I had a much better night’s sleep and was up when the alarm went off at 6am. Caffeinated into a false sense of wellness, I checked out of my hostel and walked the few blocks to the train station.
Estación Atlántica is the main train station in San Jose that links to other towns and cities in the Highlands of the Central Valley. It is a gorgeous Colonial era building with many of its original details still intact. Through to the actual platforms, is another story, though. Functional steel ramps and stairways lead to awaiting spotlessly clean, modern carriages. Which then traverse over rickety, old line. None of the parts seem to match but somehow it all works.
Upon arrival in Cartago, I went to grab a coffee and something to eat. Which I then took back to the train station platform to have finding nowhere else to sit. That was until I was booted out by a transport officer who advised that the station was now closed and I would have to move on. I walked a few blocks until I found the main plaza, Plaza Mayor. There, I could finally get my bearings.
Las Ruinas de la Parroquia lie on one side of Plaza Mayor providing an impressive, albeit somewhat surreal, bookmark. This imposing facade is all that is left of a once magnificent church dating back to the early 17th century. Evidently, the original church was destroyed by an earthquake in 1630. No worries, said the good folk of Cartago, we’ll just rebuild. That was before Mother Nature decided to string together a series of earthquakes over the next 220 years which thwarted progress on the rebuild. Finally, the Cartago folk agreed it just wasn’t worth the effort and left it be. The result today is a beautifully landscaped interior, resplendent with an ornamental pond the kids can throw their hard earned pocket money in. Plus, there’s a really cool ghost story about a headless priest that roams the ruins on foggy nights. Clearly, this is a feature that ticks all the boxes.
My next stop was to visit a church with a different back story. Back in 1635 (or so the story goes), a woman found a statuette of the Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus and decided to take it home. For some inexplicable reason, the statuette kept disappearing from her house and ending back where she first found it. It turns out that when the lady spread word of this incredible turn of events, the good folk of Cartago were very interested indeed. It seemed that they had been trying to build a church for some time, but those pesky earthquakes that are a feature of this region kept hampering efforts. What if, this was a sign from the Good Lord to build the church where the statuette was found? Regardless, this building stuck and has been in situ ever since, despite numerous rebuilds over the centuries. And the statuette which was the result of all this takes pride of place at the alter.
Unfortunately, when I got to the Basilica, a service was about to start so I decided to visit another place on my list and come back when the service finished. The Museo de Cartago is actually a gallery space but I was interested in checking out the building it is housed in. Built at the turn of last century, it was originally an army headquarters used by officers in command. Like anything to do with the old army, it has been recommissioned for more peaceful purposes. Although it was pretty much a shell of a building, the cells were still available to see, as was a stone staircase that lead from that part of the building to an upper level.
Back to the Basilica and as the service was just finishing up. I took a seat and an opportunity to have a brief play with my blog site settings as they had all changed since I last used it. Suddenly, I had unwitting changed themes and couldn’t reverse it. My site was a mess, my ‘About’ page had disappeared and I couldn’t work out how to fix it on my mobile. I don’t know if the hand of God was on me at that moment but if it was, he was in a mischievous, meddling mood. I decided to shelve it for a bit and have a look around the Basilica.
I decided I would make my way to my final destination for the day, Orosi, where I had a hostel booked. Unfortunately, Lonely Planet in its infinite wisdom has decided to rip out all the useful information it was originally designed to provide and leave a shell of a guidebook which mainly deals with what to see. I did find an on-line bus schedule for Costa Rica which was brilliant, however, it didn’t give you any information on where the bus left from. I searched on-line and found a bus station so walked to where that was. A somewhat disinterested bus driver grumpily told me the bus I was looking for didn’t leave from that terminal and gave me directions on where to go. I followed his directions to find nothing, so went into a shop and asked someone else. This hombre wasn’t sure but directed me along a road where ‘he was pretty sure there was another bus station’. I duly followed until I was fairly convinced I was on another bum steer so turned around at the next intersection.
By now, I was hot, sick and grumpy and the execs of Lonely Planet were being soundly cursed. I had very little voice so asking anymore wasn’t really a viable option. I searched again on-line and found a mention of a corner the bus to Orosi left from so walked to there. However, no Orosi bound buses were to be found. I had the route number from the bus schedule site so showed one of the ‘somewhere else’ bound drivers who gave me directions to the Plaza Mayor. I followed, but yet again, no Orosi bound buses. As I got to the end of the Ruins, I spotted a bus with Orosi displayed and gratefully made my way over to it. The door was shut but the driver opened it to explain that I needed to go somewhere else to catch it. I could feel tears prickling as my new found hope dwindled yet again. Dubiously, I followed these new set of instructions and arrived at the destination, nose running, windswept hair strewn across my face and hacking up a lung. I had definitely had put the ‘wild’ into ‘wild woman’! Fortunately, there was my chariot awaiting to cease my misery and carry me onwards. I climbed aboard.
Now you would think it would be plain sailing from here to get to my hostel, but I was paying penance for playing on my phone in church. The bus had Orosi emblazoned across it’s screen, which I took to mean it terminated in Orosi. Apparently, that is not necessarily the case in Costa Rica. By now it was on dusk and I was enjoying the scenery from my seat when I jolted to my senses. A sign to Orosi pointing in the direction from whence we had just come. I grabbed my phone and checked. Yep, Orosi was on the wrong side of our ongoing direction. I told the driver who somewhat unceremoniously dumped me on the side of the road with a vague wave of his hand to indicate I should wait for a bus going in the other direction. I decided I would start to walk back rather than just wait. After a while, I checked how far back Orosi was and decided I would just walk it all the way. Fortunately, there wasn’t a lot of uphill so my poor lungs coped, but it was well and truly dark by the time I finished the 5.5kms to the hostel. I checked in and went across the road to a little pizzeria for something to eat, then a well deserved rest.
Wild Woman Wandering 