COSTA RICA 101: THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS by Marilyn

I had several errands to run in downtown Grecia. I found a parking place on a side street and parallel parked with the help of a Watchiman (or Guachiman or Cuidacarro) one of many mostly older gentlemen who guard your car while you’re shopping. Watchimen, wearing official-looking Day-Glo vests, work for tips. (Realtor Ivo Henfling wrote a comprehensive article about Los Guachimanes click here.) The first two times I’d parked, I’d thought they worked for the city and I didn’t tip them. I know better now and have begun tipping between 500 and 1000 colones ($1-2), depending on how long I’m going to be.

Watchiman from Ivo's Blog

After about an hour of walking around town, loaded down with two large shopping bags, I returned to my car, only to find a flat tire. Before I even opened the way-back, I knew I wouldn’t find the lug nut wrench.

(A few months ago, we took our artist friend/neighbor and his monoprinting equipment down to the art festival in San Jose. Right before we arrived at the festival, he slapped his forehead. “I forgot the handle!”

Mi esposo Paul, always one to think on his feet, said, “You should be able to use our lug nut wrench.” He was right. The wrench made a perfect handle and our friend was able to do his demos. He promised to return the wrench once he got back to Grecia the next day. He didn’t. And we forgot to remind him.)

In the car’s way-back, not only was there no wrench, the jack was missing too. Then I thought back to a noise I’d heard several weeks earlier. I’d fallen asleep reading in bed and was partially awakened by what sounded like a car door opening and shutting outside of the bedroom window. The next morning, I asked Paul, “Did you open the car door sometime last night?”

“No,” he said.

“Well, I was sure I heard the car door open and close. I must have dreamed it.”

We didn’t think to check the car. We are really terrible about locking the car door; we rarely locked our cars in any of the places we lived in the states, so we never developed that habit. And because where we live now is basically a dead-end rural road, it didn’t seem that critical. But we’d heard that a few of our neighbors on the main road had had their jacks stolen recently. Apparently we had too. (Note to future thieves: we now lock our car -- mostly -- and we almost always take the keys out of the front door when we go to bed. So if you come to steal our new jack and the car is locked and the keys aren't in the front door, try again tomorrow.)

So now I was facing a flat tire with nothing available to fix it. The Watchiman seemed to think that a teenager who lived on the same street might be able to help. He couldn’t. So the Watchiman and the teenager and I walked a down the block to a lumber shop. The lumber guy couldn’t help either. A young man pulled up in Toyota Corolla. The Watchiman explained my dilemma. “I think I have a jack,” he said. In English. My day was looking up. Currently my Spanish works best at the butcher shop or the farmer’s market. I’ve focused my studies on grocery shopping, not car repairing.

Toyota Corolla guy dug around in his trunk and pulled out a Toyota Corolla-sized jack. We walked back to my vehicle, a Subaru Forester SUV. Toyota Corolla guy pumped the little jack all the way up. About four inches remained between the top of the jack and the bottom of the car. The jack was just too small. Moments later, the Toyota Corolla guy flagged down another guy in a shiny red Suzuki SUV. The Suzuki guy, who wore an official Municipalidad de Grecia shirt, had a much more substantial jack and it worked. Soon Toyota Corolla guy (whose name was David) was jacking up my car.

I hated to play the part of “helpless female” but all I could do was sit on the stoop of a small restaurant and watch.

The Suzuki guy stood on the sidewalk with the Watchiman. They watched.

The teenager who lived on the block watched.

Various neighbor-ladies watched. From a polite distance.

David removed the nuts on the tire. He tugged at the tire. It wouldn’t come off. He whacked the tire with the Corolla jack and it finally loosened. David rolled the flat tire over to me, pointing to a large nail head in the treads. “Well, that’s your problem,” he said.

“You are my guardian angel,” I said, all helpless female.

David picked up my spare and tried to line it up with the bolts. The car wasn’t jacked up high enough for the spare. The jack was pumped to its limit. So David sent the teenager down to the lumber shop for a block of wood. The teenager came back and David lowered the car and slipped the block of wood on the jack, re-jacking the car up. He tried to line up the spare on the bolts again. Still too low. He sent the teenager back to the lumber shop for more wood. The teenager came back with a meter-long piece of 2x4 with big nails sticking out of it.

David looked at me and shook his head. “Don’t cry,” he said, peering up at the ever-darkening sky, “the rain hasn’t arrived yet.” It being the rainy season and it being the afternoon when the rains typically came.

Waving the nail-studded 2x4 in the air, David spoke to the teenager in rapid Spanish that I couldn’t parse but figured it had something to do with the inappropriateness of the 2x4. The teenager took the 2x4 and headed back to the lumber shop. He returned with several chunks of wood of various thicknesses. David smiled. He turned to me, “Don’t cry,” he said for the second time. “This is going to work.”

I had no intention of crying. But I was grateful that someone who wasn’t me was handling all of this.

David slid the spare under the car and then stacked up the chunks of wood on the jack and began pumping. The parts of the jack handle that were supposed to connect to make the handle long enough were smashed in, so he couldn’t put them together. To get the proper leverage, he had to push the handle down with his foot and then pull it up with his hands. Slow going. Just as the car finally seemed high enough, the blocks slipped and the car came crashing down. Fortunately, the spare tucked under the frame kept the car from crashing to the street.

By now about 25 minutes had passed. David’s cell phone rang. He answered it and spoke again in rapid Spanish that I was unable to catch. He smiled at me, “If we’re lucky, the rain will come soon.”

 I moaned. “That’s supposed to be funny, right?” I said. He brushed the grit off his knees.

“My jeans are dirty,” he said.

“Lo siento,” I said. I’m sorry. “When you’re finished I’ll buy you a cervesa,” I said.

“Not necessary. Today you; tomorrow me,” said David. He smiled warmly. Very Pura Vida of him. 

An older man showed up, cigarette dangling from his lower lip. Without speaking, he took the little Toyota Corolla jack, grabbed a stack of wood blocks and slid everything under the back of the car. He laid down on the asphalt and carefully placed his lit cigarette on the ground next to him.

Now all I could think about was: there is a lit cigarette smoldering beneath my gas tank.

The little jack had a crank handle. Cigarette guy had to manipulate the crank handle from his position on the ground. It was very awkward. While he was doing that, David began re-pumping the larger jack. So now there were two guys pumping my car higher and higher. And one lit cigarette under the gas tank.

With both jacks holding the car up, David rolled the spare over again. This time it aligned perfectly with the bolts. “Not raining yet,” he said, turning to me with a grin.

Cigarette guy slid out from under the car, picking up the remainder of his smoke and replacing it on his lower lip.

“Gracias, muchas gracias,” I said. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

With the spare on, the guys picked up their various tools and wood blocks. I gave David a hug and slipped a 20 mil note into his hand. “Cervesas para todos,” I said.

“Forty-five minutes,” he said. He looked up at the sky. “No rain yet. Now,” he said, “drive very carefully and get your tire fixed right away.”

I thanked all the guys again and got into the car. I pulled away, blowing kisses to my guardian angels as the first big plops of rain hit my windshield. 

APRIL EXPENSES – HAVEN’T HIT THE MARK YET by Marilyn

CATEGORY	AMOUNT
Groceries/Household	551.72
Rent/Utilities	1021.75
Transportation	198.56
Doctors/Dentist/Meds	250.22
Dogs	80.25
Entertainment	35.63
Trips	0.00
Workshop/Garden	3.82
Furniture/Fixtures	36.56
Exercise/Fitness	40.00
Misc.* (Passport Renewal)	220.00
APRIL 2014 TOTAL	$2,438.51

I’m finally getting around to posting our April expenses. I’ll be blogging about the reason I am so late (it has to do with a spider) soon, so be on the lookout for my tale of woe.  I was really hoping for a first $2,000 month, but it was not to be. Some of the highlights:

Because we rarely go out to eat and I love to cook, our Groceries/Household expenses of more than $500 this month include items we don’t need, but we’re going to continue to buy as long as we feel we can afford them. Some of those items (that we get at PriceSmart) are huge quantities of pecans, chocolate chips, and grated Parmesan. They last 2-3 months (pecans and chocolate chips live in the freezer), still, at about $18-20 each, I wince a little when I toss them into the shopping cart.

Our Doctors/Dentist/Meds category is similar to March, at $250. In April, Paul’s health was a contributing factor with a torn meniscus in his knee. His injury started us thinking about how really vulnerable we are medically (our May expense report will have more details about this).

When he realized that his knee pain was not something temporary, Paul got an ultrasound ($25) recommended by the physical therapist ($25) at our doctor’s office. After reviewing his ultrasound, the therapist thought he should see an orthopedic surgeon (approximately $110 for a consultation). He hasn’t done that yet. We decided to research treatments for torn menisci first. There have been several positive studies citing exercise as a viable treatment, so Paul has joined a gym ($25/month) and is working with a trainer familiar with his issue.

Our doctor wants him to get another ultrasound next month. If there’s no improvement, then Paul will get the orthopedic consultation. At that point, we may have to face the fact that he’ll need arthroscopic surgery. If you’ve read our previous posts, you’re aware that we have not yet gotten our pensionado, which will eventually give us access to Costa Rica’s government health program (CAJA). So if Paul needs surgery sooner rather than later, we have two options: 1) Medicare. Paul has maintained his Medicare in the U.S. so he’d have the option to go to the U.S. for something serious. His Medicare is 80/20, so whatever the surgery cost would be, we’d have to pay 20 percent. And of course, there’s the airfare and other expenses associated with going back to the states. 2) Private health facility in Costa Rica. One of the highest rated hospitals in Costa Rica, Hospital Clinica Biblica, will arrange monthly payments after an initial deposit. Either way, we’ll be looking at thousands of dollars on our fixed income. Not pretty.

This has been a wake-up call for us to get going on our pensionado, so we’ve finally started the paperwork with our attorney. One of the things we had to do first was renew our passports – that’s the $220 miscellaneous expense this month.

This is the end table that Paul built -- total cost $36.56.
And the chair was free from friends!

Finally, some good news. We had been using shipping boxes for end tables for the past eight months. But in April, Paul bought some nice laurel wood and made a lovely Mission-style end table – final cost for materials -- $36.56. 

Folks who’ve lived in Costa Rica for several years have noted how much the cost of living has risen in the past few years. I’m beginning to wonder if we can really ever hit our $2,000 monthly goal, but I am still determined to stick with it. Once we’ve been here a year (October 2014), I’ll re-evaluate. But I won’t be giving up my pecans. 

MARCH 2014 EXPENSES – NICARAGUA BORDER RUN by Marilyn

CATEGORY	AMOUNT
Groceries/Household	416.12
Rent/Utilities	946.14
Transportation	143.46
Doctors/Dentist/Meds	250.41
Dogs	59.88
Entertainment	86.65
Trips*	782.05
Workshop/Garden	143.03
Furniture/Fixtures	0.00
Exercise/Fitness	43.00
Misc.	95.78
March 2014 TOTAL	$2,966.52
*March Visa Run to Nicaragua Bus tickets to/from Nicaragua $72.92 Transportation in Nicaragua (taxis/shuttle to border) 95.00 CR buses 8.08 Meals/Snacks 149.70 House Sitter 80.00 Hotel 298.35 Customs/Border Fees 40.00 Misc. 30.00 March 2014 Visa Run TOTAL 782.05

 Without going to Nicaragua this month, we would have just missed our $2,000/month goal, spending $2,184.47. Last month was $2,248.21. Should I change the goal to $2,200? I really don’t want to – I do think that once we get our pensionado, our medical expenses (mostly mine) should decrease enough to keep us below $2,000. So I’m going to hang onto the $2,000 goal for now and see what happens in the coming months.

But … until we get our pensionado (which we still haven’t begun working on), we will have to leave Costa Rica every 90 days for 72 hours. (UPDATE:  Several folks have shared information with me since I posted this, explaining that the 72-hour requirement has to do with customs, not immigration. I appreciate their taking the time to explain this, and we'll happily use that information to take a much shorter trip next time.)And even after we get a cedula number, which means that we’re “in process” we will continue to have to cross the border to recertify our U.S. drivers’ licenses (not the 72-hour requirement), but we’ll most likely follow the lead of our neighbors, Jim and Irina Just -- A Different Kind of Trip to Nicaragua ..., who have ferried to Nicaragua for lunch and come right back.

We learned lots of lessons on this, our first trip to Nicaragua. In total, our trip cost us nearly $800, pretty pricey (for us) for a 4-day trip. To get the complete picture of this trip, check out the three-part “Busing It from Costa Rica to Nicaragua” articles on our blog. After reviewing what we spent our money on, there are definitely a few things we could have done to cut down on these trip expenses:  picked a cheaper hotel (downtown San Juan Del Sur has several modestly priced hotels that are rated okay on Trip Advisor); taken the un-air-conditioned, but much cheaper Deldu bus both ways; spent less on food -- we ate at the hotel restaurant which was delicious, but pricey for Nicaragua. I'm not sure how many of these Visa runs are in our future -- friends who've applied for their residency more than 15 months ago are still waiting. It will be interesting to see how much we're spending every three months or so on these trips. So far January and March haven't been too promising in the "living cheaply" category. 

NEW CATEGORY

I’ve added the category “Exercise/Fitness” to the March budget. We are trying to be regulars at the twice-a-week yoga, and Paul has started playing tennis again after a 10-year hiatus. Maybe in future budgets our Exercise/Fitness expenses will help reduce the Doctors/Dentists/Meds category! 

BUSING IT FROM COSTA RICA TO NICARAGUA: PART 3, GETTING HOME by Paul and Marilyn

At the Costa Rican border.

The trip back to Costa Rica was cheaper but also hotter and more complicated. The cab picked us up at 8:00 a.m. and drove like hell down to the border. As in Costa Rica, passing on curves is no problem in Nicaragua. The roads are better – the road from San Juan Del Sur to the border actually had shoulders, white lines on the edge and yellow lines down the center. Still, that would be little consolation if your cab, while passing on the curve, smashed into an 18-wheeler. “I’m so happy I died on the nice road,” you’d say at the first afterlife cocktail party.

The taxi stopped at the border. There was no town here; simply a series of chain link fences and low buildings blocking the highway. Under huge tropical trees, people flowed in all different directions selling sandwiches, trinkets, cold drinks; hucksters offered to change cordobas back to colones; young men were constantly trying to grab your luggage and carry it for you. You have to be firm. Our driver pointed to a break in a chain link fence about a hundred yards ahead and told us to go through to customs. We wheeled our luggage across the steamy asphalt, until we saw an official-looking person at a hole in the fence.

We showed our passports to the official and finally allowed two pleasant, insistent young men to take our bags to the correct window. They wore some kind of badges that apparently allowed them to guide hapless tourists through the Nicaraguan customs building. They showed us how to fill out the forms (here we paid the clerk behind the desk $1 each – for the privilege of getting into the building). The guys with the badges then led us to the next window. One of them told us the inspector at that particular window was a good friend of his would only charge us $2 each instead of $12. By that time we were pretty much captives of the badge guys who were hanging onto our luggage, so we followed them to the “special” window. The clerk behind the window charged us $2 each, and handed us a receipt that said 3.20 (maybe in cordobas?).

We walked along more asphalt with our two valets toward Costa Rican customs. One of them asked me,” You like Costa Rica?” I said I did. He smiled. “La pura vida,” he said. I replied “mas o meno,” and we had a good laugh. They stopped abruptly and told us we would have to go on without them. We tipped them and some more for their friend, the Nicaraguan agent behind the window.

Entering Costa Rica was mostly a breeze. The line at the customs window was short. We were a little worried that our passports would be questioned. They expire in the middle of September, which meant at the end of March we were within six months of expiration. We’d heard horror stories of entire families being turned away at the airport in Costa Rica because their passports were too close to being expired. The day before we left for Nicaragua, one of our friends had advised us to make the appointment to renew our passports and print out the proof that we were “in process.” The earliest appointment we could get was mid-April, but we had the appointment paperwork with us just in case. But the customs clerk only asked for proof that we had tickets out of Costa Rica, which we did – for June 26 – 90 days away. 

As we’ve written previously, until we finish our residency, we’ll have to leave the country every 90 days. The clerk stamped Paul’s passport first, writing in “60.” We’d heard this happens – apparently the customs clerks have total discretion as to how much time they will give you in country. On a blog we’d recently read that one family of five had times from 15 to 90 days given them (apparently the clerk was having an “impura vida” day). Marilyn grabbed Paul’s passport from the clerk, gave her back our 90-day departure ticket and pointed to the date. Without a word, the clerk crossed out her original stamp, re-stamped the passport and wrote in “90,” then stamped and wrote “90” on Marilyn’s passport as well.

Our next stop was the luggage scanner and within moments we walked out into the humid air and faced a happy jumble of human activity. Strolling policemen, families sitting on the curbs with their luggage (there is no seating anywhere) pedi-cab operators picking up and dropping off lost-looking travelers, waiting buses with engines idling, exhaust fumes billowing, people munching on snacks, paper wrappers and plastic bottles skittering over the road in search of a trash can.

Ticket kiosks - no bus for us!

Lined up at the curb were tiny ticket kiosks for different bus lines. They looked like hot dog stands. We went to the Ticabus booth, since we had left San Jose on Ticabus. The girl indicated that we could not get a bus to San Jose from her. She pointed two hot dog stands down, repeating “roja, “roja” – a red-roofed building with another tiny ticket booth attached to it. The girl in the tiny ticket booth shook her head, and directed us inside.

The Deldu bus ticket building.

Behind a window, a clerk was selling bus tickets and bathroom passes (200 colones). Confused, we thought this was the place to purchase all tickets, but it was only for the Deldu bus. The tickets only cost about $9/each, compared to the $27 Ticabus tickets. We still haven’t figured out why couldn’t get a Ticabus or a Nicabus ticket at the border; we saw people buying tickets, but had no idea where they were going and why they could get tickets and we couldn’t.

For 200 colones, you receive a handful of toilet paper and
are buzzed into the very secure restroom; a good idea
since there's no restroom on the Deldu bus.

We killed an hour and a half sitting on the curb waiting for our bus. Marilyn went to find some food while I guarded our luggage. She and another Gringo (a young guy heading back to the beach) hiked past an endless line of trucks waiting to cross into Nicaragua. A row of buildings down a deep grade off the side of the road looked promising, but when they got closer, none of them were food shops.

The guy scrambled down the embankment to a car rental, scrambling back up with the news, “There’s a place down there,” he said, pointing farther down the row of trucks, “but they only sell sodas.” Marilyn explained that sodas are the tiny restaurants that dot every Costa Rican town and road. Food!!

Deldu Bus

The soda was part of a massive truck stop nestled in the trees off the road. Marilyn and her new pal eventually found the tiny shop and ordered jamon y queso sandwiches (ham and cheese) and bought some chips and water. The young man sat down to eat his sandwich immediately, so Marilyn headed back, locating me and our luggage on the curb.

Guanacaste seems to have more horses than people.

Soon we saw what must have been our bus (it was the only one with the windows opened). The interior was exactly the same as the Ticabus, except no restroom. We figured that Deldu purchases the old Ticabuses and Nicabuses after the A/C and bathrooms give out, but while the engine still has life left.

Dry Guanacaste

At breakneck speed with all the windows open the ride back was not as hot as we had feared. It reminded us both of driving to the beach when we were kids and the only air conditioning in the family car was wide-open windows. We stopped in little towns and sometimes roadside bus stops in the country side as we made our way south through the dusty brown landscape and bare trees of Guanacaste. 

One of many small-town bus stops on the way home. 

We arrived in Liberia, a moderately sized city of Costa Rica, large enough to have its own airport and nicely paved streets. Clearly there were American expats here; many signs were in English. By mid- afternoon we began to turn inland on the Pan American Highway toward mountains and cooler temperatures. The name of this thoroughfare is a bit of hyperbole; it is in fact a two lane paved road with no allowance made for the semi-tractor trailers which often creep up the steep inclines backing up traffic as far as the eye could see. The bus pulled into a large cafeteria for “viente minutos” so that the passengers could use the restrooms and purchase food. We bought cooling frosty shakes that were a welcomed treat.

The cool breezes at higher elevations were refreshing, and we were soon passing by San Ramon, a Central Valley town about 45 minutes west of Grecia. Our tickets were through to San Jose, but the bus would be passing right by Grecia on the way there. I asked the bus driver if he could stop and let us off in Grecia. At about 4 pm, he pulled over by the side of the highway and called “Grecia.” We were still in the countryside at the edge of the Pan American Highway, but got off. He unloaded our luggage. He then pointed to a bus stand across the highway. We waited for a break in the traffic and made it across. In about twenty minutes another bus picked us up and took us to downtown Grecia, where we got one more bus to take us up the ridge to El Cajon, our little mountainside barrio.

It was 6 pm. We were totally exhausted but oh- so-happy to be home.

BUSING IT FROM COSTA RICA TO NICARAGUA: PART 2, BEING THERE by Paul and Marilyn

Sunset over the Pacific.

Hotel El Jardin

Like the blind men and the elephant, our reflections on our brief stay in San Juan Del Sur are limited to a very small slice of what is available. We didn't experience any of the apparently expansive night life or the adventure sports. We didn't hang out with the giant Jesus on the hill either. So this post is less a travelogue and more a reflection.

 This photo of El Jardin is courtesy of TripAdvisor

At Hotel El Jardin, breakfast (included in the room rate) and dinner were served on the patio, a lovely place to start and end each day with a balmy breeze, Nacascolo Bay and the blue Pacific in the distance. However, we found to our disappointment that El Jardin doesn’t have a shuttle van to take guests into town. Marilyn had checked out so many places on Trip Advisor before deciding on El Jardin, that she’d confused it with a different hotel that DID offer shuttles. So if we wanted to get to town, we’d have to call a taxi.

Looking out on the Nacascolo Bay with the Pacific in the distance.

But after breakfast, on our first day, we decided to walk down to the bay for a swim  We had heard that during the dry season, Guanacaste, the Costa Rica canton just south of the Pacific Nicaraguan border, is hot and dry, like West Texas. We had seen this for ourselves on our bus the day before. The trees were bare, the ground covered with brown leaves. Save for the occasional palm trees, it could have been October in Delaware. The same was true for this part of Nicaragua. Our walk down to the beach was hot, 90’s for sure.  And unlike our mountain home in Grecia, where the foliage remains green year round, the mountains around the hotel were brown and dusty.

We also walked to the bay on our second day, but started out a lot later and had to walk back up the hill at high noon (For some photos of our swim and hike, check out Marilyn’s photo essay). So on our first day, after cooling off in the lovely El Jardin pool, we decided to take a taxi ($10 – should have negotiated a better price) to go into town for lunch. The main street of San Juan Del Sur parallels the beach with shoulder to shoulder thatched-roof restaurants, beer joints, sodas, surf shops and little hotels, a few of which one might want to consider for an overnight. 

Beachfront restaurants and hotels at San Juan Del Sur

Really good pizza!

Watching sand and surf from
our table at Pizzaria San Juan del Playa

We wandered in to an open-air restaurant (Pizzaria San Juan del Playa) that provided welcome relief from the blazing sun. We had a brochure-perfect view of the bay – a few swimmers and many boats. On the advice of a guest back at El Jardin, we ordered beers and a pepperoni pizza (our first pizza in more than six months!!). The pizza was so good we immediately ordered another. Since it was about three in the afternoon, we counted the first pizza as lunch and the second one as supper. 

Fishing boats, San Juan Del Sur

Bocce ball on the beach.

After happily stuffing ourselves, we strolled on the beach at low tide. A group of expats were playing bocce ball, and a few people were wading in the shallows. As we made our way down the seemingly pristine beach, it was unsettling to see a drainage ditch or sewer leading from under one of the restaurants out to the water. This does not appear in the brochures.

Umm ... what is draining into the sea from this ditch?

Street paralleling the beach.

A block or so off he main drag.

Wandering in a block or two from the beach, we were reminded that this is a third world country and poverty is everywhere. The difference between the touristy beach row and a few blocks in was striking. 

One of several charming clapboard houses in the tourist area.

Looking for a market to pick up some fresh fruit, we found our way to a mercado that can only be described as squalid. A single light bulb cast shadows over piles of half-rotten bananas and shriveled vegetables. Unlike Costa Rica, there were no Holas! Or Buenas Tardes! for the Gringos. No smiles. Groups of people and naked children chatted with each other in the dark as if we were invisible. We left fruitless, buying a few bags of chips from a snack vendor. When Marilyn picked up the bags of chips from the shelf, several cockroaches scurried for cover. It says a lot about how much I knew I would need Doritos later that I bought them anyway.   

Funeral procession.

Outside it was easily 95 degrees, and people were sitting and lying on the sidewalks in the shade to get away from the heat. With no room on the narrow sidewalks, we walked in the street. 

Soon we were crowded off the street as well, as a funeral procession passed by. The lead vehicle was a white pickup truck carrying the flower-covered coffin. Contemporary music blared from the truck, so the deceased was probably relatively young. A second pickup, overflowing with flowers, followed, then at least a hundred solemn people on foot passed by. Some bystanders watched quietly, respectfully; others continued to drink their beers and tend to the minutiae of the day.

Iglesia San Juan Bautista

We continued through the town, heading for the town square and the church. Like Costa Rican churches, this one faced west and was the center of San Juan Del Sur. 

Wooden interior Iglesia San Juan Bautista

Welcome breezes from the church's open windows

The church was a wonder to behold. Massive wooden trusses tied together with intricate joinery held the walls and the roof in place. All the doors and windows were open. A few votive candles burned by the altar. We sat quietly as faint sea breezes played over our heated bodies. A parish priest chatted genially with two women. Another woman, gnarled and bent, keened loudly as she rocked to and fro in a pew several rows in front of us. She was obviously a regular, because neither the priest nor the women gave her any notice.

Because our budget wasn’t going to allow us to do any tours (including what looked like an incredible sunset horseback ride on the beach), we decided there was nothing much more for us to do in the town. Before returning to El Jardin, we arranged our return to the border at a hotel. Rather than going back to Rivas to pick up a bus, the shuttle from the downtown hotel would be dropping us right at the border so that we could go through customs on our own without waiting for a busload of people to be checked through. The $45 fee included picking us up after breakfast at El Jardin. We’d read that there were bus kiosks right at the Costa Rican border, so it seemed like it would be easy to arrange for a bus back home. More on that in the next chapter. 

When Marilyn posts our March expenses, she’ll have a breakdown of all of our costs for this trip. But for our one day in San Juan Del Sur, we spent $25 on our two (delicious) pizzas and beers and $20 for the round-trip back and forth from El Jardin (after we returned to the hotel, we talked to another couple who’d negotiated $6 one-way for the taxi – obviously, we could have done better). Oh, and about $4.00 for two bags of Doritos and two Snickers bars. These would come in handy the next day. After our swim in the bay and our hot hike up the hill, we were too tired to go into town to eat. And dinner service didn't start until 6:30. After carefully inspecting our snacks to make sure they were free of "visitors" we ate our hearty lunch of chips and chocolate. Next:  The return home.