
The End.
