Panama to Costa Rica by Bus
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“Ever travel by bus before? Your mood probably isn’t going to improve much.”
-John Candy, Planes, Trains and Automobiles
Making your way through Central America is one thing. Traveling on the cheap takes the adventure to a whole other level. Originally, when I traveled from Costa Rica to Panama by bus, I enjoyed every aspect of the experience. Why fly when you get the opportunity to tour the beauty of Costa Rica through the coastline and jungle with delicious meal stops all for $15?
Watching the waves rolling onto the shore, taking in the lush green undeveloped forest…such was my experience on the way down. I could see why the film Jurassic Park was set off the southern coast of Costa Rica. As we rode through the winding roads with the windows all the way open I was like a little kid scanning the landscape for a T-Rex sighting.
My trip back from Panama to Costa Rica this past week was not quite the same cinematic experience. Having learned a long time ago that things work quite differently in Central America, I took steps to purchase my bus ticket well in advance. After two unsuccessful attempts on the Tracopa and Tica Bus websites, I physically made my way to the city of David in person to buy my ticket only to discover that they were closed on the day that I went. I finally managed to secure my ticket, however, the purchase required me to buy the ticket from Panama City to San Jose, Costa Rica. I was assured multiple times by the agent that the bus would stop in David at the bus stop in front of the Super Baru grocery store at “approximately” 1pm on its way from departing Panama City at 7am. The key word here is “approximately,” Keep in mind we are on Central American time and “approximately” could mean hours or in some cases the next day.
The morning of my trip began at 6am. I was up and wired to go. After packing up the last 6 months of my life into my bag, my friend and taxi driver Fernando arrived at 10 to drive me to David to pick up the bus. Paying close attention to the word “approximately” I arrived at the bus stop at 12:30 with traffic moving in all directions and dust flying. Loud trucks without mufflers blasted by and exploded exhaust to the point one could not see. Honking led to responding honking. At the bus stop, with my 50 pound bag and backpack, I proceeded to wait….and wait…..and wait. As it was now approaching 3pm, I noticed in the far off distance a Tica Bus approaching. I knew this had to be my bus so I threw the heaviest bag on my shoulder, grabbed my smaller pack and proceeded toward the oncoming bus. As I did so, I noticed he was not slowing down in the slightest and as I waved he continued driving right past. I continued to flail my hands in the air as I did my best to run down the middle of the dusty, traffic filled road to try and catch him. About two blocks down, he screeched to a stop and the driver got off looking at me like I was crazy. We proceeded to have a conversation in his non-English and my non-Spanish. It became clear that there was no record of me on the bus, despite my confirmed ticket and seat reservation. It calls to mind the scene from “Planes, Trains and Automobiles.” It was like that, only in Spanish in the middle of traffic.
After a phone call and a very confusing exchange, the driver let me onto the bus. I expected cheering from the other passengers but they looked mostly hostile. I was the Gringo who had interrupted their trip. From there the rain began to pour….and pour….and pour. It seems to be my luck that border crossings in Central America always seem to happen amidst a torrential downpour. I was a bit anxious about the border crossing based on my previous experience arriving into Panama. I suspect border crossings by air travel run a bit more smooth than crossing the border by bus. The border is a sketchy location to put it mildly. The entire process amidst the pounding rain and inspection of luggage at both borders took altogether around two hours.
As I watched the customs agent open each person’s bag and thoroughly rummage through it’s contents in front of me, I was concerned as I knew we would never, ever get my bag closed again if we were to open it. On top of that, I was packing a container of coffee I had spent two months personally processing and knew that would likely be confiscated. Upon seeing my passport from the U.S., the agent gave me a grin and a fist bump and never opened my bag.
As we careened down the winding road into the rain and into the dark night, it all became a hazy fog. Movies in Spanish of Ant Man, How to Train your Dragon and Mission Impossible could barely be heard and the picture screen danced with horizontal lines. I drifted off to sleep in the night only to be awoken each time the bus driver pulled over in the middle of absolute nowhere and everything shut off for unnerving lengths of time. After multiple attempts to crank up the engine several times and the screens reading Engine Diagnostics Test, we finally got going again.
There was no scenery to be taken in on this return trip and no T-Rex sightings, only exhausted babies crying and old caballeros snoring. As we made our way into San Jose around 11:30 pm, the city lights and Casino signs let me know I was no longer on the tranquil mountaintop surrounded by nature.
A new chapter of the adventure had just begun.
“Travel is not reward for working. It is education for living.”
-Anthony Bourdain