November 2014
We were again in Costa Rica for our next three month vacation. Like the first time, we did not rent a car. But unlike before, we were not in a town, but midway between them, in Los Cedros. To get around, we would have to ride a local bus, an easy prospect since it went between Montezuma and Cabuya every couple of hours.
There are so many differences between the US and Costa Rica, and this is a major one. The bus system in Costa Rica has been set up to accommodate its people rather than a company; no bus leaves until the bus it is meeting arrives. Thus, there are no exact schedules which infuriates the gringos, but it is so intelligent and very much in support of its population who has to move from town to town and utilize the buses. The buses go everywhere, and they are cheap. If you are a senior, they are free. (Another huge difference between the U.S. and Costa Rica — seniors are very much appreciated because of their regard for familial grandparents.)
In the case of this bus, we had tried to ride it on our first vacation. In the small fishing village of Cabuya, we had inquired and subsequently sat on a bench people had designated as the bus stop. We were hot and tired, cranky from having walked the six miles from Montezuma, way too fast for those unaccustomed to the humid tropical heat. To our astonishment, the bus passed right by us, the bus driver’s eyes seething with anger. When we huffily told our landlords our sad story, they explained tourists hardly ever rode the bus, and bemusedly advised us to wave at the driver next time if we wanted him to stop.
So now on this next vacation, standing in the middle of nowhere, next to the beach, when we saw the bus approach, we waved heartily. To our astonishment, it stopped and Michael and I grinned our triumph before boarding. As Michael paid the driver, I looked past him to survey my fellow passengers. They were all Costa Rican women, scowling fiercely at us. Panicked at the hostility and not knowing what else to do, I called out at the top of my lungs, “hola”!
Instantaneously, stringent faces creased into big smiles and a chorus of loud and welcoming ‘holas’ flooded the bus. Relieved, Michael and I collapsed on a vacant bench. But the grins and smiles continued as people nodded their greetings. “Bievenido”, they said to us. “Welcome”. I think I even got a few sweet pats on my arm.
As time went on, we used pidgin Spanish and sign language to communicate; in my case, being a Francophile with a good base of French, I arrived, speaking almost no Spanish, but brazenly endeavored to talk to everyone anyway. And they let me.
As postscript, again with the emphasis on family and community, Costa Ricans are possibly not only the sweetest people but also the happiest on Earth. We would never have learned this nor actually gotten to befriend Ticos if we hadn’t decided not to rent a car and to ride that bus.
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