With the debacle of getting from Cartago to Orosi, I was keen to get accurate information about how to get to my next port of call, Puerto Viajo de Talamanca. It’s quite a long way from Orosi and I knew the journey by local bus would take several hours. So didn’t want to waste time trying to find information on the hop. I had met the lovely Dutch owner of the hostel a couple of nights ago who assured me the bus information in the hostel was correct so decided to rely on that.
I breakfasted again at my little Swiss bakery and while enjoying my coffee, the owner came out with an anxious look on her face. She was concerned that the buses may not be running as regularly due to it being Christmas Eve. I hadn’t considered that as I hadn’t encountered it as being a problem before in Central America. Christmas, Boxing and New Year’s Day, absolutely – most of Central America comes to a stand still. The señorita helping her tried to find information for me and could only find a direct bus from San Jose. Not my preferred option. The hostel owner had put me onto a site called ‘The Bus Schedule’, but I had been having troubles trying to get it to connect. Suddenly, that morning it did and I showed my concerned amigas. As some of the connections seemed a little tight, I decided to leave an hour earlier and leave a bit of wiggle room if I missed any of the connecting services. Thus, I bid adios to the señoras and walked over the road to the bus stop.
As luck would have it, the 9.30am bus was cancelled, as wasr all subsequent buses for the next 2-3 hours. Vuelta Ciclista a Costa Rica is Costa Rica’s answer to Tour de France and just happened to be passing through Orosi that morning. There would be no buses until it was all over. I went back to the bakery and an amiable hombre filled me in with all the details. I explained I had accommodation booked in Puerto Viajo and really needed to find a way to get there. That was when he offered to take me to Paráiso (the first bus change) after he and his family had had their breakfast as they were going that way themselves. I gratefully accepted and ordered another coffee while waiting.
Pablo and his wife, Jessica, another señora and I piled into the pick up and the three older teenagers jumped on the tray along with my pack and Pablo’s bike. In honour of my being Australian, Pablo decided the appropriate road trip music should be AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. I secretly hoped that wasn’t a foretelling.
We drove through back roads lined with locals waiting for the race to pass them. And then suddenly stopped on the side of the road on a hill. Pablo explained we were going to watch the race first, then go to the bus station. He kept assuring me that he would get me to the bus on time and not to stress. I had no option anyway as I was a captive audience. The race eventually passed and it was pretty awesome to experience. Especially with locals who could explain what it was all about.
After the last bicycle, support car/van/motorbike, paparazzi, police car/motorbike and ambulance passed, we all piled back in and on Pablo’s pick up and headed off on narrow, windy back roads; even crossing a small stream at one stage. Pablo kept assuring me all was fine with my bus schedule, although, by this stage I was having my doubts. Eventually, we popped out above a large town which I assumed was Paraíso. Alas, it was not. It was Cartago where Pablo and his family lived. Pablo explained we were just stopping at his home so he could get changed and then he would drive me to the bus station. I was desperately trying to get The Bus Schedule site to connect as we were now way past any bus timetable I had already searched.
Pablo cheerfully dismissed my concerns and we jumped back into his pick up to drive to the local bus station. He asked the señora there about connecting buses down to Puerto Viajo but wasn’t satisfied with the answer. Pablo thought it a safer option to go back to San Jose and take a direct bus. By this stage I was starting to think the same. I thought he was driving me to the bus station to take a bus to San Jose, but he drove me directly there himself instead – about a two hour return trip! He checked everything was in order before leaving me there. I was so grateful for his kindness. I tried to give him some money for fuel, but he wouldn’t accept it. Pablo explained he had travelled extensively and that other people had helped him out, so he was happy to help out a fellow traveller.
At 2pm, my bus rumbled out of San Jose and began its long, uneventful journey down to the southern edge of Costa Rica’s Caribbean coast. I eventually rolled into Puerto Viajo de Talamanca around 6.30pm. I caught a taxi with two other backpackers staying at the same hostel, checked in and found my Chilean friend, Maria. It turned out some of the backpackers had organised a Christmas party and invited us to join them. Festivities ended with a bonfire on the beach and a late night.
Wild Woman Wandering 