Have Time, Must Travel

© threefingeredlord

Wings over the Caribbean.

A few months after graduating with a bachelor’s degree in English, I found myself with plenty of time for reflection as I drove a hospital shuttle around a mile-long circuit for six hours each day. I was given two instructions: do not turn on the radio and do not go off the route. The job was easy enough for just over $10 an hour, so I decided to pick up some extra hours and made enough money to consistently have a 12 pack of Sierra Nevada in the fridge, even after all my bills were paid.

But after making the same right hand turns month after month, the shuttle route became so drilled into my mind that I began to think in circles. I was making a comfortable living by following the same tracks I followed the day before. My daily routine was becoming much of the same—repetitious and numbing. After four months of working a run of the mill, full-time job for the first time in my life, I felt like I had lost the ability to break my routine and spontaneously skip town for an adventure.

Out of desperation for change and the fear of conforming, I began planning an escape by frantically searching online for some remote part of the world that I could run to and go off the grid for a while.

After a few hours of hunting, I came across an ad on Craigslist about a room for rent in the Central Valley region of Costa Rica. I had never heard of the place, but I learned that it was about 35 kilometers west of San Jose, the national capital, and it looked within close proximity to multiple national parks. I made one phone call to my brother and on a whim bought two plane tickets to San Jose for the next week.

Planning, or Lack There Of

I’ve never been one to focus much on the planning phase of any endeavor (unless it’s a bar hopping itinerary), but the Costa Rica trip goes down in the record books as the single most unplanned, disorganized and completely spontaneous adventure I’ve ever embarked upon.

The trip was on as soon as I told my boss that I was going to disappear for a month and wouldn’t be able to drive the shuttle. The night before my departure, which I had set aside for packing, was interrupted by a call from a friend who wanted to hang out before I left. This one on one visit quickly evolved into a small gathering, followed by a trip to the bar, then another bar, then a screening of Spinal Tap at a buddy’s house with plenty of whiskey on hand. I woke up the next morning in a post-party haze and began packing with a little less than three hours until my flight left.

I had no real strategy in packing aside from cramming as many clothes and camping accessories into one pack until it reached maximum capacity. It wasn’t until I was on a plane bound for Washington D.C. that I realized I wasn’t equipped with a Spanish dictionary, copy of my passport, map of the country or any Costa Rican currency. The only preparation that I made was setting up sleeping quarters for my brother and I, but even that preparation was shaky given that I was dealing with a total stranger and a place I knew nothing about. However, I was somehow confident in our ability to wing it for the next 25 days and survive solely on wit, adaptability and friendliness. This trip wasn’t just an escape from the ordinary; it was also a test of survival.