Vamos
Leaving my house at 9:30 PM, I caught Caltrain to BART, and took BART to the Airport. After a few delays, TACA flight 561 departed SFO around 1:00AM. The flight included free beverages (which were rationed sparingly), and a free bag of vinegar and salt potato chips. Sandwiches could be had for $5.
I opted to stay on a liquid diet, savoring my two screwdrivers, but hoping for more. When it became apparent no more drinks would be available, I flipped on the iPod and hoped to settle into a comfortable flight. But wouldn't you know it, the Indian guy next to me then pulls a plate of chicken curry out of his bag. This thing reeked like it had been in his bag since he left India! He took a few bites and put the container in the seat pocket in front of him. Mind you, this was no Tupperware with locked-in freshness, this was a flimsy container and I smelled that thing for the next 5 hours! Aye yi yi!
Finally we reached San Salvador. I longed for clean smelling, curry-free air. Ahhh, I was finally off that plane!
After killing a few minutes by changing into shorts (it was warm in the new climate) and purchasing an El Salvadorian Coke, I boarded for San Jose, Costa Rica. I was in the back of the plane again. And wouldn't you know it, that same Indian guy was two rows behind me, and by the smell of his backpack as he passed, he obviously was still carrying his curried chicken. Pardon me for asking, but why is an Indian dude going to Costa Rica?
After ahout an hour later, we arrived in San Jose. I quickly cleared customs and headed over for my last leg of the journey -- on Sansa Airlines. The Sansa terminal is separate from the main airport in San Jose. It actually reminded me of a Greyhound bus station, not that I've ever taken Greyhound.
My flight was delayed about an hour, but finally we were off on our 15-person prop plane. Did I mention there was no security check before I got on? And the pilots are in the cabin with all of the passengers? Well, I tried not to think what could happen. In any event, it was a rocky ride, but we made it to Nosara airport in one piece. And Tyler, the co-owner of Safari Surf School, was there to meet me. He's exactly what you would have expected for a surf school teacher -- mid 30's, well tanned, laid back, with Arlene, his 22-year old Costa Rican girlfriend, waiting in the SUV.
We drove the 3-4 miles of dirt road to Casa Tucan, my home for the next seven nights. The roads had a strange smell. Tyler, alternating speaking English to me and Spanish to Arelene, informed me that the roads smelled that was because the locals pour molases on the roads to keep the dust down. Apparently there is no money for pavment.
Tyler quickly checked me into the Casa Tucan and showed me my room. It wasn't quite the luxury accomodations promised on the website, but it seemed okay, and Tyler fetched me a beer, so I reconed things would be okay.
I opted to stay on a liquid diet, savoring my two screwdrivers, but hoping for more. When it became apparent no more drinks would be available, I flipped on the iPod and hoped to settle into a comfortable flight. But wouldn't you know it, the Indian guy next to me then pulls a plate of chicken curry out of his bag. This thing reeked like it had been in his bag since he left India! He took a few bites and put the container in the seat pocket in front of him. Mind you, this was no Tupperware with locked-in freshness, this was a flimsy container and I smelled that thing for the next 5 hours! Aye yi yi!
Finally we reached San Salvador. I longed for clean smelling, curry-free air. Ahhh, I was finally off that plane!
After killing a few minutes by changing into shorts (it was warm in the new climate) and purchasing an El Salvadorian Coke, I boarded for San Jose, Costa Rica. I was in the back of the plane again. And wouldn't you know it, that same Indian guy was two rows behind me, and by the smell of his backpack as he passed, he obviously was still carrying his curried chicken. Pardon me for asking, but why is an Indian dude going to Costa Rica?
After ahout an hour later, we arrived in San Jose. I quickly cleared customs and headed over for my last leg of the journey -- on Sansa Airlines. The Sansa terminal is separate from the main airport in San Jose. It actually reminded me of a Greyhound bus station, not that I've ever taken Greyhound.
My flight was delayed about an hour, but finally we were off on our 15-person prop plane. Did I mention there was no security check before I got on? And the pilots are in the cabin with all of the passengers? Well, I tried not to think what could happen. In any event, it was a rocky ride, but we made it to Nosara airport in one piece. And Tyler, the co-owner of Safari Surf School, was there to meet me. He's exactly what you would have expected for a surf school teacher -- mid 30's, well tanned, laid back, with Arlene, his 22-year old Costa Rican girlfriend, waiting in the SUV.
We drove the 3-4 miles of dirt road to Casa Tucan, my home for the next seven nights. The roads had a strange smell. Tyler, alternating speaking English to me and Spanish to Arelene, informed me that the roads smelled that was because the locals pour molases on the roads to keep the dust down. Apparently there is no money for pavment.
Tyler quickly checked me into the Casa Tucan and showed me my room. It wasn't quite the luxury accomodations promised on the website, but it seemed okay, and Tyler fetched me a beer, so I reconed things would be okay.
posted by Leroy at
4:12 PM
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