Part II, the journey continues. <<Fade in>>
Day one of Costa Rica is over, which feels like something I should say with more authority than I have. But day one was only 3 hours.
I arrive and immediately begin stumbling through airport customs, through explanations, through my very broken Spanish. It’s the kind of Spanish that relies heavily on smiling, nodding, and hoping the universe fills in the gaps. Somehow, it works. I pass through. I collect my bag. I exist on the other side of the airport, which already feels like a small miracle.
My visitor visa gives me 180 days to stay….. is that a sign?
A man is standing outside with my name on it. He signs to me that we are waiting for one more passenger. She comes and we head to the shuttle. “Shuttle” is generous. It’s more of a minivan that has seen things. I climb in, grateful and slightly disoriented, letting someone else decide where I’m going for once.
The backpacker hotel is close to the airport. Functional. Simple. No air conditioning. Just a fan that works very hard and achieves very little. It’s May, it’s hot, and at 10 p.m. I’m already sweating in a way that feels deeply personal. I lie on the bed, listening to the fan hum, wondering if this is what acclimatization feels like — or just surrender.
Tomorrow, I fly again.
Originally, I thought I’d take a 6 a.m. local bus from the center of San José to the remote part of the country I am invited to. But standing here now, damp and unsure, that plan feels ambitious in a way my nervous system is not prepared to support. I can’t quite picture how I’d get to the city center in time, or if I’d even find the bus, or if my Spanish would rise to the occasion when it mattered.
So I take the easy route.
It’s wildly more expensive. Easily twenty times the cost of the bus. But tomorrow, I’ll be on a very small plane. And by small, I mean fifteen passengers max. The kind of plane where you sit directly behind the pilot and copilot, where the cockpit is not a concept but a shared experience.
I think of every movie where the small plane is either a breathtaking adventure or the beginning of a lesson. There is rarely a middle ground.
But tonight, I’m choosing not to catastrophize. I’ve learned enough on this journey to recognize when control is an illusion anyway. I’m here. In Costa Rica. Alone. Carried mostly by luck, kindness, and whatever part of me keeps saying yes before fear has time to object.
I don’t know how tomorrow will go. I don’t know what waits at the other end of that flight. But I’m letting the universe handle the logistics for now. I’ve done enough planning for one lifetime.
The fan keeps humming. The heat refuses to break. And despite everything the uncertainty, the language gaps, the small-plane anxiety I feel something familiar and welcome.
Anticipation.