Panama?
Last Monday we decided to try to make the trip to Panama on our own. We had heard that the prices were much lower than in Costa Rica, and we thought we’d do some souveniring and maybe pick up a guitar to play. We got up at the crack of noon and began the bumpy trek toward the southern border of Costa Rica an hour away according to the GPS. On the way, we saw egrets, white birds with long S-shaped necks. They like to hang out in the fields we drive by on the way out of Zancudo. We also passed by some random free horses that I would have totally fed apples to but Morgan was all, “You can feed them when they’re on your side,” but we haven’t passed by ANY horses on my side since then and we’ve eaten all but the last apple.
(These horses were friends!)
After a little while, we had to squeeze by a man driving his horses and cattle; at least he wasn’t hogging the road. Actually, the cows were really well-behaved about all of this and mooved out of the way without too much hassle. Once we actually make it out of town, the roads are much nicer and less bumpy (about 45 minutes into the drive—the GPS thinks this should take 15 minutes—fat chance, where’s my hovercar?). They may not have hovercars, but whenever we go out, we see signs for “Lava Car!” which always makes me think of lava-powered cars instead of car washes. Morgan says he thinks of cars MADE of lava, either way it’s awesome.
After a little while, we had to squeeze by a man driving his horses and cattle; at least he wasn’t hogging the road. Actually, the cows were really well-behaved about all of this and mooved out of the way without too much hassle. Once we actually make it out of town, the roads are much nicer and less bumpy (about 45 minutes into the drive—the GPS thinks this should take 15 minutes—fat chance, where’s my hovercar?). They may not have hovercars, but whenever we go out, we see signs for “Lava Car!” which always makes me think of lava-powered cars instead of car washes. Morgan says he thinks of cars MADE of lava, either way it’s awesome.
We needed gas, so we pulled into the first station we found (which was the most expensive, as it turns out), and using our glorious teamwork we opened the gas tank together… because we had to. The windshield wipers aren’t as effective as they used to be, the brakes get sticky if we don’t drive every day, and now, the fuel door doesn’t open without help. Our car is slowly becoming one with the mud. Four more days, car, that’s all we need. My very first Spanish lessons came in handy, as they often have on this trip, and I asked to use the bathroom at the gas station. They directed me around the back, where all the bathrooms but the men’s were padlocked. Since I am a very brave and very pregnant lady, I totally used the men’s room anyway. It was functional, but dirty, and old, and the faucet didn’t work, but there was still a laminated sign detailing the importance of proper hand washing! Hooray!
Our next stop was the Panama border. It was a chaotic storm of crazy driving, people, dogs, and nary a stop sign to be seen. It was insane. All the roads went one way, we were forced off our main road into what looked like a barrio, with all kinds of construction and no lines on the road. Everyone was driving like some kind of idiot with Parkinson’s. We came to a roundabout with a taxi stand in the middle, then we decided to listen to the GPS—bad idea—which took us away from the border, and, after a few kms we turned around, which is fine, because as Morgan says, “It’s not an adventure until you have to make a U-turn.” We finally got back to what was probably the border, where there was some kind of official-looking structure. It was taller than a truck, made of cement, had some kind of roof, and looked more official than everything around it. I thought maybe it was the actual crossing, not that there were any signs anywhere.
We were waved over by a very friendly man named Joe. The first thing he said was, “I recognize you, is this your first time?” We said, “…Yes?” He proceded to ask us all manner of official-sounding questions, and after five or six to feel us out, he started with his spiel about how he didn’t actually work here, but that we could pay for his services, and park where he said, because we couldn’t take a rental car over the border, or maybe we could with enough paperwork, but if we let him in the car, and gave him money he would hook us up with a taxi and, “take care of us.” Since we didn’t want to wake up in a bathtub full of ice, and pay for a missing rental car, and lose our passports, we figured we had more to lose than gain, so we left. It might have been okay…
So, we got the hell out of Dodge, and found another town. Serendipity guided us down more one way streets and gutters, where we looked for parking, but everywhere that looked like it might be a parking spot and had cars parked in it, said no parking. We ended up in front of “Chaza de Abuelos” and, since we were famished, took it as a sign from gods and grandparents, parked and went in. It was the first place we’ve seen that had pepperoni pizza, which I promptly ordered. Morgan got a hamburger with a tostada and beans on it. He didn’t know what it was when he ordered, but, “Hey, why not?” Between us, we almost speak Spanish, but we often smile and nod during restaurant orders. What’s the worst that could happen? Don’t answer that. Both meals were actually really good!
We were waved over by a very friendly man named Joe. The first thing he said was, “I recognize you, is this your first time?” We said, “…Yes?” He proceded to ask us all manner of official-sounding questions, and after five or six to feel us out, he started with his spiel about how he didn’t actually work here, but that we could pay for his services, and park where he said, because we couldn’t take a rental car over the border, or maybe we could with enough paperwork, but if we let him in the car, and gave him money he would hook us up with a taxi and, “take care of us.” Since we didn’t want to wake up in a bathtub full of ice, and pay for a missing rental car, and lose our passports, we figured we had more to lose than gain, so we left. It might have been okay…
So, we got the hell out of Dodge, and found another town. Serendipity guided us down more one way streets and gutters, where we looked for parking, but everywhere that looked like it might be a parking spot and had cars parked in it, said no parking. We ended up in front of “Chaza de Abuelos” and, since we were famished, took it as a sign from gods and grandparents, parked and went in. It was the first place we’ve seen that had pepperoni pizza, which I promptly ordered. Morgan got a hamburger with a tostada and beans on it. He didn’t know what it was when he ordered, but, “Hey, why not?” Between us, we almost speak Spanish, but we often smile and nod during restaurant orders. What’s the worst that could happen? Don’t answer that. Both meals were actually really good!
We left our car there and explored the little town, which we are pretty sure is called Coloradito. It was a mishmosh of shops, seemingly laid out by a drunk during an earthquake. The sidewalks—where there were sidewalks—didn’t line up, didn’t have the same color or texture, and the front of the shops were never on the same level. The town did have a nice little river, going under another scary bridge with some pretty foliage.
We went into a bunch of small shops, all of which had intensely friendly staff that wouldn’t leave us alone. I’m sure they wanted to help, but I don’t speak spanish that well, and it came off as either stalkery, or they thought we were going to steal everything. I’m sure they didn’t, but it was a pretty strange experience. They just followed us everywhere, and there were lots of them! Sadly, none of the shops had a guitar or clothes in Morgan’s size, and everything looked imported from China anyway, so, we went to “Super Pan” (there are some in every town! It was either that or Chicken bros…) and we bought some things that looked like sugar donuts, but were actually more like sugar bagels. We ate them in a “park” that was more like a giant bus stop, though it did have a kind of an amphitheater (maybe for yelling at the bus drivers).
We thought about taking a side trip over to Golfito again, but the appeal of sleeping was strong, and the idea of bumpy roads in the dark not so much.
