Costa Rican Driver's License

So, last week, I decided to tag along with three friends (Jeni, Eric, and Jeana), who were headed to San Jose (the City) to take on one of the most difficult feats here in Costa Rica... obtaining a legal local driver's license.  When it comes down to it, there really isn't much at all... if you have a valid driver's license from the states and a passport with an up-to-date stamp, they give you a driver's license.  It's JUST THAT EASY.  But is it?

Adam, another friend, traveled TWICE to San Jose, returning with nothing.  By the way, San Jose is a 2.5 hour drive, which isn't much, except very few of us have cars that can make it that far, and so we're generally going at someone else's leisure, or we're taking the bus.  And the bus doesn't take 2.5 hours.  If it shows, it generally takes, well, more.  So, on his third and final try, Adam finally returned with a license.  (Of course it was his final... why would he return AFTER receiving his license?) (Actually, there might be good reason.  I'll explain later.)

So, what is it about getting the license that is so difficult?  In the states, it may take 30 minutes if you have to wait at that place on Classen where nobody seems to know who's next, or even next for what.  But for the most part, it's easy... go, show ID, get a picture, pay $10, get a license.  Well, here's the skinny...

FIRST, and it's hard to know that this is first without taking a poll and going with the majority, you must go to the doctor.  And AT the doctor's office, you have to pay money.  10 THOUSAND colones (only $20, but still).  Then you go and sit next to a doctor, who asks you if you can use both your arms, and if you're an alcoholic, your sexual preference (not true), and if you can see.  He believes you for the most part, except for the vision thing, which he requires you to read line seven on the chart across the room (FTLGMZ).  If you can, you pass.  EXCEPT, he needs to know your blood type, and they DON'T just take your word for it.  You have to go to the "laboratory", right next door, where you pay 5 THOUSAND more colones, a person take some blood, puts it in a vial, right next to everyone else's blood that was there before you, and tells you to wait.  So you do.  Eventually he comes out with a very serious looking half sheet of white paper that says on one side a letter, and on the other a mathematical symbol that modifies that letter.  Only after returning this magical paper to the doctor who preformed his thorough evaluation to ensure you were safe to drive a motorized vehicle, does the doctor give you an official looking white piece of paper with his SIGNATURE on it, verifying that he, as a professional, believes you should be given a license to drive in this fair country.  

But why the blood test?  As it turns out, they put it on your license.  Right next to where they show whether or not you are an organ donor.  In case you haven't visited Costa and experienced the magnificent driving styles of locals and tourists alike, there is damn good reason to put these in bold red right next to your name, which seems unimportant, really.  (Did you know magnificent was spelled with an "e" towards the end and not an "a"?  Huh.)

So, to avoid making this blog take longer to read or write than it takes to get a driver's license here, I'll make it quick.  After you have your medical slip, you take it and your passport, your driver's license, and a COPY of your passport and of your driver's license (if you don't have the copy, I kid you not, they shoot you) to a magical fortress called Cosevi, which is right next door to many doctor's offices.  You talk to the guard, who tells you to skip the line at the door at the back of the facility, go straight to the guard at that door, tell him you need to see Dona Forget-Her-Name, who is on the second floor.  I'm really not kidding about this.  If you don't talk to that guard, you will waste a lot of time.  You must go see Dona Forget-Her-Name first.  Oh!  And she only works until noon.  Seriously.  So, you go to the second guard, and he pretends he has no idea what you are talking about.  Actually, he probably doesn't.  So you ignore him, walk through, and go the second floor, where you sit in a chair.  And wait.  You're not sure if you should be waiting.  But you do.  And you wait.  Finally, Dona FHN comes out of an office, after a couple of men have already checked to make sure you have your copies and your health certificate and what-not, and she says "Pase!"  Which means enter.  So you do.  She doesn't say anything, just looks at it, signs your copies, puts some squiggly lines, and motions for you to leave.  

You then go back to guard 2, who gives you a "ficha" (not sure what those little papers with numbers are called in the states), and then you wait.  My number was three, and they were on number 51, and it takes a long time to go from number 51 to number 3.  So, when your number comes up, you go to a guy (or girl), who asks you where you live (and he trusts you), and he enters in all your paperwork, and gives you another very small white piece of paper that you must then take all the way to the BANK where you must pay 4 THOUSAND colones, and then return, snake the line, return to the SAME guy who gave you the slip of paper, wait for him to finish with whoever he might be dealing with at the time, quickly slip in, give him the receipt that proves you paid, get your picture taken, and get your license.  Of course, that's if you're lucky.  By the time I got back from the bank, my little guy was gone.  Perhaps to lunch.  So I had to snake some other guy, who couldn't find my records, and sent me to some other girl, who also could not find my records, and so made them up (without my medical sheet), and gave me a license with no organ donor information AND no blood type.  Which brings us to the reason why you MIGHT go back even after receiving a license.  But I won't.  Cause, honestly, I'm pretty sure they don't bother with that information anyway.  

But, now I got my license.  And WHY, you may ask?  Why pay, in the end, 19 THOUSAND colones, when my Oklahoma license is perfectly valid as long as my passport stamp is up to date?  Well, I could argue that it's better when the cops pull you over (which they do, at random stops, all the time).  But that's not really why.  I could say I didn't like my OK license picture, which is true.  But not really a good enough reason.  It's because it's cool.  I have a Costa Rican driver's license.  And I think that's pretty neat.  

Maybe I need a hobby.    

Right Now - 3/8/09 4:50 PM

Feeling great.  I'm sitting at the Soda Mary (again, neither a soda nor owned by Mary), with Jake and Honey.  A few others sitting around.  Chillin.  

I've done very little in the last couple of days.  After going to the contest on Saturday, I decided to just relax for a while.  I surfed yesterday and determined I did not know how to surf (or at least had forgotten).  I went out again today and determined I should have been in the contest - I surely would have been the favorite to win.  I actually got barreled a bit today, for the first time ever.  I didn't make it out, but got to experience the inside of a wave for a split second.  And it was freaking awesome.  The sound is unlike anything I had heard.  It's kinda like the sound you hear with your ear up against a conch shell, but like it's constantly being pulled away, and surrounds you and overwhelms you as it sucks you in.  It looks like a beautiful three dimensional waterfall, and the water on the inside is glassy like black ice.  It's magical.  

I've spent a lot more time alone over the past week or so, and I'm definitely feeling better.  I've still been socializing a bit, got a good mix going on right now.  I spoke with Trevor yesterday, and I am likely going to take a trip to Colombia to check it out.  I also spoke with a friend here on Saturday night, and have a great option for work in this country.  But, for right now, I'm really enjoying just being.  Just taking time.  Reading a bit of Tao of Pooh, listening to a bit of Enigma, catching a few waves.  But mostly just chillin.  And it's nice. 

Surf Contest

So the world championship of surf (or at least one of them) is this week in Hermosa.  The parade of nations was on Friday of last week, and then the tournament started on Saturday.  For the most part, it's been freaking hot.  It hasn't been raining, which is strange for this time of year, and the heat and humidity are too much for me to want to even go watch the event.  Still, I checked it out briefly.  

The parade of nations was interesting largely in the difference among the nations.  For example, all of the South Africans were wearing green blazers with some sort of patch on their chests, green ties, and white button-downs.  Very proper.  The Irish, on the other hand, were wearing different types of Patty's Day style hats, green shirts, and generally seemed drunk, but having a blast.  By far the most lively and fun country was Jamaica, who had a guitar and were singing reggae, clearly stoned and unbelievably happy.  Especially in comparison to the Americans.  Now, don't get me wrong, the Puerto Rican team and the Hawaiian team (who clearly have no interest in identifying with our country and so have separated themselves) looked to be having a good time and happy to be there.  But the Americans, the ones under the stars and stripes, looked miserable and uncomfortable.  It was as if they had the attitude of being too good for this party and at the exact same time scared shitless to show any type of emotion, enjoyment, or character.  And there weren't very many of them.  I think some decided to not even show up for the parade of nations.  

But in a way it shows our national character well.  We still tend to believe we are better than everyone else, but on our pedestal, we are constantly too afraid to show an identity for fear others might view us as equals.  Not that each individual is this way, but I've noticed as I have met a lot of people from other countries that they don't have the conservative self-preservation that we tend to.  We're not alone, of course, but it just seems sad.  And common.  As soon as you start believing you are better than others, your ego requires you to maintain that, and you no longer have that divine spark because you are constantly worried that others might find that you are no better than they are.  Worse, you might find that you are no better than they are.  As long as we play conservatively, keeping our distance emotionally and physically, we will never find ourselves to be just another one of the masses.  And yet by doing this, we become just another one of the masses, completely without our own flavor.  

It was sad to see.  But the parade was fun to watch.  Especially those crazy Jamaicans.  

The next day, I ended up being stuck in Jaco, and so I walked at noon from Jaco to Hermosa, alongside the highway in the hot hot hot hot hot sun.  Adding to the sun was the line of cars, each spewing out exhaust, and the black highway absorbing the sun's rays.  It was only a few miles, but man it felt like a long way.  In the end, though, I beat the cars there by about 20 minutes.  Walking from Jaco to Hermosa was far quicker on Saturday afternoon than driving.  

But after making it to the beach, really I just wanted to walk around a bit, say hi to some friends, and make it back home.  The beach is black, there were thousands of people, and the sun was scorching.  It was good to see it was a success, but after a couple of hours, I decided to stay in Oeste and perhaps just do some surfing of my own.  I've definitely found I prefer to be away from the crowds, in the surf, perhaps, instead of watching it.  

SLOTH

I'm reading Life of Pi right now (or was until I left it at the surf contest the other day).  Although the first 50 pages seem to be a bit boring, and just a long defense of zoos, it did provide me with some good information about sloths, most of which I forgot and therefore couldn't provide to Scott when we came across this three toed sloth crossing the street between here and the highway.  I grabbed my iPhone and shot a few pics as he crawled to and then up a barbed wire fence lining the road (he quickly realized that the post was rather uninteresting, and then decided to descend and find another lookout).  (Quickly was not the right word to use in that last parenthetical statement).  Here are a couple pics that I thought were freaking awesome.  I've seen a few sloths down here, even one pretty close, but nothing like this.

For those of you that haven't seen one on the move, it's absolutely nothing like watching a giraffe run.  That's all I got.  It's also nothing like eating ice cream, which is delicious.  

Right Now - 30/7/09 12:30 PM

Still in Costa.  Actually at the bar again.  No more internet at the house where I was staying, so I have to sign in here or at the Soda.  

I just got out of the waves on a pretty small and disorganized day.  I have hardly been surfing at all lately.  I figured I'd ONLY be surfing these days.  Surfing and laying in hammocks, perhaps reading.  But instead I am socializing.  I'm out and about.  I'm drinking and playing.  And I'm feeling crappy.  

I think I feel I've alienated myself.  I feel like I have been someone else, or maybe myself, over the past few weeks and generally have been unlikable.  I don't feel likable.  I don't really like myself right now.  Well, really I just haven't liked myself lately.  Now I'm pretty cool with myself.  Strange.  Not sure what that's all about.  

I think I'm falling back into old patterns, old habits, my old self.  Even the way I put that, though, seems pretty judgmental.  I haven't been very easy on myself, I've certainly been taking life too seriously, and I've been viewing myself through other people's eyes, feeding my ego instead of cultivating my self.  I think it's about time to stop that.  But it's hard!  It's hard to stay here in Oeste instead of going to Hermosa and meeting up with friends or meet new people who are there now for the world championship of surfing.  

Perhaps I am just uncomfortable.  I've found it actually pretty difficult to just be for a little bit.  I feel uneasy just hanging out, as if there is some sort of time constraint on life and I am not accomplishing what I should be in the amount of time given.  

So, combine that with me basically being a dick lately, and I guess I feel guilty.  I feel ashamed.  I feel very not me.  I'm going to stop doing that.  I'm not okay with it.  

On some good news... I have a lot of options these days.  Trevor and Sarah came down to visit for a day or two.  Trevor has offered me a job in Colombia, which immediately sounds attractive because, well, it's in Colombia.  Which is where I was born.  The job is in telecommunications, which is perfect for me, because I learned a lot about telecommunications while I was studying to become an astronaut after receiving my license in brain surgery a decade or two ago.  But, it would have me living in the mountains.  Not at the beach.  And I love the beach.  So does Jake.  But Colombia does start with a C.  And C is good enough for me.  Plus, I would make more money.  And with that money, I could avoid having to sell my leg for smack.  

I've got some things working here too, which seem ideal.  But still want to take a month off and travel.  I think I'll buy a car (I'll have to sell my leg for that too) so Jake can come with me.  Of course, then we'll only have one leg left to sell for food (or smack). 

So, I'm going to eat some chicken wings and do some jumping jacks.  That should be helpful.  Oh, by the way, I wasn't born in Colombia.  But my passport says I was.  That leads to some fun sometimes on borders.

Cassandra

So, there are three girls in town who have ended up here on the central Pacific coast of Costa Rica after spending the last five months traveling all over the world - from Bali to Europe to Africa.  All of them are cool as shit.  Three nights ago, though, one, Cassandra, decided late night to pick up a guitar being played by a friend and sing.  And it was incredible.  Absolutely incredible.  I fell in love. 

The next day we stole her from her friends, who didn't want to come from Hermosa to Oeste two nights in a row, and brought her to the Soda Mary where Brett was serving homemade chile and live local music.  Cassie and I headed down to the Soda around 6:30.  After a bowl or two of freakin deliciousness, people started picking up instruments.  Lead largely by Cooper, who they say come from the band Blood Sweat and Tears, the town lit up.  Shannon on the acoustic guitar, Beau on the bass, Legend Mike on the harmonica, backed up Cooper, whose voice seems to penetrate walls and gives the air of a true concert hall in the open setting at the Soda.  

And then Cassie joined in.  And I can't even express how sweet, soulful, powerful, and alive her voice is.  And Cassie's sweet highs mixed with Cooper's solid lows was literally world class.  As Jeni put it, it appeared that there were little tiny pink cartoon hearts popping all around me and Lee as Cassie's lyrics penetrated our souls.  And it WAS like that.  Little pink cartoon hearts and all.  Just like in the movie "One Crazy Summer."  (By the way, Jeni hasn't seen One Crazy Summer, where John Cusack plays a cartoonist falling in love with a singer, Cassandra!, and draws a cartoon image of himself falling in love with little pink hearts bursting all around him.)

But there was so much more there than Cassie.  The town, at least that little corner, overflowed with love.  The smiles, the laughs, the music, the chile... It all added to just a superb sensation that I hadn't felt in a little while here.  A night that I will remember, for sure.  And, of course, it was a Tuesday.  

Nicaragua - Take 2

So, got back from Nicaragua a couple of days ago.  Our purpose was really just to get her a passport stamp, so there wasn't much pressure.  This trip was particularly relaxing.  Not a whole lot of doing, which is really nice these days.  

We started off our first night in San Juan del Sur, where I have been before.  We really wanted to go to the island of Ometepe, but couldn't make the last ferry on the first night, so settled for a cab ride into SJdS, where we had a really nice dinner on the beach and stayed at the Hotel El Puerto.  After a mediocre breakfast the next morning at the famous "Big Wave Dave's", we negotiated a taxi back to Rivas to catch the ferry for Ometepe.  

Side notes:  I love negotiating here.  Everything is negotiable, and it's generally pretty fun with low consequences for failure.  For the cab ride back to Rivas, though, I was tired and didn't feel like negotiating after being offered a pretty fair price for the ride at the onset.  Ashley wouldn't have it though, and told me I have to haggle.  It reminded me of Monty Python's "Life of Brian," where Brian was comfortable with the asking price, but the vendor wouldn't let him go without haggling.  In any event, as we almost got into the cab, I reneged on my agreement to price, offered 20% less, and as other cab drivers closed in hoping for a rebound, our driver reluctantly accepted quickly to ensure he didn't lose the fare.  Sometimes it's really easy.  

Also:  Ometepe is a freaking awesome place.  It's an island in the middle of the enormous fresh water Lake Nicaragua, and is comprised of simply two volcanoes and the lowlands formed by years of weathering.  It's truly a unique and very special island.  

Back to the trip though.  Ashley and I, after taking an hour ride on an old wooden ferry hardly worthy of Lake Hefner, negotiated a ride with six new friends we found also trying to negotiate.  We headed for Santo Domingo, which is more or less on the beach in between the two volcanoes.  We spent the next couple of days relaxing in hammocks, swimming in the lake, playing gin rummy, and drinking rum.  We stayed in a place called Buena Vista, which was more or less a super cheap hotel with a lot of hammocks.  The rooms could easy be confused with rooms of a monastery, or of a crack house.  I could envision a monk laying down to bed surrounded by the bar brick walls or a prostitute laying back after a hit (is that what they're called?) of heroin supplied by her pimp.  In any event, it felt perfect.  And it was.  Christmas themed sheets and tarantulas and all.  We managed a zip line outing, but other than that, did almost nothing.  Sweet. 

If anyone does make it to Ometepe, I would highly recommend the Buena Vista.  But don't eat there.  Trust me.  Eat at Julia's, just a 30 meter walk from the Buena Vista.  It's a tiny thatched hut with huge portions and good, typical flavor.   

After a couple of days, we made our way back.  Slowly.  A wreck on the highway delayed us several hours, and it took us, all told, 13 hours to make it from Santo Domingo to Jaco, which is about 140 miles as the crow flies.  

Like any trip, it seems the best part is coming home.  It's good to be back.  Might be nicer if I actually had a home, though.  Maybe someday.