San Jose no way

It's hard to put into words just how exceptionally crap the last 20 hours have been, but I shall do my best. Seek ye not objective, rational reporting here, as I am actually perspiring with fury and indignation, and experiencing mild hatred of Costa Rica in general. In fact, I should start with a disclaimer that this is 98% rant, 2% bad grammar.

Last night after I finished wallowing around in self pity, I went to bed to ready my new book. I was v.excited as its a Dave Eggers. I know I like it as i've read it before, and furthermore it wasn't a book about the problems of the Middle East, which cannot be said about most of the others in my collection (no, I don't know why either). My dorm room as aforementioned, was blessed with one of the most crackers women I've ever met. This isn't her fault, and I understand she probably has medical problems to which people should respond with sympathy and understanding, but I am still going to slag her off for the next paragraph. 

She was asleep when I went in, which initially relieved me, until I realised she was snoring like a 600Ib drunk man, rather than a 80Ib wee old lady. The young lass in the bed opposite kept groaning in despair, and burrowing further into the bed sheets (an olfactory error in itself). I however, knew it was futile to attempt sleep under such conditions,(JM experience taught us something,eh boo!) so I whipped out my torch and started reading. It was impossible to concentrate though, she was SO loud, and the snoring was punctuated by looooooong periods of silence, where I was worried she had died. This went on for about 2 hours, toward the end of which she had begun to fart too. A particularly exuberant burst of gas hit her, and she actually woke herself up. She immediately began shouting "Jesus! Jesus, God damn hell! I've lost it! I've really lost it this time! Oh boy, there's gonna be hell to pay. Gone! It's gone!". I initially thought she was just mid bad dream, but then she began demanding to borrow the head-torch of someone in the room, and I realised she really had lost something. Thus followed 15 minutes of searching frantically while her head flailed around, directing her head-torch beam into everyone's face (there really was a head-torch too). She eventually found the critical object, and went back to snoring and farting. I must have somehow fallen asleep, as I awoke to find a strange and enormous man looming over my bed and shaking me. I couldn't understand what he was saying and after a few seconds of bellowing he keeled over, presumably in a drunken state, and literally crawled out of the room banging into things. By this point I was genuinely freaked out, and as the three other girls in the room had GONE despite fact it was 5am, I presume I wasn't the only one. Crackers was absent too, but she came waffling back again to tell me the man had been ejected from hostel "ya get some FUNNY ONES DON'T YA?!?!" Fart fart fart twitch twitch twitch. 

I left the hostel at 11am, as even though my flight was at 6pm, I wanted to get the bus which was a buck as opposed to a taxi which was $22, and I thought it wise to give myself plenty of time. 

Finding the bus station looked easy; San Jose is on a grid system so Calles(streets) go one way, Vias (ways) go another. Lonely Planet said I had to go to Calle 12/14 and via 2 which was 15 mins from the hostel. It was all comprehensive enough, so off I trotted, naively clad in a dress and tights as everything else I own is dirty. After days of chilliness, it was of course roasting, so within moments I was hot and bothered with a bright red face and a clammy back. Got to the designated place, but couldn't see a stop or station. Asked a nice boy who said it was all the way over town. I smiled pityingly at him and ignored his advice because LP said differently, and also, I couldn't be sure of my Spanglish translation. Asked another man. Similar response. Hmmm. Asked again. And again. On fifth try decided to walk in direction all Costa Ricans had advised, and it slowly dawned on me that if I got to zero, the calles probably started ascending again, but in the other direction. WHY would you do that? I don't know, but they do. So, turns out 12/14 was actually quite far away, but what with the having no money, and the ever expanding size of my arse I thought I would trot up anyway. Half an hour of 20kilo backpack slogging later, I saw the bus for Alajuela which is the one you get to drop you off at the International Airport. All very simple, except the buses don't have to stop, and this one was driven by a total pig.

I got on and said "el aeropuerto por favor" in my admittedly tragic accent, and he barked something aggressive back at me. I was visibly perplexed, but to be fair to him, I did also do that weird inane grinning thing I have taken to doing when I don't understand (aka all the time), which is often mistaken as comprehension by others. He snatched my money though, so I figured it wasn't anything important and got on. I had only been sitting for a few moments when a lovely man came over and said "he isn't taking you to the airport, he isn't stopping there. He just took your money but you will end up lost, so get another bus to the airport" I got up in a fluster as the villain of the tale was starting the bus. I dashed up the aisle and politely asked him for my money back. He said no; because I should have learned Spanish before I came to Latin America. While I think this is a valid point, I expect there are more morally lofty ways to express it. I asked again less politely, and at this point the nice man and other passengers were getting involved. They began to shout, and the driver was getting aggressive and beginning to drive again. I had a moment of clarity i.e ITS ONE DOLLAR so I jumped out the door and he slammed it behind me. I furiously threw an apple core at the door and watched his stupid bus zoom off. I had already started back the way I came, when I realised that in the rush/rage I had left my brothers Nikon camera on the seat. I had a moment of vanity where I considered how embarrassing it was going to be to run through streets on a Saturday, carrying a backpack; worse still from a bus I had just been ejected from... But girding my loins I gave chase, like a graceful young bullock. I gave chase for a couple of blocks and managed to catch up while the bus was stuck at lights, but despite banging on the door and giving the international sign for "let me back on! I've left my camera" he somewhat predictably ignored me. Major temper tantrum regret re the apple... However, maybe the lovely people in the bus didn't see my Violet Elizabeth Bott behaviour, as one of them dangled the Nikon out the window and I caught it as the bus bombed off. Faith in humanity crushed, then restored in one 4 minute period. Faith in self firmly crushed when I realised that my skirt was caught under my backpack and I had been exposing my holey tights and nether regions throughout the whole bullock-gives-chase-to-abandoned-camera scenario. 

 

With help of kind and sympathetic old lady, I got another bus with humane driver to the airport.  At check

in I was ready to have nervvy B number two, as there was a problem with my American visa, therefore my stopover in Miami. Absolutely lovely lass from airline said she would just change my flight so it was direct to Colombia. I suspect she saw the manic glint in my eye, but maybe she was just a good person.  Will deal with lack of working visa at a later date, but for now, I am merely relieved to be in departures, devoid of my nemesis The Backpack. I'm looking forward to Harry Potter being on the inflight media options, and to finishing my book without the soundtrack of snorey-gut explosions. Then I am looking forward to sleeping in a bedroom sans international maniacs, in a clean goonie, after a hot shower. Roll on Colombia. San Jose you will NOT be missed.