Costa Rica - Entry and La Cruz

Costa Rica awaits. On my last morning in Nicaragua I walked to a coffee place where another loaded 1200GS Adventure was parked and I met Robert from Quebec. He was a very independent guy travelling alone with his sights set on Ushuaia for January. Another rider travelling faster than me. That’s fine, it’s good to connect and see who is around. 

I rode to the border near Sapoa after a good breakfast and started the process that is now becoming familiar. Passport stamped out, temporary import permit stamped and signed; cross the border, passport stamped, aduana (customs) start the paperwork for a temporary import permit, pay some fees, in this case insurance was mandatory before I could import the bike, then ride into a new country. 

This crossing took three hours, mostly due to an hour lineup for the passport in stamp as there were a couple of buses that arrived before me. There were signs saying that there were no charges for public processes, encouraging after the corrupt traffic police in Nicaragua. Easy, friendly and above board. I even bumped into Rory again, the GS rider from La Tortuga Verde in El Salvador. He was on his way back after a few weeks in Costa Rica.

It’s always exciting to enter a new country and the road took me towards the coast. At the little mountain town of La Cruz I turned towards the coast and found only one hostel-like accommodation and they wanted $25 for a dorm room. Expensive at any time but particularly when I can’t access any more money as I was waiting for my cards to be sent from Australia. I enjoyed being on a bit of a rough dirt road again but decided to head back to La Cruz after striking out with any further accommodation options.

Back in the town I went to a couple of places before lucking on a hostel with amazing views over Salinas Bay, and a private room for $12. 

I decided to stay for a week and wait out the arrival of my credit cards. Definitely worse places to be. Fortuitously it was the right week to stay put. It rained daily and heavily mostly in the afternoon after a sunny morning but some mornings I awoke to heavy rain. It was a bit unpredictable so I took the opportunity to catch up on some writing, blogging, reading and Spanish language. 

Every day I checked my messages for news about the arrival of my cards, but as a week passed I was becoming more aware of my dwindling funds.

The owners and staff were great. I was the only person staying for any length of time and others came for a night and left. A local Dutch guy, Marc, who had been living in Costa Rica for over ten years, regularly came in the afternoons with his camera gear to photograph the amazing sunsets and the beautiful view of the bay, aiming for the perfect shot.

He had married a local girl and had a seven year old daughter and was now separated and found himself in a position of low funds, failing camera gear and on the day I left was being evicted from his apartment due to not being able to pay the rent. He was doing photographic work locally but here in Costa Rica apparently payment for services is not rapidly forthcoming and finally the landlord heard for the last time that he was waiting to get paid for this last job…I wonder how many times this story has played out with expats who marry local girls.

Costa Rica is known for expats from the US, Canada and Europe migrating for a simpler life, but with simplicity often comes lack of regular or sufficient income. Maybe with a stash of saved money that will see them through the first few years, a marriage to a local girl, new commitments to family, responsibilities, and after six or seven years they find themselves with no more funds, no job, no recent working experience and some hard decisions to make. I had heard about this scenario playing out before. I had spoken to other motorcycle travellers who had seen it happen to travellers, arriving in a beautiful location, falling in love, settling and watching the finances fade.

‘A woman or the road’, were the words that rang in my ears from Dave, a retired Australian motorcycle adventurer I had met on the boat to Cuba. Although Marc was not a traveller per se it was interesting to see someone really at the position of having no option but to return to his home country, find a job and start again. It was a good lesson on my own potential situation should I find that special girl, that special place.

On my sixth night, Brett, a cyclist from England arrived and we had a great evening talking about travel and the different experiences of riding a motorcycle versus a bicycle. 

He was only one month into his trip and was hitting some mental blockages, similar to what I had done early in my journey. We talked about the psychology of long-term travel, as we saw it. I remember working with refugees on Christmas Island who were so happy to arrive alive and grateful for some food, shelter and clothes. However with the mandatory detention policy for unlawful arrivals and the realisation of asylum seekers that the people smugglers had lied about the welcoming nature of Australia and a guaranteed job, people soon had a different perspective of their new reality.

The six-week mark was important and signified a substantial shift in most people’s state of mind. Although travelling on a motorcycle, or other means, is a far cry from the difficulties of seeking protection from another country, my own experiences at the six week and six month marks echoed with what Brett was experiencing. I hoped for Brett that things would settle in a couple of weeks.

I had hit the ten day mark in La Cruz and I was certainly ready to get going. There was still no word of my cards arriving after three weeks since I reported them stolen. I phoned Australia to get a courier number or something so I had an idea of when I could access my money. I was gutted to hear that no new cards had been initiated, no new cards had been sent and I had been waiting for my cards for three weeks in vain. The call centre operator had little access to records and under my card numbers and name could find no reference to the information I had given weeks ago. She told me that it was currently out of business hours in Australia and to call back in five hours for the case to be referred to a ‘solutions’ officer. I phoned back and spoke to a fairly disinterested guy who said he would refer me to a case manager and they would phone me in a few days. That wasn’t good enough. I explained my situation...again...stranded in Costa Rica with no access to my money for three weeks and no phone number. What was I supposed to do? What was his solution?

‘I’m sorry sir, I’m doing everything that I can.’

I asked to be put through to the complaints section where it was confirmed that nothing had been done about replacing my cards and there was no apparent record of my initial conversation or postal address details for the replacement cards. I gave all the details again and was assured that everything would be followed up and new cards would be issued and couriered to me. 

Five days later I phoned again to confirm that things were happening. Once again out of hours, the call centre had no available records of my situation. I called back a few hours later and was subject to another disinterested operator. Again I asked to be put through to complaints where I was assured that things were happening.

‘All I want is some communication from you that something is happening. You have my email, I’ve been one month without access to my money, I’m stranded in Central America and I have heard nothing from the bank about what is going on, in fact this is my fifth phone call!’

I’m hesitant to name and shame but when you get an ANZ Travel Card that sells on its reputation and rhetoric of being easy and fast to replace if lost or stolen, one would expect that this is the case. Apparently not.

In the meantime I had accessed emergency cash through Visa using a long drawn out process of 24 hours where they accessed my money and sent it to MoneyGram, a money transfer company. Eventually I had $500 to keep me going for a couple of weeks and decided to move on to San Jose, the capital, where my cards were being sent to a friend of a friend.