Corrupting in Costa Rica

The main crossing from Nicaragua to Costa Rica on the CA1  is at Peñas Blancas.  Again, I managed to arrive just on lunchtime.  I must really stop doing this!  "Helpers" were everywhere, grabbing at me as soon as the bike stopped.  I waved them away, not all that sucessfully, as one young lad kept hanging around persistently. So I let him help me through the Nica side of the border, for the princely sum of US$2.00 as payment. Here, I saw my first fellow traveller, a guy on a KTM 950, from California, also transitting to CR.

Then off to the Costa Rican side  - what a schmozzle! I managed to totally bypass the Migracon and Aduana (Customs) offices, got fumigated, and rode to the next stop.  But no way was he letting me through without the required papers, which of course, I didn't have!  Uh, oh!  Back to Migracion, to start the whole process,  Here I met up again with Jean-Luc on the KTM, French, but living in San Francisco.  He was already in the queue, so Ijumpedahead of those in the queue and joined him.  It was good talking to another biker, particularly as we were standing in the queue for 45 minutes before we got stamped into CR in about 10 seconds flat!

Then we had to get our "Permisos por las motos" from the Aduana office.  But, of course, by now he'd gone to lunch, and it was a VERY long lunch, so we waited and waited, having lunch ourselves to fill in some of the time till he was due back in the office. Got his form and stamp, then off to yet another office to get the actual Permit.  I went first, and walked out as Jean-Luc went in.  Uh, oh!  I went rushing back in, interrupting JL's application.  "Senor, Senor. This VIN is wrong.  You've left out a 1, here" or mangled Spanish to that effect.  JL spoke pretty good Spanish, which was a great help at times like these, believe me!   I'd frequently read and been told that one must ensure that the VIN is CORRECT on all forms, as it can cause huge hassles at some borders if the VIN on the paperwork and the VIN on the bike don't match.  Hence the panic when I found the incorrect number on my permit. So the nice official graciously corrected my permit, and went back to finishing JLs.

We agreed to ride along together for a while, and ended up finding a hotel for the night. Here we put the bikes inside a foyer, something I'd not done previously.  It was fun, riding over the slippery, shiny tiles into the foyer - NOT!  The foyer gate was not quite wide enough, so we each had to remove one pannier to get the bikes in. So far, I've either found hotels with secure parking, or just parked the bike outside reception and put the cover over it.  Haven't had a problem as yet, touch wood!

We rode on the next morning as far as San Jose, the capital.  Here we parted, as Jean-Luc's family was arriving to spend some holiday time with him before he left for South America.  It had been interesting, spending time with someone who spoke Spanish.  I had unintentionally and unconsciously let him do all the talking and interpreting, becoming somewhat reliant on his help through the border. So now I found myself having to readapt back into self-sufficiency mode again, and quickly.  I managed to get horribly lost in San Jose!  No matter what, I could NOT find the freeway south, despite having bought a basic map that morning.  Eventually went onto reserve, so finally pulled in to a servo to get fuel, and asked the attendant the way to Panama.  No habla English, but he went and got the owner.  When he heard what I wanted, he took me (and my laptop) into his office/showroom (he sold motos as well)!  He then logged in to Google Earth on his own computer, and proceeded to show me, several times in minute detail, the route I needed to take to get to the freeway.  It was SOOOOOO much easier, once I could picture where I had to go.

I didn't want to get so lost that I spent too much time in the back streets of San Jose, as I'd had various warnings about SJ being "bad".  And I was in some less than good neighbourhoods, in my confused wanderings.  I definitely wanted to get out of town before dark.

So I left, offering profuse thanks, and went straight to the freeway, about 6-7 km away. 

As I headed up into the mountains just out of town, I stopped and put on my rain jacket (not my good jacket), as it was getting misty and raining softly .  Off I go, and the mist/rain gets slightly heavier.  Looking for a level place to pull off to put all my rain gear and gloves on, I round a corner and here's a Policia check.  Yep, got pulled over.  So after greetings, I just gave them the documents, and proceeded to put on my waterproofs, while they ooh'd and ahhh'd over the bike.  Most astounded when they found out I was a a female!!!  [ended up soaking wet - that light rainjacket is NOT waterproof!!]

Got going again, and the fog/mist got thicker and thicker, and the rain got heavier.  This is through VERY twisty mountainous country, and being the PanAmerican Hwy, it was chokka with trucks and buses etc, all slowly, slowly chugging up and roaring down the hills in both directions. Because it was raining and foggy, I took it pretty easy, but still managed to overtake everything in front of me, each time I came up to a long line of vehicles stuck behind a slow moving truck or bus.  The rain got heavier, and the fog thicker, so that I could barely see the road in front of me at times, even with my visor open.

Had to stop at a construction site, so went to the front of the line, stopped, and got the camera out, as it had ceased raining for a few minutes.  Got a pretty good photo of the mist curling around the mountain and vegetation behind the roadworks.

Struggled on, and eventually made it to San Isidro, about 140km from San Jose, so a total of only about 320km for the day.  Not too bad, considering I didn't leave San Jose until just on 2pm!!  Got to the hotel about 4.45, after going to another - booked out - hotel first, whose receptionist very kindly rang the other one and booked me in. Got some funny looks, standing there at the two reception desks, dripping water all over the floor, that's for sure.   I somehow get the impression that they don't see too many non-Spanish speaking females on motos.

I astonished myself.  I ordered dinner in the hotel restaurant, then complemented the lady chef, all in Spanish!  WooHoo!  And they understood me, which was even better.  Believe me when I say that the "nachos" one buys in Oz are in no way related to the nachos one buys over here! 

Refreshed after a good night's restful sleep, I headed out for the border of Panama.  It was a nice, cool morning, with rainclouds hovering over the mountains.  I was having a good ride, swinging through the twisty mountain roads.  I came upon a river of red.  The rain during the previous day and night must have brought landslides crashing down into the upper reaches of the river, turning it a rich, though muddy, red.

There were many landslips along this stretch of about 70km of road, some of which had been cleared, some in the process of being cleared and one so recent that stones were still tumbling gently down the scree onto the road. I noticed that in the areas apparently suffering the most frequent slips - judging by the huge slip gouges carved out of mountain sides - excavators were usually stationed near the slip sites. 

Houses were usually near these areas, too, so it must have been terrifying when the rains came and half a mountain fell down close to where you live.

I followed the river, sometimes right beside it, at others catching only glimpses at a distance through the trees, for a long way, but again, there was little opportunity to stop to take photos.  By the time I did get such an opportunity, the richness of the red had been diluted somewhat by waters from clearer mountain streams merging into the river, so the photos do not show how richly red it was when I first saw it.

There must be a first time for everything, so they say, and it happened for me that day.  I was flying along quite happily, not really paying attention to my speed, as I had slowed down considerably since arriving in CA.  Out of the shadows at the edge of a small town walks a nicely uniformed man, with a radar gun in his hand.  OOPS!!  94kph, in a 40kph zone.  DOUBLE OOPS!  Not that I'd seen the 40kph sign anyway.  But we "chatted" back and forth, pleasantly, for quite some time, me acting dumb "no entiendo Español" and him trying to get across that he had me dead to rights, pointing repeatedly at the 94 showing on the gun and tapping the "ticket" book to indicate that I should be issued a "ticket". 

After a while, I think we both knew that I would eventually pay up, so he wrote 20,000 and $50 on a used page of the ticket book, him still saying "ticket, ticket".  I managed a shocked look on my face of much horror at such a huge amount ( a whole US$38.80=20,000), my eyes widening and my hands flying to my mouth and my head shaking sideways, basically to cover my silent laughter.  I looked at him, he looked at me.  I graciously capitulated.  I wrote 10,000, knowing that was the smallest note in my purse.  He smiled and said "si", accepting the proffered note after I went to the bike to get it.  We then discussed various things on my bike for a while, as he'd indicated he also rode a "little" bike, before sending me on my way with a gentle "Adios, Australiana".  So it ended up costing me a whole US$19.40 for the privilege of NOT getting a ticket.  That's how bribes work over here.  It was all very calm and pleasant, very sociable. Can you imagine the result for the same speed in Tasmania?  38kph over is automatic cancellation, so what would 54 over get me  - a huge fine and loss of licence for a couple of years, perhaps?   I thought it was fair, as I WAS near a school, after all, as I later observed.

The previous day, JL, riding immediately in front of me, had also been caught on radar in CR, although I was waved past by the policeman when I slowed down to stop - there must be no witnesses to corruption!  It had cost him $US20, too, much to his disgust. I didn't really care about paying up, one way or the other.  It was a fair cop - no pun intended! And he was a very nice young policeman, anyway, so what the heck?

A mere 50 or so kilometres away was the border with Panama, my last border in Central America, until I have to do it all over again on the way back north in a few months' time.