Living in the Rainforest, Begging for Bus Fare in San Jose

7/10/01

My brother was flying into Costa Rica and I took the bus to San Jose to meet him. I arrived in San Jose mid-day, but he wasn’t flying-in until ten that night.

After wandering around downtown, I went to a touristy restaurant to get some dinner. The waiter was extra friendly to me as I sat and ate my dinner alone. When I went to pay, there was a problem with my credit card. It wasn’t being accepted. I asked him to try it again, but he said he had tried it several times and it hadn’t worked.

“What?” I wondered. “Why?” I didn’t know what to do. I was alone in the city and if the credit card didn’t work, that meant I was alone with no money, and no way to pay for a place to stay. I apologized to the waiter, “Discuple, no entiendo que paso.” I asked him if I could pay the next day. Luckily, this nice waiter had compassion and let me go on my, leaving the restaurant without paying. This type of good faith is a beautiful characteristic of many Ticos.

As I headed out onto the street at night a panic started welling up inside. “Oh God, that means that I can’t get cash to have bus fair to go to the airport to meet my brother. Worst of all, I can’t pay for a hotel and might have to spend the night on the street,” I thought to myself. My traveling experience and instinct kicked in, and kept me calm yet determined. I thought of options such as looking for an all night casino or hanging out on the street near the police if I had to stay on the street at night. The situation, I knew, was serious. San Jose is a dangerous city at night with rape or stabbing a real possibility, especially for someone who sticks out with blonde hair and green eyes.

I tried my credit card five times at the cajero and got the same message each time- denied. I decided that my main hope was to get someone to give me the 100 colones, fifty cents, that I needed to take the bus to meet my brother at the airport.
I had to do the unthinkable. Myself, a blonde, gringa from one of the wealthiest countries of the world was going to have to beg for money on the streets of a second world nation. “Do it! I told myself, Just f-ing do it! If you don’t beg now for fifty cents, you might be begging in the middle of the night for your life.”

I walked down the street and approached a few people.
“Por favor, necesito 100 colones por el bus.” I asked.

They ignored me and steered away from me. Some surreal survival persona kicked in as I became more and more determined to avoid spending the night on the street.
I heard a couple of guys in a parked car yelling at me, “Gringa, Rica.” I usually walked down the street ignoring these comments, but not on that night. I walked over to their car and leaned down to look them in the eye.

“Cree usted en Dios?” (Do you believe in God?) I asked, knowing that almost everyone in the country did.

“Si,” they both responded.

“Porque yo necesito un milagro,” (Because I need a miracle,) I told them matter-of-factly. I explained in my broken Spanish that I was stuck without money and needed one hundred colones for bus fair to meet my brother at the airport. They gave me the 100 colones.

“Muchas Gracias,” I said, saved. I was very thankful to God, and the ability to speak a little Spanish.

I’d been lucky. I got on the bus, met my brother at the airport and told him the story of our near miss.

My brother wasn’t that surprised by the story. He is an adventurer himself and had had many close calls while attempting to ride his bike across India years before.