Although we have been living in Costa Rica for nearly three months, we are still technically tourists, and as such, we are only allowed to stay in the country for 90 days. Therefore, we have to leave CR for 72 hours in order to renew our visas, which will allow us to remain legally for another 90 days. This is normal practice, and in fact, many of the American and Canadian inhabitants of CR have lived as perpetual tourists for years, coming and going in and out of the country every three months. This is not our plan though, but is something we have to endure while we wait patiently for our residency.
So a three day trip to Nicaragua is decided upon: the border is only about an hour and a half away, nearer than San Jose. Driving from Liberia north to Penas Blanca, the border town, is like driving through the English countryside: rolling green hills with beautifully large Oak-like trees lining the highway. The road is surprisingly empty and not dissimilar to the road between the two ponds in Frensham. There are even some extremely large pine trees lining the route.
The border is not as crazy and frenetic as I suspected it would be. It is actually fairly quiet, with only a few large tourist buses, filled mostly with US backpackers. Of course, there is the huge long line of Big Mack's waiting to cross over, but they have a separate check-in.
So we pulled up on the side of the road to get our bearings and see what is what. Immediately some chap, with an ID tag around his neck (no high-vis jackets here), comes over to 'help' us; for the purpose of this blog, I shall name him Helper 1. He supplies us with the immigration forms needed and directs us to the office where we have to get our passports stamped in order to leave Costa Rica. Alongside the empty queuing area, on the other side of the barbed wire fence, is Nicaragua: peddlers call out trying to sell money and other goods. Helper 1 then directs us to a long-stay car park, of sorts; more like someone's back yard. As our truck still does not have its number plates, we are unable to take it across the border; instead we have to have to hire a car in Nicaragua.
This means that we have to walk across what looks like No-Man's Land to cross over the border. Underfoot it is muddy and the sky is grey and littered with clouds. It is just a very surreal experience: DH wearing the back pack with 3 days worth of our belongings inside, with the boys and I straggling behind him; I imagine that we look like some kind of refugees. We don't see any vehicles actually physically crossing the border, just people on foot. Oddly all they seem to carry are bags of Duty Free!
Helper 1 then passes us over to a Nicaraguan aid, again who also seems to be wearing an official looking ID, for now named Helper 2. They both walk with us across this desolate strip of bordering land. Half way over we have to present our passports again; firstly to some Costa Rican Border Police, and then 100 metres further on to some silver-toothed Nicaraguan Border Police, who seem to take a dislike to my photo! Helper 1 leaves us then to return to Costa Rica, while Helper 2 gets himself an assistant, Helper 3!
taxi
We are marched over to a colonial looking bus shelter, where the boys and I sit and wait with the backpack, while Helper 2 and Helper 3 take DH to passport control, housed in the bus shelter. DH later relates to us that the queue to get in to Nicaragua and have the passports stamped was horrendous. Instead, he was taken to another office, paid $30 and therefore skipping the queue but gaining the stamps required! Not sure if I'm happy with this, but when in Rome ...
So far, so good. The process has taken less than an hour and has been relatively simple. In retrospect, we realise that we have been ripped off and really didn't need the assistance of Helper 1, 2 and 3, but it's done and we are through. But then things starts to change. Helper 3 guides us to a taxi who will take us to the nearest car hire company located about 30 minutes drive away. DH is happily chatting to these guys, while ES and I have been hijacked into talking to a toothless, Hollister wearing Mexican, wanting to practice his English! Neither of us are quite sure what he was talking abount, although Cancun was praised a number of times! Meanwhile the backpack has been loaded into a rust bucket excuse of a car and DH is motioning for us to get in; I am not happy about this arrangement, convinced that there must be car rental office nearby, but unable to find proof of its existence, myself and the boys climb in anyway. Not even 100 metres up the road, I call for the cab to stop: there is the car rental building. I fear that the taxi won't cease, but begrudgingly he does - that is his commission gone I guess?
Our moods are a bit grim now. Nobody likes to feel that have been hustled Well, you live and learn: we certainly won't accept any 'help' on our return.
The guy at the car rental desk looks like Charles Martin Smith, Terry from American Graffiti, with his long chin and pock-marked cheeks; when he later speaks to us in English, his voice carries a similar Californian twang too. YS notices that his hands are unbelievably small, and unlike his face, they are remarkably smooth. He is called Rodolpho, but to me he is Terry.
It is at this point, the clouds move in and my mood gets blacker: when I try to pay for the car, after more form-filling than was required to cross the border, my MasterCard is refused!!! Terry calls the credit card company and is informed that my card has reached its limit; obviously my limit has been drastically reduced this last month, as I know that my current balance is a whopping £2.10! But not to worry, just keep calm, it is probably some safety precaution, after all, my card is very good at that sort of thing. I call up international customer services and meet with a brick wall. Similar to the Little Britain sketch, "Computer says no". Apparently my card has suffered a mysterious blip and the date has lost its synchronicity!?! "Can this not be corrected?" "No". "But it's not my fault". "Tough". "I am in Nicaragua with my family and no other means of paying for car hire (little white lie)". "I appreciate how you are feeling, but tough". "But what am I supposed to do? I am in a third world country with no credit card for back-up". "Wait 48 hours for a replacement card to be sent to you". "That is no use to me. Are you sure you can't override my card and let me use it now, just for this transaction"? "No". WTF!!!! And so for about ten minutes the conversation continued in a similar vein, with me getting more and more irate; especially when the 'brick wall' told me that the managers had all just left the building as it was home time!
John Lewis Partnership Card, you are in for a right royal rollicking, let me tell you!
But taking a step out from myself and looking inwards at the scene, the Nicaraguan gun-toting security must have had a laugh. A short little English woman, stomping up and down, shouting profanities down her mobile phone, getting redder and redder by the minute, shaking with anger. (Oh God, I have portrayed myself as a female Rumplestiltskin). Least DH and the boys were sensible enough to keep quiet and hide their smirks and smiles.
Ultimately, we paid using another card and started the next leg of our trip in sullen silence.
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