I left for Costa Rica eager for wilderness and adventure. And, as sometimes things play out, I got what I was looking for even before arriving.

The flight to London was uneventful. After a short layover I got on the Miami flight just in time. This flight was almost OK. My only disappointment was the “refugee camp”-style food. On previous long flights I was used to two decent meals. Here, American Airlines only provided one meal and one pizza-something snack. And we’re talking about a 10 hour flight. That pizza thing looked disappointing from the beginning, when the stewardess handed the little box over and I, weighting it in my hand, didn’t know if it was empty or not.

I got off in Miami half zombie from hunger. Another short layover (1h30′) in which I’d have to hurry along without any time for eating. Miami seems to be a pretty busy airport. The plane had to wait about 20 minutes just to get parked. Waited another 30 minutes for passport check. Add to this traveling across the terminal and using their train twice and I got to my gate 5 minutes too late. No worries! Went to the rebooking office and got a seat on the very next available flight. 17 hours from now!

Crap! I was too tired, being on the road for 20 hours already. I don’t ever remember it being so difficult to think logically. I felt stunned. Still, I made an effort and came up with a plan. First, got online and searched for some accommodations. Didn’t find anything decently priced, so I resorted to plan B: camping in the terminal. Why not? I was going to Costa Rica prepared to camp in the wilderness. I had part of my gear in my carry on. Searched online for places to sleep in the airport. Apparently there’s an entire website with users reviewing where you can rest inside airports. Following the leads there, I got to a remote and deserted area where I set up camp. I had a nearby toilet, water fountain, wall sockets, even background music. Luxury!

Ate dinner at one of the most popular American restaurants: Wendy’s. I remember half of the french fries had that ugly potato skin taste – one of the few moments I thought of McDonald’s as being superior to something.

Went to sleep at 9 pm. Couldn’t get any serious sleep done due to the background music, slight cold and a feeling of exposedness – I was still lying on the floor in an airport, with the occasional employee passing by. Woke up at 4 am, feeling surprisingly rested.

Finally, got on the flight to San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica. Another 20 minute delay waiting for a spot on the runway. It was like MIA was clinging onto me, not letting me leave.

2 and a half hours later we were getting ready to land. The captain informed us we would be having a rough landing because of the strong winds. It got pretty bumpy and, with the plane tilting sideways, the captain cancelled the landing at the last moment and pulled the plane up. “We will try again” the captain said. “If we don’t make it this time as well, we’ll go for one of the alternative airports”. Luckily, we did land. Bienvenidos a Costa Rica!

After clearing customs, I went to pick up my bag. I had a plastic box (as recommended by the race organizers) with a pair of trekking poles attached to the side by duct tape. The box was there, the poles were not. The duct tape was cut, the box showed signs it had been opened and inside the box I found a note from the TSA, informing me they searched my stuff. I understand they want to manually search bags, but I would have appreciated if they left stuff as they found them. I guess they have somewhere some terms and conditions that I must have agreed when I bought the ticket that gives them the right to officially not care.

Took a local bus (540 colones, which is exactly one dollar) and got to the center of San Jose. Checked into my room at Hostel Gran Imperial. Just so you won’t be fooled by the “Gran Imperial” in the name, I’ll briefly describe the room. Some features: bed, chair, table, fan, light, a vent in the ceiling and another above the door generating a nice constant draft in the room (luckily, I’m no average Romanian, so I’m not affected by the deadly “curent”), WiFi, common toilet, kitchen and dining area, all for just $25 a night. This does not include using the stove – that’s $2 per use.

Now let’s get to the important thing: food. The traditional meal here is called gallo pinto. You prepare rice and beans separately, then you fry them together. As it happens, those are two of my favorite ingredients, while frying is my favorite way of cooking. But it gets better. Another traditional meal is called casado. Looking in my Spanish phrase book I saw that casado means “married man”, but in the menu I saw it next to a picture with a plate of everything, so I ordered. I got a plate with rice, beans, vegetable omelette, picadillo (chopped stuff, in my case potatoes), tortilla, cheese and fried plantains (a relative of the banana).

A small rant about the prices here. They’re high. A meal in a local restaurant (also known as “soda”) will be about $5-6, a room will start from around $50 and easily go north. A 2 liter bottle of soda or mineral water is $2-3 in the supermarket. A kg of watermelon is $1. A muffin is $1.50. For this money I get 4 muffins in a Romanian supermarket. People here are OK with these prices though, since average wages are in the thousands of dollars.

I read there are safety issues here. Nobody mugged me yet, but judging by the 2 sets of locked doors you pass when entering the hostel or by the omnipresent barbed wire, I’d say things are not as easy as in other places (remembering the scooter parked with keys in ignition, in Taiwan).

For my first 2 days in San Jose, I had a sleep schedule of 9 pm to 5 am. It might feel a little early, but:
– it was very easy for me to adjust to this, accounting for a 5 hour time difference compared to my schedule in Romania instead of 8, if I would have kept my normal 8 am wake-up
– it made it easier to adjust to the following days in the wilderness, with a wake up time of 4 am
– it was simply hard to sleep more in this hostel; even though I didn’t have any windows, I could hear the street come to life at 5 am, with the symphony of trucks, honks, shouts and roosters.