Woman Traveling Alone, Stay Away


Rebecca has been working hard in San Francisco, she has two jobs working as a deli girl at Whole Foods and a waitress to the Marina folk who love brunch (so all of them). She misses school and is still working on a Biocultural Anthropology paper with her super cool professor and will be applying to grad school shortly. She runs and works and tries to fit in drinking good beer on her time off. She was kind of talking to her professor about going back to Costa Rica but was really nervous for a lot of dumb reasons so when her professor called and said she could come down to help out again for 2 weeks she said, with a adventure-ridden mind, yes. 

Cue curtain and the short tale of her arrival begins:

Oh boy I’m in Costa Rica!

Same aggressive behavior from the taxi drivers. Shouting at the confused gringos, assaulting with help.

Henry approaches me and speaks in English asking where I want to go. Even though he speaks in English my mind tangos with spanish and things just kind of pour out of my mouth without the filter of my mind to stop them.

Are there buses from here? I need to get to Cariari.

Oh Cariari, you need to get to the bus terminal de caribeno.

Ok, and there’s no bus from here that can take me there?

I already know he’s going to say no, even if there were/is a bus, telling me means losing business. But I take the bait, this guy seems nice. I think about it as he waits there, well why not? It’s faster, and I’m already travelling (read: struggling) with three bags.

So Henry takes my bag and explains to me that his car is parked “over there.”

Oh cool, over there in a dark alley? Over there out of sight? Over there by other cars?  I am slightly prepared to grab my bag back from him and run (read: struggle) back with my three bags. I had been previously advised to only trust the guys with the red taxis in white shirts. Henry was wearing a white polo, but the car would tell all.

We walk across the street.

It’s just a little further, Henry says.

We walk into the parking lot of a gas station and there is sitting a red taxi.

i then wonder if this taxi is stolen and this is all just a ploy. But on the walk Henry tells me he is from Minnesota and he loves the United States so I relax a little. And then I get twice as paranoid because i think he is that smart to pretend he is from Minnesota (a state I know little to nothing [nothing] about).

Traveling as a lone woman is hard, guys.

On the drive Henry tells me he loves the United States, it feels like his first country. He wants to be there permanently but he has to be back here to figure out some paperwork (Also questionable).

Normal conversation topics pass as I hope we eventually end up at the bus terminal I am familiar with from previous travels. Twists and turns, no less than 6 near accidents occur, and then familiarity.

Hey! I know that taller de automaticos.

Hey! I know this bus stop!

Hey! Henry wasn’t trying to capture me after all!

I am lone woman traveler, here me roar! 

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