I wanted to immerse myself in the local culture of Costa Rica – la pura vida, and I succeeded, although two experiences in two days have not been quite as expected.
But definitely memorable.
The first episode:
No one wants to get sick while traveling. Illness can ruin a perfectly wonderful vacation.
I woke one morning feeling not-so-great. I knew immediately what was probably wrong with me, and decided not to wait until the situation got worse before doing something about it. If home I might have delayed another day or two, but my instinct warned, “Take care of this NOW.”
And I did. I headed for a medical clinic I noticed on Domenical’s main street during my wanderings but had paid no attention. I resolved to stop by in my quest for an antibiotic to fix my problem. I had no idea whether or not it would be open, but after a quick breakfast made my way to the clinic.
I was lucky. The sign on the door stated ‘abierto’ – open. I entered a clean, air-conditioned office. No one was around, but after a loud, “hola, buenas dias,” a man emerged from a back room and introduced himself, in flawless English, as the clinic doctor. He grew up in Los Angeles, his parents were Costa Rican, and he had recently settled in Costa Rica.
He wrote copious notes as he interviewed me about my medical history, took my blood pressure, listened to my lungs, and completed a suitable examination. He wrote me a prescription and told me to go to the pharmacy next door. A few minutes later I exited the pharmacy with two packets of meds that would hopefully clear up my medical condition and not thwart my vacation plans.
The clinic visit cost $80, and the meds totaled $40.
Within 24 hours I felt fine.
The second episode:
The following morning I woke up and dressed, and Steve and I were about to leave for breakfast when I went to grab my backpack/pocketbook.
It was gone.
I looked throughout the apartment, a small place, for my misplaced backpack. I know I had it the night before; I had taken some things out and placed them on the counter. I did not leave the room again.
At the same time as I frantically searched for my bag, I realized the room felt musty and a bit uncomfortable, as if the air conditioning was not working well. Steve opened the curtains of our large front window to let in the morning light and discovered the window wide open.
“Did you open the window last night?” he inquired.
“No, why would I do that?” I responded.
We realized what had occurred. Someone had opened the window and snatched my bag, which lay on a table within reach and in plain sight, sometime during the night.
We had not thought about locking the window. We hadn’t thought about the window at all.
There was no second guessing, no hope of finding my bag under the bed or in the garbage can or under a blanket. It was definitely gone.
Now I had to face the hard part – figuring out what was lost and what could be used by a burglar. We immediately called our bank and canceled credit and debit cards.
In my Spanglish I communicated with the woman at the hotel reception desk what had happened. Then Steve and I walked to the police station. I wasn’t sure I should report the theft, but decided it should be on the record. We spent an hour with the police. I filled out forms, answered questions in Spanish and English, and then waited while my information was keyed into a computer. I left with a three-page police report in Spanish.
Luckily our passports were NOT in my pocketbook. But I did not look forward to a series of phone calls and the stress of getting a new driver’s license, Global Entry card, and health insurance card. I did not look forward to filling out an endless number of forms. I doubt I would bother to replace my COVID card, AARP card, and other membership cards that probably expired long ago.
Miscellaneous items included a tin of Altoid breath mints, pens, a notepad, tissues, lip gloss, mirror – all replaceable and of minor monetary value (lip gloss was about three-quarters empty). I liked my well-worn but much-loved Baggalini backpack because it had a lot of zippered pockets, card slots, and space for an assortment of basic as well as unimportant stuff. Replacing it would set me back about $100.
Later that afternoon as we lounged on the couch in our room I answered a knock on the door.
The hotel receptionist stood there holding my treasured black bag! An ‘unknown person’ had found it by the pool area and turned it in.
My money had vanished – $250 – mostly American dollars, plus some Mexican pesos and Costa Rican colones. But my cards and other items remained. And no one was hurt. A thief, probably a young guy, although in a nod to equality it could have been a girl, opened the window during the night, grabbed my pocketbook, rifled through it, found the cash, and then ditched the bag. The person probably couldn’t read my English membership cards and had no use for a New Jersey driver’s license. Perhaps they had tried using stolen credit cards in the past and were discovered.
In summary, my two unexpected interactions in Costa Rica were intriguing, disruptive, and memorable.
I hope the rest of my days in the country will be a pura vida experience – an easy-going, calm, undisturbed respite.C
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