Poo or Papaya?

In Port Hood, NS Alex, Crystal and I would run on the ripped up railroad tracks and it was Crystal who would call out stick or snake from time to time.  It was a warning for what you may step on.  Walking down the streets here it would be applicable to announce poo or papaya.  There always seems to be something to step on or into around here.  The speed bumps aren’t colour marked on the road and it seems as though 3 times a day Shelly gets caught up on one.

To back up a few days we’ve just sort of been hanging out and filling in the days.  I’ve gone and reread this blog a number of times and I am cringing at the various grammatical and formatting mistakes that I am reading and seeing.  It is a bit disappointing, but to create these posts using two thumbs, on a IPhone, in Notes, it is hopefully understandable to the reader.  It is not going to be perfect.  Fixing the errors will give me something to do once we return home.

Shelly and I rented a surf board the other day.  It was a decent success.  We were both up on our feet and cruising towards the shore a number of times without the explanations and assistance from Oscar.

We also decided to go on a journey to a community 130-140km south called Golfito.  Having gone 2 for 2 recently on public transportation, and successfully at that, we thought the third time would be a charm.  In a nutshell it wasn’t.

Drawback 1 was the underestimation of time.  The trip took 3 hrs.  It stopped everywhere, and picked up everyone going to youth soccer games to Palm Sunday church services.  It got to be too much for our impatient selves.  At 10$ though, I all, it was inexpensively priced.  But we wouldn’t do that again anytime soon.  The stopping and starting was just too much to take.

E v e n t u a l l y the bus dropped us off in a community where we still had a 25 km drive to Golfito.  We surrendered to our fate, found a restaurant, had a delicious pizza, then regrouped and zoned in for the next leg.  We would take a taxi the rest of the way for about 8$ or so.  I rode up front with the driver and he spoke Spanish and I nodded with a lot of “si”s and “okay”s.  I figured he was asking a whole bunch of questions that required an affirmative response.  The driver was a religious man with his lucky religious charms on his dash board and a rosary around the rear view mirror.  But the sure tale tell was all the Hail Mary’s he gestured while we passed church after church in the 20km or so drive in.  Hallelujah!

Funny enough it was now 1:00, our day started at 8:00, and there was a 2:00 direct bus back to Dominical, from Golfito, by more of a bus company rather then a transit service that we took in.  We got ourselves 2 tickets for about 35$ or so.  Anything would be better then how we arrived, and at any cost.  We walked around for 45 minutes with a sense of relief. 

Golfito promised to be a really nice spot and it was too bad we never gave it its proper inspections.  They have a really nice National Park, fresh water, beaches, and it is off the beaten trail.  It was not to be for us.  However we filled the day and the journey didn’t consequence our relationship whatsoever!  Going home the bus ride was nice.  We sat near this lady who had two kids about 7 and 4.    The same age as ours.  With little formal verbal communication, we enjoyed each others' company using common buzzword phrases that are nearly universally recognizable and understandable.  Lots of hand gestures too.

As it was we went through an immigration/military checkpoint on the road.  Shelly had no ID or anything at all.  I had my wallet.  The official took my license and shook his head no.  “Passportes”.  I shook my head no.  I said Passportes, hotel, Dominical, and I am pointing with my finger the 100km away it is thinking that will seal the understanding deal.  He shook his head no, and I am sure he said you need your passport amigo so we know who the hell you are.  Shelly has nothing on her.....  

I really wasn’t worried.  The agent, it was clear, seemed like a nice guy.  He got his superior and they jibber-jabbered for a bit and pointed at me 6 feet away.  There he is.   I was shrugging my shoulders, shaking my head no, and still pointing 100km down the road indicating were the passports are.  I am sure he said you need your papers when you are in this end of the country which is within 50km or so from Panama.  It was clear they were not going to haul us off the bus for this minor and incidental transgression.  Thankfully.  My head shaking turned to nodding in agreement, then lots of “si”s and “gracias” after it became clear that this didn’t need to go any further with these two scofflaws then a warning in Spanish.  We got the message.  You couldn’t slap the smile off my face having just avoided what might have been.

All the while the lady with the two kids was staying out of our problems, but she was sympathetic, and tried to explain to us what was going on once the bus accelerated back to cruising speed.  And no sooner had we got up to speed we picked up a feller who gets on buses and sells drinks and deep fried plantains.  It would be a round for everyone at the back of the bus on me.  The kids had a smile on their faces which couldn’t be slapped off either!