A MOVING EXPERIENCE, PART III
Starting Over — One More Time
I’m never doing this again!
Heavy fog, topped with swirling masses of laden rain clouds, descends over the mountain across the valley from my observation deck. It’s the rainy season in Costa Rica and I can see it, feel it, smell it coming from a great distance.
The afternoon breeze freshens, the air cools, a heavy quiet envelops the terrain. But not for long. With a loud CRAAAACK!!, lightning flashes and the skies open. The boulder-clogged river alongside my rental house becomes a raging torrent, loud enough to end all conversation.
The previous day, on 3 August, after a two-night rest from a hellish flight following two frenzied months of packing and preparing for this move, my driver and friend Marco collected me at my hotel near the San José airport, and my adventure began.
“Don’t worry,” reassured Marcos. “Everything will be OK.”
Months ago I had committed to a lovely 2-bedroom home on a hill near my friend in Quebradas, close to San Isidro de El General. I had already bought the owner’s car sight unseen, a Kia Sportage, whose vintage I can’t remember (it’s old!). But the owner assured me it was a good strong car, dependable, 4WD, with enough power to manage the unavoidable rutted and potholed switchback roads ubiquitous in Costa Rica.
What he didn’t tell me about was the condition of the road up the mountain to this house. More on that later.
Meanwhile, with trusty Marcos at the wheel, I began to relax and enjoy the 2-hour ride down the coast to Parrita, where my “new” car was waiting for me at Price Auto Sales. Marcos waited patiently while we consummated the deal, signed papers, title, insurance, etc., and he didn’t drive away until I had started the car and gave the OK signal.
Now, I’m really on my own, with another 2.5 hours (on a good day) remaining to drive to Quebradas and my new place. No problem. I’ve made this drive more than once.
Eventually I arrived in Quebradas and made my way to my friend Roberta’s house, where she was waiting to take me out for a bite to eat (and don’t forget the margarita!), after she shows me my new rental house.
So, up the road, hang a left, dirt and gravel road (but good condition, so far), another left, veer right—all the while the road is getting steeper, narrower, and with deeper ruts and potholes. We see the house ahead, perched high above the road with what might be a breathtaking view!
But first, there’s a left turn straight down a grassy hill that looks nothing like a road to my terrified and exhausted eyeballs. Wheeeee! Down we go, up we go, tight tight turns with a sheer drop-off on one side and a jungle-encrusted trench on the other. Might as well be a pig-path, and this Kia Sportage is a very wide car.
We land at the base of the hill with a relatively straight shot up actual pavement to the covered parking. Perfect, except my knees have been knocking for so long that I’m afraid I won’t be able to stand up once I’m out of the car.
And that’s when I realize that, on the way out, I will have to back the car down that hill, turn it around on a tiny flat spot at the bottom, and navigate across the ravine again to get TF back to civilization.
The thought of a margarita in my immediate future was compelling… but do I dare to drink one knowing I’ll have to levitate up that road after dark, and probably in the rain? WTF have I gotten myself into? Better drink TWO margaritas.
One of the local hangouts, walking distance from Roberta’s, welcomed us for dinner and a libation, and I began to relax a bit. I’m tough, I thought. I survived Death Highway (Cerro de la Muerte) last year in a rental car with a stick shift, in the rain and fog, at night. I can DO this!
With dinner finished, we depart, Roberta walking down the hill to her house, me hopping into the car with margarita-fortified confidence.
The fucking car won’t start. Would. Not. Start. A crowd gathers. Every Tico in the barrio surrounds me, throwing advice, checking the tires, looking under the hood, “Let me try!” threatening to flood the car. Roberta runs back up the hill for moral support.
It’s now approaching 6:00pm, daylight is fading, and how many hours will it take for roadside assistance to come? I’ve been on the road since 8:00am, now seriously considering sleeping in my car and figuring this all out in the morning. Oops. With 10 huge bags stuffed inside, there’s not one cubic millimeter of space remaining.
By now, half the village is out (the male half), and I decide to try one more time to start the car. I put the key in and voilá! For some insane reason, the car decided to stop having fun with me and it fired right up.
The next day, I asked the previous owner—who by then had escaped to the Philippines to join his girlfriend—if he had ever had a problem getting the car to start.
“Oh, never!” he said. “But I should have remembered to tell you that one key starts the car and the other only works to lock and unlock it.”
So, The Force was with me that fateful night to give me one more chance, this time with the other key. Or maybe The Force was just reminding me that it has a sense of humor. Of all the things that could have gone wrong that day, nothing deadly happened, and when Marcos called the next morning to make sure I had arrived okay, I would be able to give him a good report.
But this was only the first day. I hope you will stay tuned as the adventure gets underway.
Pura Vida!!!!!!
