I stepped onto the plane in Portland, Oregon in the early morning, a sheen of sweat on my upper lip from the night of Halloween partying and regret the night before. My tired eyes searched the plane for my row number and I sat with relief to see I would be able to rest my head against the window for the few hours to Dallas. My last few days were a blur of packing, throwing away long-kept unnecessary items, saying goodbye to new and old friends, and what seemed like an endless amount of drinks and social activities. I had joked that I would be crawling to the plane but truly, the joke felt more reality than jest. My head throbbed with so many emotions, undealt with feelings about Tilly and the last year I had held at bay till I crossed this imaginary border, my heart swelling and shrinking in a manic frenzy to make sense of everything inside of me and to also hold back the flood I knew was coming. I was not right and close to breaking. Thank God for Devon.
A young attractive man around my age with a big red beard and kind brown eyes sat next to me. He looked at me as if to say he had an idea I was struggling. "So are we drinking blood mary's this morning? Cause you look about how I feel."
I laughed out loud. Judging by the nearby passenger reaction maybe a bit too loud.
"Probably not a good idea," I confessed pathetically. It took me a microsecond to look at him again and say, "Oh what the hell."
"Atta girl," he laughed.
Devon is an Oregonian headed back to military base in North Carolina. We talked boats, travel, family, and future aspirations…all before takeoff. I must have said a dozen times, "Where the hell have you been?" We laughed and laughed with ease and I thank God I didn't sink into the window just yet. He was a welcome caffeine to my drudgery.
After the plane took off, he hailed down our flight attendant for a drink. Scott, as we came to know him, was an older male flight attendant who had obviously seen a few too many flights and was over it. He was more than happy to have some morning drinkers on his route this morning. He came back with an extra beverage for us and wished us a good day. We said a cheers to him and had an amazing flight to Dallas. After a warm hug goodbye and a promise to write, I said good bye to Devon. I slept in the airport there for the entirety of my 4 hour layover until I heard my name being called over the intercom for the final boarding call to Costa Rica. Rushing up to make my flight, I was the last one on the plane, I am embarrassed to say. But hell, I made it.
Continuing my forage into the world of sleep, I drifted in and out of sweaty consciousness the rest of the flight, waking occasionally for a drink of water or to the sound of someone laughing nearby. In all honesty, it was a blur. I woke up as the plane made a ridiculously rough landing, gasps erupting from startled passengers as we bounced onto the runway, the plane as drunk as I was the night before. I didn't care so much about the landing…I was in Costa Rica finally. No more explaining where I was going. No more waiting to get there to let go. I was here. The moment had arrived. I wanted to cry and I still couldn't quite put a finger on why or what the emotion was or if it was just exhaustion. I just knew I needed to get off the plane and get to my hotel and deal with it later. Suck it up for now Sarah.
My elation was quickly sated by the reality that I was in Costa Rica and I am a gringa, which in simple terms means I am easy to over-charge and easy to take advantage of. After an hour and a half of cab drivers taking me to the wrong Marriots, (there are 4 in town) despite having handed them the correct address, I finally made it to my hotel at 1am in time to sleep a few hours before my 5 am flight to Golfito. And true to Murphy's Law, I couldn't sleep a wink, though the bed was as comfortable as a cloud. Dragging my bags in the early morning, I wearily took a cab to the tiny airport where my flight to Golfito departed from. A tiny establishment, the size of a small house, I wasn't sure I was in the right place. Knocking on the front door and peering in, hand over my forehead leaning on the glass, I gazed into what seemed to be an empty airline check-in, unlit with no-one in view. I knocked and called out, "Hello!" and a young man peered around the corner of the building.
"Buenos Dias!" He was friendly and smiley, a welcome sight. Through hand signals and broken English and Spanish, I realized I was the first passenger to arrive. They hadn't even opened yet, thus the reason the employees hadn't turned on the lights. In fact…I was the only passenger until noon. However, they opened the doors, turned on the lights, brewed some coffee, and were as kind as I have ever seen for any airline. I was greatly impressed and relieved for a friendly face. Two very happy, charming captains escorted me out to the 12 passenger Sesna, joking that I could brag I had my own private plane to my friends. I smiled feeling at ease and sat right behind them for one of the most beautiful flights I have been privileged to have down the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica during sunrise.
I can only describe what I saw as breathtaking. Clouds rested in pockets of lush green hills, mist steaming off the mountains as the sun parted the evening into the day. The plane dipped in and out of clouds as the two captains chattered in Spanish about this and that. I watched the city dissipate into jungle and wilderness, orange sunrise bathing the green in its warmth. Undisturbed coastline with inlets leading into marsh cleared into deep blue water as we made our way over land and out over ocean. Memories of how small I used to feel out at sea, my respect for this world so unknown and so untapped began to wash over me in a familiar and old way.
We circled a small gulf surrounded by green jungle and mountains, a sprinkle of buildings and fishing boats began to emerge. In a matter of minutes, the plane lowered itself onto one small runway. A handful of people awaited the plane. My fraction of working brain couldn't conceive of why so many people would be waiting for me, as I was the only passenger. However, they weren't. One man waved at me, a large smile on his face and a rain jacket covering him appropriately for the changing weather. A young white guy with freckles, blue eyes, and a stocky build, he wore surf shorts and a pair of sandals. I knew he was from the yacht.
"Hey there! I'm Brady," he smiled, hand out with a firm shake. He grabbed my bags and spoke perfect Spanish to our cab driver telling him to wait. We went into the small terminal, a shack with a tin roof, and waited for a package he was also waiting for.
"Sorry to make you wait, I'm sure you're tired. Getting mail here is ridiculous. You have to pay nearly $500 to mail something back home or wait for the random flight that comes to town. Those other five people are pretty glad you flew in today," he laughed, a look of sheepishness on his face. I smiled and let him know I was not bothered at all.
"Oh, you'll get bored here quick. There really isn't much to do here but surf and sweat out in this damn humid rain. It's beautiful but it gets old quick."
"I think I"ll be just fine," I laughed assuring him. At that moment I knew I would. This was heaven to me. After my new captain grabbed his parcels, we loaded my luggage into the cab and rode the bumpy streets to the tiny Banana Bay Marina where my new residence would be. This town was truly tiny with one small road that ran through it and very little to speak of aside from an occasional restaurant or fishing boat. In my exhaustion I grinned as I stepped out of the cab and wheeled my bags up to the sole vessel in the tiny marina. Smiling to myself I realized I truly was in the middle of nowhere. Thank God. I was finally home.
