Alajuela, Costa Rica

Yesterday, I took a bus into Alajuela, Costa Rica. It´s close to the airport and the hostel offers free shuttle service to San Jose, which is only 5 minutes away. I´m in the bus and it stops about 3 hours outside of Tilaran, where I was house sitting. Everyone starts to get off the bus and I ask the driver if it´s the last stop. He says yes. I get off the bus and I´m dropped on a corner in a small city with loads of vendors, stores selling everything from fruit to hair ties. I ask a cop where the hospital of Alajuela is. He tells me it´s in Alaueja. I realize I´m not in the right town. I ask how to get there, and he quickly speaks, using some hand signals, pointing out where the bus station is. All I need to know is that the bus is red. I follow his signals, following the traffic, looking for the first bus that says Alajuela on the front.

I finally find the bus station, with a 50 pound army bag on my back, a messenger bad and a purse in tote. My neck is killing me and I quickly run to ask the bus driver where the bus to Arajuela is. He points it out to me. I scramble to put my bag into the storage bin beneath the bus. The worker helps me get this monstrous thing off my back as the rest of my luggage straps are tangled and the straps of my tank top are falling off of my sweaty shoulders.

The bag is in, and I jump into the bus, almost as it´s moving, paying the driver for the ticket in Colones. I take a seat next to the window that overlooks the storage beneath (you never know if someone will steal your bag when they get off the bus). I´m sweating from running. I take a deep breath and relax. I realize I don´t know where to get off the bus. When it stops, I go to the front to ask the driver to drop me off at my location, the hospital in Alajuela, so I can catch a cab. But people boarding the bus are first priority, and I move back to my seat. I ask someone how long it will take to reach Alajuela and he tells me 25 minutes. A few minutes later, in a creepy soft voice, he asks me where I´m going. I tell him Alajuela.

Eventually, I see a sign for the hospital and leave the bus, thinking that I am close to my destination. I sit to collect my thoughts. I smoke. I sit with my gigantic bags on the side of the road while people stare at me. I have Gringa written all over me. I finally hail a cab, and get to my destination.

I´m here in Alajueal with the hostel to myself, about to leave for the San Jose airport in 45 minutes. My flight time will be long and probably exhausting. I arrive in Puerto Rico at midnight, then take a flight to the Island of Vieques at 9 a.m. and will arrive at my casita around 10 a.m., and this is where I will reside for the next year.

Should I be ashamed that I´m looking forward to eating at McDonald´s at the airport?