04-06-10

Sweat slipped gently down the sides of my face and over the tip of my nose; tiny drops of liquid that my dehydrated body released in a futile attempt to return my body temperature to anything that resembles normal. The open windows of the large bus traveling from San Jose to Santa Cruz were forced wide to allow airflow through the vehicle due to a notable lack of airconditioning. Large cloth curtains smacked the tinted windows, tentatively attached to the walls of the bus by thin wire that cut into the flesh of my upper arm and click, click, clicked against the metal skeleton of the vehicle. We were on our way. Everything held together by motion. Drifting through space and pushing onward through time towards the end of the world.
Vegetation lined the roads and climbed over concrete walls, pushing its way up lamp posts and curling territorially across road signs. People had tried to take the land and make it their own, but the land was taking it back. The fragile pavement was being eaten away, consumed by the world around it. Advertisements for "Fanta!" more fun by the bottle were curling and bleached by the sun, the city disappeared behind us and the heat of the surrounding jungle pulled us deeper and deeper into rural Costa Rica.
Our plan was to take one bus from San Jose to Santa Cruz. From there we would take a different bus to the last stop, to Ostional, along dirt roads and through deserted towns. Six of us had woken up at 5:00 AM to catch the first bus and now dropped listlessly in and out of sleep, giving into the heat, slipping through realities.
We arrived in Santa Cruz right around 10:00 AM, four hours after leaving San Jose. All in all we'd made great time, but there was still so much farther to travel. We waited two and a half hours for to begin the second leg of our journey, draped over backpacks and suitcases, wishing for a tiny whisper of a breeze. I clung tightly to my bags and consciousness, occasionally peeling myself off of the waterproof material of my large backpack only to melt once again in the heavy pools of sunlight; waiting, always waiting.
The bus finally arrived. The carefully maintained line that we had established hours previously turned into a mad scramble to be the first through the doors. Local people pushed past tourists, toting large bags of grains or television sets. I experienced a few moments of utter disarray as I contemplated just how removed this place was, that supplies were so scarce people were forced to travel 3 hours to buy anything of use. We moved steadily and chaotically towards the soon to be overflowing bus. Ultimately people were forced to wait for the next days bus as there were those who had started hanging out of the doors, and still more wanted to board. Those of us who were already in the bus tried our best not to faint or drip sweat onto our neighbors as we stood crushed in the center aisle, suffocatingly close, trying to time our breathing to allow for room to accommodate the rise and fall of our chests.
Our overcrowded bus left the station about a half an hour after the scheduled time. The renovated school bus style of the bus provides minimal comfort even for those sitting down, while our only relief from the heat slipped through the half open windows to tickle the backs of our necks and tease us with thoughts of wind and breezes. All along the side of the road we passed rustic houses that resembled shacks more than the houses I was accustomed to seeing. Precariously balanced tin roofs drooped forlornly over randomly nailed together pieces of recycled plywood, covered by the dead leaves of the multiple palm trees dotting the countryside. I was suddenly and overwhelmingly grateful for the secluded house that would be waiting for my return with it's open windows and front door without a lock. It was all a stark contrast to the padlocked gates and barbed wire that melted into the foreground that moved steadily past the windows clouded by red dust that floated through the air and caked us all in a fine layer of soft, red grit. We breathed the dust in and absorbed the climate in through our nose adn let it settle into the depths of our lungs to be circulated through our bloodstream. We traveled another three hours past commuters on horseback. After making several stops to let off passengers at lumber cleared farm houses, I smelled the sea. It was the distinct smell of salt and sea weed that disturbed the dull perfume of dust and swept gently along my senses, gifting me with a start of hope. We must almost be there. Our bones rattled as we were jerked and thrown about in our seats traveling across the uneven, unpaved road. Then we reached the last stop. We had reached Ostional. The small "Soda's," locally owned markets, and the bar were the only two buildings in town. We all but fell off of the bus before beginning to trudge wearily down the road, avoiding rocks and smashed overripe mangos. Exhausted, we traveled the last few meters to the place we had been looking for, to the station, to the ocean, to our new home.