How I Got Here: Part 1 Latin America

I get asked quite often how did you get here, what made you decide to move to this place, why do you choose to live abroad when you have better financial opportunities back home in the United States. The answer is simple, I am searching for something, but I don’t quite know what it is yet. It all began my last year of University, and despite my age, was only a few years ago.

I was studying history and reading about these amazing people in these amazing places, yet there I was with no idea into what my future held. So, I decided my final semester to take out a little extra in student loans and surprise my brother with a trip to Brazil for his 21st birthday, which also happened to fall on Carnival. We packed our bags, had all of our accommodation and transport booked, and prepared for our journey. On our way to our father’s house, which is near Miami and we were to spend the night before our flight, my truck overheated and broke down on the highway. We had to have our parents come get us and have the truck towed back to the university town. But, this was not going to keep us from going on our adventure to Brazil.

Little did we know, until our arrival at the Miami airport, that people from the U.S. need a visa to enter Brazil. We tried the local embassy but an emergency visa would be too much on top of the cost of rebooking our flight. So, there we were with tickets to a country that we can no longer travel to and no idea what to do. I decided to call the airline and check every available flight for the next day to any country that we did not need a visa. I found Panama. We rented a car and spent the night in the Keys, where we grew up, and stayed with a friend. We did not tell anyone about our change in plans, so that way no one could try and talk us out of them.

Our flight left the next morning and my brother and I, each leaving the country for the first time, were on our way. Our first stop was in San Salvador. We landed in an open area and had to exit the plane via a staircase. There we were in the open air in a new country and the feeling of adventure and fear of this decision began to settle.

We were at the airport only a few hours, but were slightly nervous as the local police traveled around with the mangiest looking police dogs that I have ever seen. The constant sound of Spanish made us truly feel away of home. We re-boarded and made our approach to our newly chosen destination, Panama City.

We landed late in the evening, with no idea where we were going or where we were staying, only the over abundance of luggage that we brought with us tied us to the normality of home. (We were prepared for a trip to the Amazon during our stay in Brazil, so we each had a large suitcase full of clothes, a duffel bag with first aid, pocket knives, granola bars, high grade insect repellant, Malaria pills, the works, and a backpack full of reading material, we were packed and ready for any situation.) We had no use of our cell phones, no Internet, no connection to the outside world. We were truly lost in another country.

We approached a taxi van outside the airport and simply asked if he could take us to any decently priced hotel near the center. He takes us to a place that was a bit pricy, but what choice did we have, we dropped off our luggage and asked the driver if he knew of a place to grab something to eat. He offered to drive us to a local restaurant and grab a bite with us, since we were his last run for the evening. We chatted about our lack of plans as I ate my ceviche.

During our meal I asked him about a place that we passed by on our way to the restaurant that looked like a pub full of people. He said, “no problem, I’ll take you there and have a couple drinks with you guys.” We approached the blue-lit bar full of distinct Spanish chatter, American music, and a random cutout of Tom Brady adorning the wall. We ordered a round and sat down on the long pleather couch that took the entirety of the patio wall.

We chatted and drank, all with smiles while still not knowing what plans we had for the following day. A group of girls at a nearby table kept glancing over at us and smiling. We smiled and toasted our drinks in their direction. One girl came over and introduced herself to us and shortly after invited over her friends. They were very talkative and a bit too flirty, I felt like something didn’t match up.

I scanned the room and noticed that there was an extremely large man surrounded by women that could easy grace the cover of magazines at one table. At the table next to it were a few more foreigners, also surrounded by stunning women. I noticed that all of the guys who seemed to be locals were sitting at a back table together paying no attention to any of the beautiful women who happened to be in that bar that night.

That’s when it hit me. These were not just friendly locals; we were being propositioned. I whispered my theory to my brother, who did not believe me and thought I was quite rude for making that assumption. My Spanish is not great, but I decided to try and see if I could use the bit I know to see if my notion was correct. I asked the girl closest to me where she was from. She told me, “Colombia.” I asked what brought her to Panama. She just simply laughed and started asking about me. She kept edging closer, so I started to focus my attention to another conversation with the driver in case my theory was correct. The girls started to alternate visiting us, while the first remained a constant presence at our table. My brother still thought I was wrong in my assumption, but I had a feeling I was correct. I finally decided to play “stupid American” and just ask. “Cuánto?” She promptly without hesitation gave us a price. My brother and I just stared at each other.

The girls soon realized that we had no intention of purchasing their services and one by one they left our table, but kept in brief contact. My brother and I decided that it was time to move on, so we decided to try the bar upstairs with the hope that it would not be so solicitant. We were wrong. Upstairs had a stage with a girl down to her underwear. In the corner there was a sign that simply stated “Fuck Room”. These girls were up for bids and were showcasing their “talent”. One girl shortly after getting off stage approached us and asked if we would buy her a drink, that for some reason costs five times that of the ones we purchased. We politely refused, several times. Upon her consistency, we drank our beers as fast as we could and made our way back to the hotel to try and find some normalcy the next day.

I woke up from our single bed hotel room and went downstairs to use the computer to find us a cheaper hotel. We checked out and caught a taxi to our new residence. The new, much cheaper hotel was in non-touristic part of town. We were able to use what Spanish we knew to get to our room. We unloaded our ridiculous amount of luggage and set off to find Panamanian Carnival. We hailed a taxi and he knew exactly where to go.

The driver dropped us off on a side street and pointed in the direction that I could already see a herd of people heading. We got out and started following the crowd. We arrived at a gate where and got in line. Police patrolled carrying MP-5s and some with much heavier hardware.. After only a few minutes in the long queue we were pulled from the line and directed to a different gate. For some reason, we were selected to skip the queue and go directly through security. They patted us down for weapons, confiscated my lighter, and then sent us through.

Tents and stands were lined up in rows. People selling food, beer, and souvenirs all around. We started walking along taking in the spectacle. This was not the Carnival we were expecting, and it was a far cry from the one we would have seen in Brazil. This was more similar to a South Miami block party. Low budget Latin rap music blaring from stacks of speakers and beer being consumed as if a draught was coming.

A smile crept across my face. We approached the first stand we saw and purchased two Balboas. Balboa is a local Panamanian beer that is perfectly suited to drinking in hot weather. It refreshes as you consume it. Light enough to go down smooth with a taste that surpasses any of the swill we call light beer in the States. And to top it off, it was only a dollar at Carnival. In Panama they still use US currency due to the American influence on their countries annexation from Colombia and continued involvement since.

We continued walking around grabbing a beer here and there, taking in the sights and sounds of our new found surroundings. After a beer or two my nicotine urges started to take over, and since my lighter had been confiscated for some reason, I had to find a local to let me use theirs. We kept walking, looking for anyone who happened to be smoking. We saw a young guy lighting up a cigarette. We approached him, but I could not remember the word for lighter. So, I asked, “Tienes uno fuego?” Do you have a fire? I figured this would get the sentiment across.

At first he seemed receptive and offered me a light. He put a funny hat on my head and joked around. He seemed lively and fun. Then he asked, “Tienes fuego?” and put his fingers to his lips as if he was smoking a joint. I said, “No, just for the cigarette.” “Tienes fuego?” He puts his finger over a nostril and sniffs loudly. “No, cigarettes and beer are enough.” “Hey, hey. Tienes Fuego? This time he mimics inserting a syringe into his arm. “No, no, no. Um, We’re going to go get some comida.”

We thanked him and thought that was the last of our encounter with him. We walked away and started to search for a place to grab a bite. We were gone maybe two minutes before we hear our drunken drug-dealing friend shouting behind us. He runs up to us and says that he would like to join us. His persistence made him hard to refuse, so we invited him along for the meal.

We sat at a white picnic table that sat next to a small stand and a large open barbeque. My brother and I ordered us some basic meals of chicken off the grill and some yucca. Our newfound “friend ordered the same for himself as well. We eat our lunch in awkward silence, acknowledging his random remarks, but remaining in awkward tension. We finish our meals and pay the woman at the stand. Low and behold our new “buddy” doesn’t have any cash on him and needs us to help him out, claiming that it is his birthday. After a couple minutes we relented as we noticed signs of distress in the woman who was ringing up our order. Plus it was only a few dollars and if this prevents any escalation then it was worth it.

We told him “Adios!” and started heading towards the area that was supposed to have a parade. As we stood waiting on the procession, we were greeted by our “friend” one more time. The parade floats approached, adorning dancers, political statements, and other local symbology. The three of us stood in silence as the festivities passed.

“Hey man, give me some money, like twenty dollars.” I was taken aback. He breaks the silence with this statement, even after we just bought him lunch. “No tengo,” I replied. He did not like this answer and kept pressing, saying that since we were American, we must have plenty of money. I kept calmly telling him that we have very little money, “you know, just enough for us on this trip.” He started to get angry. I tried my best to ignore his anger and just attributed it to his drunkenness. He taps me on the shoulder. As I turn his direction, he takes his closed fist with his thumb protruding and runs his thumb across his throat, as he coldly states, “Time to die.”

I look around and start to see what looks like his friends from earlier closing in. I look at my brother, our eyes lock, and we take off. We push our way through the crowd without looking back to see if we are even being followed. We reach the edge of the festivities where a makeshift market had been set up on a dirt road. We hailed the first taxi we could. “VAMOS!!!” The driver understood and we headed into the city. Once we had a significant distance between us and Carnival we told him our destination: back to the hotel to recover.

Shaken up, we climbed the stairs to our hotel room. Immediately we passed out from a mix of beer, heat, and the uncertain encounter with a local drug dealer. The sun had already set when we woke up from our nap. We turned on the television to see a great festival of lights and sounds coming Carnival. “Where was this Carnival this afternoon?” We decided to get ready and give Carnival another go.

Our taxi brought us to a dark intersection full of honking cars and the driver told us to follow the crowd down the hill and we would find Carnival. We walked towards the neon lights of a Ferris wheel and approached the large crowd that had amassed at the gate. The pit of my stomach turned. Something felt off. I knew the chance of us running into our “friend” again in this horde of people was highly unlikely, but I was the foreigner and this was his territory. We debated for a while on whether it was worth the risk and if we wanted to wait in that endless line: even though we would probably be brought to the front again since we were “gringos.”

We decided that we should ponder our choice of action over a meal, so we set off back up the hill in search of somewhere to eat. We wandered the streets, dodging the honking cars of the bustling Carnival traffic, walking farther and farther from Carnival, and getting more and more lost. We were having little luck finding a place that we could grab a meal. So, once again we hailed a taxi.

“Donde esta las touristas?” I muttered in my poor Spanish. The taxi driver thought for a moment and as the light clicked in his head his foot hit the pedal and we were once again zipping through the Panama City streets. The buildings started to look older and more historic. The taxi shook from the old stone street bumping its wheels. We pulled in to a large square full of upscale restaurants and bars with a massive statue of Simón Bolivar. Simón Bolivar was a Venezuelan military leader that brought independence from Spain to a large portion of South America including Colombia, which Panama used to be within its territory.

We sat down at a nice white linen table in the square as a band played lightly in the background. We enjoyed a fine meal and some proper refreshments; my brother tried his first caipirinha, not to his taste. A sigh of relief, we were finally able to relax. We were able to just sit and ease into the music, tastes, and beautiful weather that Panama had to offer.

We decided to spend our evening at a nearby pub and then we would continue our adventure in the morning. The night went by with hardly an incident. The locals in the pub were engaging and friendly. We were sitting in the front smoking a cigarette and drinking a nice local beer with a man named Dario talking about South American history and how we ended up in Panama city, when we heard shouting coming from just across the corner of the square. A man and a woman were arguing in Spanish. It was getting rather heated, and then the man threw his glass of beer to the ground shattering it into a puddle of tiny shards. Immediately, a policeman started rushing in their direction his, what looked like an Uzi, swayed at his side. He drew a large wooden bat from its holster on his back. The man began to run down an adjoining alley as the policeman threatened him while brandishing his weapon. We had been quite nervous around the Panamanian police, but according to Dario, they are typically there to protect tourists.

We awoke the next day with our plans finally set. We were to head out and visit the Panama Canal and then find some sort of transportation to Costa Rica and find the city of Jaco, a city a friend of mine used to own a place and has raved about for years.

We made our way over to the Canal. As we walked up the stairs, I realized that this is the first time I was going to see something that is recognizable around the world. We walked up the large steps to the entrance to one of man’s great feats that like so many before was at the expense of many lives to build. We reach the top and make our way through the entrance, through the museum, outside to view this crowning achievement of man.

The canal itself may not be the most impressive sight that one may see. After all it is just a trench with levies to control the water levels. But, the significance of the canal has changed the world. It opened the world to faster trade and gave a faster shipping route from Asia to the Atlantic and for Panama it gave them independence from Colombia. From above the canal you can observe two oceans conjoining through the locks and levies of this thin isthmus. It was the first time my school books from childhood came to life before my eyes.

We hailed a taxi and set off to purchase some souvenirs before finding our transportation to Costa Rica. The taxi driver drove us all over the city in search of the items that we were looking for. We were able to see more of the city than we had in the previous couple days. Finally, he brought us to a bus station where we purchased our bus ticket to San Jose. We were one step closer to our next destination.

The problem was, we were at the bus station in the early afternoon and our bus did not depart until late in the evening. We were stuck in a bus station with our abundance of luggage for several hours. We met a couple of young German girls who were leaving on a bus a few hours prior to ours and they agreed to watch our bags while we set off to find some food and take a look around the large mall.

The mall was enormous and had everything from a bowling alley to areas where you could get into an inflatable ball and run on water. We stopped in the food court and tried a fast food chain called Pico Pico, it was like a Panamanian version of KFC but of course quite different in its own right. We headed back down to the bus station to find our luggage still intact and we thanked the girls.

Shortly after they left, an American man came up to us looking distraught. He claimed that while he was asleep someone snatched his backpack with all of his money and documents. He said that he was a soldier and was trying to get to his family who were vacationing in Nicaragua. His story and his military references seemed legit, so we decided to help him the best we could. We gave him around a hundred dollars with the promise that he would wire it back to us when he got back to base. He gave us all of the essential details to trust him and we felt right helping a fellow American in need. When we returned home we contacted him, got a single response, but he did not follow through on his word.

The bus trip to San Jose was going to be a grueling sixteen hours. Since the bus set out late in the evening, the only views we saw of Panama on our outbound journey were of the fading city lights of Panama City. We shortly fell asleep.

We awoke to find the bus was slowing down. We were approaching a rest stop just before the border of Panama and Costa Rica. We got off and grabbed a bite to eat and then headed to the border. At the border we were filed off the bus and put in a line to cross as our luggage was being taken off for inspection. While in line a man came up to us and demanded a dollar for a visa stamp. Unknowingly we gave the man a dollar and he put what looked like a postage stamp into our passports. It read, “For tourists only.” So, if you ever make this border crossing, know that this stamp is not necessary and is just another way to get money out of foreigners.

We walked up to the counters and gave the men our passports. Everything with me went through smoothly, but since I was primarily financing this adventure and everything was in my name, my brother hit a snag. I heard him audibly arguing with the border guard who wanted him to prove his finances and form of exit. I quickly stepped to their counter and began to speak to the man in Spanish explaining the purpose of our trip and how I was the one responsible for the finances. My speaking Spanish seemed to relieve the tension and after he gave me a lecture, he let us pass through the border.

I harped on my brother on why it is not a good idea to yell at a border guard as we crossed and took a few photos. On the Costa Rican side of the border, we were escorted into a room with the other passengers where our luggage was sat in a pile and we were instructed to grab our belongings. Three men sat at a table calling out names. As each name was called, the passenger brought their bags over for inspection. Our names were called a few minutes later and we brought them our luggage. The man eyed us suspiciously at the amount of baggage that we had with us and asked us to open our bags on the ground. They did a quick hand search and then called their colleague over. He came with a midsize dog who stepped into our bag and sniffed around. When they were satisfied that we were not smuggling in drugs or other contraband we were allowed to gather our things and head back to the bus.

We had a small breakfast after loading our belongings back onto the bus and then prepared for our long journey buy picking up some snacks and refreshments. The bus put on a Mickey Mouse cartoon in Spanish and we watched as the bus made its ascent to San Jose.

The journey through Costa Rica was quite frightening and not for the faint of heart. The bus twisted up and down thin roads through the mountains. Most of the cliffs did not have a railing to try and prevent us from tumbling over the side. The bus driver would take these hair-raising turns at unnecessarily high speeds overtaking other cars in the only other lane without knowing if another car was going to be just around the bend. At the bottom of some of the cliffs, cars that were unfortunate in these situations lay at the bottom as an unmarked grave. The only solace was that we were in a large vehicle and if such an accident were to occur, our force would be greater than that of a smaller car and we would most likely be the victor and not pushed over the cliff’s edge.

We miraculously arrived in San Jose and I almost kissed the ground. We asked the people at the bus station where we could find a bus to Jaco and they told us at the other bus station a few blocks down. We gathered our ridiculous luggage and set on our way to the other station. Only a few blocks seemed simple enough, but the sidewalks in San Jose look as though an earthquake had ripped through them. The wheels on our suitcases were beginning to fall apart and dragging them over the jumbled ruble that passed as a sidewalk became quite a feat. We were able to find the bus station with little problem and booked our next bus to the fabled Jaco.

We arrived in Jaco a couple hours before sunset. We grabbed a taxi and asked for a cheap hostel. He took us to the center and turned down a gravel road to an old two-story wooden building with an open downstairs housing a living area with a small TV and a usable kitchen.

A couple hammocks and a large picnic table decorated the courtyard and a large, tin, semicircle housing tube with a line of surfboards leading to the entrance was at the other end. We booked a private room with bunk beds in the housing tube at a decent price and settled in.

After taking a quick shower and getting ready, we took to the streets of this little coastal town and started to explore. We immediately head across the street to the beach for the sunset. As the sun glimmered across the ocean and reflected off the green mountains behind us, we realized that we had found paradise. We spent the rest of the evening wandering the small city. We grabbed some food at a local spot and decided to grab a drink. On our way we saw a mariachi band follow a woman to a shop and serenate her from outside the window.

We found a local pub and had a couple beers while talking with some Americans who had found home in this city. One of them was an English teacher and the other ran zip line tours. My brother decided to book a zip line tour as I talked to the teacher about what could possibly be my future career. Jaco was beautiful enough that I even considered bypassing my graduation and just staying there and finding a teaching gig.

The next day I decided to give surfing a go. I have surfed before, but I am not talented by any means and Jaco hosts professional tournaments. The frequency of the breaks threw me around like a doll in a washing machine. It did not help that I got a board that was way too big in case my brother also wanted to surf; he is much taller and larger than I am. I did not have the strength to push the large board under the waves and do a duck-dive; so many times, if I approached the wave wrong, it punished me.

Bruised and bleeding, I continued my efforts to ride a wave in Costa Rica. As I was paddling out on one approach, a thin black dorsal dipped past the board. I pulled my arms and legs in and let it pass, but I was not going to let a small shark stop me from achieving what I set out to do. On the water I ran into a guy I recognized from the hostel. He told me that I was paddling too far out and that is why I was having so much difficulty. I told him I was just following the crowd. Turns out the crowd was a mix of locals and pros, neither group of which do I belong. I followed his advice and it took several more attempts, but eventually, I was able to ride the boat of a surfboard on the Costa Rican waves.

We spent the next couple days surfing, zip lining, and hanging out on the beach during the day and relaxing at the local bars at night. One night, we went to the local market and picked up some fish and other ingredients and the local who was running the hostel prepared us a fantastic “Tica” style meal. This was paradise. If you are looking for your problems to go away, spend some time in Jaco and your worries will disappear. You put yourself on “Tica time” which is relatively a couple hours later than usual. If you say, “See you at six,” eight o’clock is more likely when they will show. If you expect prompt service in a restaurant then you are mistaken. The hustle of the rest of the world has not entered this area. Life is meant to be taken slowly and each moment is to be savored.

The beaches are beautifully surrounded by the lush landscapes of the coastal mountains of the rain forest. The food is good and everything is rather inexpensive. The weather is perfect. It’s hot but never too hot given the ocean breeze. The nightlife is fun and there is always a party. One thing that I did find strange is that at the end of the night before the bar is ready to close, the staff escorts a harem for the men who could not find someone over the course of the evening. This is usually when all of the girls who are not there to make money leave.

There was only one evening that there was an issue. We decided to join a group from the hostel who were going to a large club at the end of the beach. We arrived and other than the security everything looked like a normal night at a beach club. Just shortly after we purchased our first beer, a man came running up to each foreigner franticly telling them not to enter a certain area. The area was near the pool and had linen drapes adorning the pillars that separated it from the rest of the party. These were the sons of the local cartel and interaction with them could be dangerous. My brother and I decided to leave them well enough alone.

We did get separated during the night, which caused some stress, but we were able to find each other eventually and it seemed like the night went off without a hitch. The next morning though we found out that someone else did not have as happy of an evening. A tourist was eating a fruit on the street and when she went to throw the core away, she found a dismembered arm in the trashcan. Apparently, the night before someone was caught selling drugs in the wrong territory. As a message, his body was cut into pieces and placed into trashcans around the city, thus marking the territory.

We were forced to leave this paradise, with only little danger, due to the impending flight that was leaving from Panama City. We made friends that we are still in contact with and I have ventured in other countries with afterwards. The adventure to Jaco with all of its trials was worth it to spend a few days in this city’s abundance of beauty and its blissfully relaxed demeanor. The only regret I have in Costa Rica is that I never saw a monkey or sloth, but I did see a crocodile and a shark, so there’s that.

The journey back to Panama City was relatively uneventful other than almost missing the bus in San Jose. We crossed the border without even getting searched. I guess no one is bringing drugs South back to Colombia. We spent our last day at the airport in utter exhaustion and took turns napping until our flight departed.

When we returned, I was a changed man. I had my first adventure abroad and I was ready for more. But what was I to do, where was I to go? I had a few months left of school, but after graduation, I had no idea where life was going to take me...