PDXDIASan Jose, Costa RicaReflections on San JoseSanta Elena, Costa RicaLiberia and BeyondBorder Crossing: Penas BlancasGranada, NicaraguaMia NicaraguaNica CultureLeonSan Miguel, El SalvadorJutiapa, GuatemalaXela (Quetzaltenango), GuatemalaCasa VSuenos AmericanosUna semana mas en XelaZugunruheLago de AtitlanAntiguaSemuc ChampeyTikal, GuatemalaSan Salvador, El SalvadorSuchitoto, El SalvadorSanta Rosa de Lima, El SalvadorMore on BusesGranada, againPanama City, PanamaBocas del Toro, PanamaSan Jose, la ultima vez
 | brendandroz |  | Central American Tour |  | Border Crossing: Penas Blancas |
Rating:
Jan 7 2010, 10:30 AM
1 photo
1 comment
Embed trip
View in Google Earth
Rss news about this trip
GPX Track
Journal
Location
Peñas Blancas, Costa Rica
Local transit in Central America requires something akin to faith. It is beyond the rational faculty to grasp. Circumstances suggest that you are stranded for the foreseeable future, on the verge of utter calamity. You wait. You wonder. But there's no point to wondering. So, with an incredible degree of self-composure, you continue to wait. Then, suddenly, you are graced as a filthy, over-crowded, exhaust sputtering bus screeches to a halt before you. I'm almost a convert.
The local bus successfully dropped us at the border crossing of Penas Blancas. But it dropped us about 100 meters too far north. While walking to the Costa Rica Immigration Office we were redirected by a machine gun wielding border official to the entrance on the opposite side of the building. We obeyed. After finally reaching the front of the line with our heavy packs and aching backs, we were routed into a shorter line. The window was within sight. All seemed promising until I noticed that the line we were in was marked by a sign reading Entrada. But we didn't want to entrada Costa Rica, we wanted to salida Costa Rica. Apparently the border official, seeing our southbound route to the office, had assumed that we were coming from Nicaragua. We were re-routed into the Salida line. Eventually we got our exit stamps and proceeded on foot down the dusty road to Nicaragua.
I always considered borders to be somewhat mythical. That is, no law of nature necessitates the partitioning of the world into geometrical figures. The divisions are, ultimately, quite arbitrary, But myth is a powerful force in the human psyche, and civilizations are created and destroyed in the name of these arbitrary lines. Here, everything changes at the border. Costa Rica is tame. Nicaragua is wild. The chaos is palpable. We really had no clue where we were supposed to go. The taxi driver who insisted on escorting us across the border was no help. He walked us to the Immigration Office. We got our stamps. He wanted a dollar. We wanted a bus to Rivas. He wanted to take us in his taxi. We wanted to be left alone. Brendan gave him a dollar. We were left alone. We wandered about, looking for a suitable bus to take us to Rivas. All buses were headed to Managua. We were lost.
On our second or third lap of the border complex, we found a small doorway leading to a tourist information desk. The man behind the desk assured us that to the right of the building, at the blue curb, would be a bus to Rivas. We followed his directions. There was no curb and certainly no bus. Perhaps he was speaking in parables. We were lost again. Then we noticed some bustling about a small doorway in a rusty metal wall. The doorway was passage to a sort of village in uproar. On the other side, people were frying plantains, barbequing meat, selling tamales, and loading a cluster of yellow school buses with locals headed into Nicaragua. We were met by a riot of colors, smells, noises—chaos. We had arrived.
(R)
Comments |
Log in to add comment |
Comment
Written by lgould 41 months ago
Down the rabbit hole, through the looking glass or the little door in the rusty metal wall . . . it sounds like an adventure.