SJO

Near San José, Costa Rica

The bus I was waiting for had left hours ago, a taxi-driver told me. He had hailed me down as I paced back and forth at the abandoned bus-stop, clearly looking lost and stressed. The way he saw it, I had essentially two options: to ride with him and pay a sum so large even he admitted it was outrageous, or wait for another bus that almost certainly wasn't coming.

I was now visibly frought, and the taxi-driver told me that he didn't envy my decision. Best decisions are made without pressure, he said, so he would wait in the taxi while I made up my mind. I pulled out the paper with the hostel information, looking for any sort of guidance. As I unfolded it, it was odd to recall that only a few hours had passed since I'd booked the reservation--or, indeed, since I'd finally booked the trip. As I stood alone at the bus-stop, enclosed by vacant streets (minus the one taxi), I saw the consequences of my impulsivity. Cheap flights do not necessarily imply smooth logistics, I noted.

The paper gave a street address, and said that a yellow bus would come by the terminal frequently and stop a few blocks from the hostel. I looked again at the sign hanging over the bus station, that clearly told me I was in the right place. The taxi-driver himself had admited this, but said that as I had landed so late there was little point in waiting now. It was hard upon midnight. The taxi honked its horn.

I returned to the hostel paper, simultaneously wishing that the taxi-driver would drive away and persuade me to get in his car. Then I noticed that the paper had said something I hadn't noticed before--that the hostel gate would be locked at midnight, and any tardy travelers would be left outside and forfit their deposit. I looked at the time and groaned. I was going to be one of those travelers. Well Andrew, I thought to myself. This is going to be quite a memorable night.

Part bus, part deus-ex-machina, a shuttle emerged from the darkness and pulled up alongside me. And then my heart sank--it wasn't yellow, and its destination sign was for another city. As the bus doors breathed open, I stupidly stared up at the bus driver. ¨Thirty-fourth Street and Third Avenue?" I asked doubtfully.

"Nobody knows where that is," the bus driver said politely, taking advantage of a teachable moment. "Here, we talk about things being next to other things. What is your hotel by?" he chortled.

I stared at my paper dully. It said something about the Toyota Building, but given the awkward English I was unsure whether it was part of the directions or an advertisement. Not knowing what else to do, I answered, "El edificio de Toyota." The Toyota Building.

"Yes, of course!" The bus driver said, "get in." I looked at the paper one last time. The bus didn't match the paper's description or the taxi-driver's. He gave me a foreboding look from the other side of the road, shook his head, and murmured, "no."

I smiled at him helplessly and boarded the bus. I had no idea where I was going or if the bus was going there. And as the bus turned left at the first road, I saw my last hope fade; by my calculations San Jose simply couldn't be anywhere but to the right. Oh well, I thought again. If I'm going to be without a place to stay, it's probably best to be on a bus instead of in the street. And there was something decidedly romatic about being on a bus going nowhere. That is, I supposed, until we got there.

Still feeling claustrophobic from the plane, I opened the window and welcomed in the new climate. The air was warm and humid, but pleasantly so. The few people still awake waved at my head, protruding from the window like a canine on a joy-ride.

We drove for fifty minutes or so, and I knew then that the gate was certainly closed and that I had landed in Costa Rica without a place to sleep. Live in the moment, I told myself. It'll all work out.

The scenary faded and houses appeared in its wake, all of varying sizes and colors, perfectly interlocking with each other and the hills they rested upon. What a beautiful country, I thought.

The bus stoped, and I was instantly anxious for it to move again. The driver said something to the passenger behind him, and then like a game of telephone the message was gradually passed back to me. It was my stop. Disappointed (and nervous), I left the bus, and felt the eyes of the whole bus on me as I awkwardly turned in circles looking for something that would tell me where I was. The bus driver smiled, and continued to wait for some sign I was in the right place. I faked a thumbs-up and a smile and walked in a random direction. He smiled and drove away. Shit, I thought, as I took in my surroundings. A few palm leaves blew in the night breeze, and a stray napkin floated through the air like an airborne jellyfish. I'm totally alone, I realized.

I returned to my paper and it deciphered something about Taco Bell. I wander around the block a few times, and finally run into a man who was sweeping in front of a restaurant. "Excuse me, where is the Taco Bell?" I asked.

"You came all the way to Costa Rica to eat at Taco Bell?" he replied. "It's closed anyway."

"No, no," I said. "It's so I can find my hotel."

He seemed much happier and pointed me in the right direction. The directions then said (as I understood them) to turn two blocks north. I had no idea what way that was, and tried every direction until I found something that looked sort of promising. "Look for the blue house" it said. In the moonlight and the streetlight, everything seemed blue.

Eventually though, I found a gate that said in peeling letters, "JC Friends". I went up to it, and tried to pull it open, but my fears were confirmed. It was locked.

A few cats jumped around on the yard on the other side of the gate, each appearing quite happy to see me. I comforted myself knowing that the cats would probably very much like to let me in if they could. One of them purred and brushed his body up against the gate's bars. I felt happy.

A police officer appeared in the distance, and it occurred to me how bad it would look were I caught staring through a locked gate at one in the morning. Perhaps I should try and find the Parque Central and just sit on a bench, I thought. It would be better than talking to the police officer anyway.

The cats were growing more excited by the second, and one put out a paw and playfully touched my leg. Other purred and rolled over. Then the door to the building opened, and a dark figure walked across the yard. The cats scurried away and pretended to look angry at me.

"Andrew?" he asked.

"Sí..." I answered shakily.

"I've been waiting for you."

I felt guilty and overjoyed at the same time, and he onlocked the gate and let me through. The cats instantly stopped feigning their anger, and instead blocked my way to the house at the end of the yard, circling around my legs and purring. It was a lovely greeting after a stressful night.

We (including the cats) passed into the lobby and the man went to the computer. "We only have three guests," he said. "I decided to wait for you because I couldn't stand having just two." I thanked him profusely, and moved my items to my room, sent a brief email, and went to bed.