I'll set the stage for you: Picture me sitting comfortably by myself on a cushy seat in a big air conditioned tour bus as it climbs up the mountains south of San Jose. I'm reading a magazine, dozing, enjoying the scenery, etc. We take a dinner break about halfway through the trip and then as darkness falls, and we get closer and closer to the border, I begin to see field upon field of what I believe must be African Palm trees. Now it's dark, and I'm probably day-dreaming about what it will be like to climb Panama's one volcano (Vulcan Baru) in the next couple of days, when suddenly, one of the bus attendants walks quickly down the aisle and says something about passports. His announcement causes everyone on the bus to jump up and root through their bags for their passports and papers and 30 seconds later we pull up at the Costa Rica customs office.
How to describe the scene...? The bus parked literally yards away from the one window serving passengers from our bus and another that had arrived just before us. We filed off of the bus and all lined up outside, single-file in Panama's thick, damp heat. It was about a 45 minute wait, which wasn't bad, now that I think back on the whole experience. The only stressful part about leaving Costa Rica was the rumor that we needed a ticket proving that we intended to leave Panama (which doesn't make sense. Why would Costa Rica care whether I intend to leave Panama?). I didn't have one because at that point, I wasn't sure when I wanted to leave Panama or where I wanted to go next. But I got through CR's customs office without a problem, only to realize that I had no idea what to do next. So, I waited for the guy behind me to finish with the customs clerk and then followed him as he walked the 500 feet down the InterAmerican HWY to the Panama customs office.
The road between the border posts was like a no-man's land. The road was probably paved 30 years ago and now both countries refuse to maintain it since it doesn't belong to either. The road was kind of missing in some areas. The people weren't sure where to walk and the cars weren't sure where to drive. It was just one big pot-holed stretch, lined with sodas and shops. The shops were one story/ one room affairs, dimly lit and stocked full with everything that a desperate traveler could need. There were people scattered all over. Some lingered in the street, others loitered at the shops, some tired looking men sat at the sodas and talked. I kept following the guy down the road and very quickly we came to another official looking building. We got in line again and started our second (much longer) wait.
Immediately, a man dressed like a normal guy but with a laminated picture of himself that said something about municipalidad came over and began asking people in line to see their passports. The people in front of me spoke Spanish and they complied, so I did as well. He flipped through my passport not seeming to focus on anything, asked me for a dollar and then affixed a paper stamp inside. The guy behind me, a German, did the same. But then his travel companion, a Panamanian woman refused to pay and began arguing with him. I think she was telling him that she wanted to wait until she got to the window before she paid anyone anything. The guy grew impatient and began dialing a number on his phone. Soon, another guy dressed like every other guy on the street save his laminated picture pinned to his shirt, showed up and tried explaining why she needed to present her passport and pay. After a few minutes, I think she finally relented, but I noticed that the guy didn't continue down the line. I heard the Panamian woman explaining to the German guy (and I'm not sure I understood correctly) that they were men from the local government, not the national government, and that they had no right to collect money from people for crossing the border.
The line moved a few feet and then a murmur went through the crowd that we definitely had to have a return ticket from Panama in order to get in. So, we got the attention of the bus driver who came over to sell us tickets. He sold a ticket to one man. Then he collected the passport of the German guy to write out his ticket. But he suddenly said he would be back and walked off with the German guy's passport, which made us all look at each other confused. The German guy ran off after him and came back a few minutes later with his passport and his ticket. He told me that the driver said he would be right back to sell me a ticket. I waited and waited, but he did not come. So, finally, I walked in the direction where he had gone and found him on the other side of the bus flirting with a few local girls. He asked one of his colleagues to write my ticket for me. I quickly paid and got back in line.
While all of this happened, the line inched forward very slowly. We all sweltered in the evening heat. Panama's office was the same as Costa Rica's in that we lined up outside and were only saved from the outside elements by a roof. It wasn't raining (it's the dry season), so having a roof over our heads was little comfort in the heat.
Finally, I had about 10 people in front of me, getting closer, and a young kid, dressed like any other young kid, came walking by with a tablet of immigration forms and began handing them out. It hadn't occurred to any of us that we hadn't received them yet and no one had been around previously to give them out. Makes me wonder what would have happened if we got to the front without having filled one out. After that, the woman in front of me turned around and told me that they may/may ask to see $500 cash, something they ask for to prove that you can support yourself in their country.
I think it was at about this point that I decided that if Panama didn't want me, I would be more than happy to head back into Costa Rica and go north to the other 5 countries I have come to see. But when I got to the front, the lady didn't ask to see money. She did however, ask to see my onward ticket, so I was glad I had bought one.
After I got through the line, I sat on the cement steps by the bus with a cold drink and waited for the rest of the bus to get through the line. When everyone was gathered around the bus, the bus staff opened the baggage doors and began unloading all of the bags. We all crowded around looking for our bags and slowly everyone found theirs. We then were directed to take our bags into a small octogonal room with two tables. Those that could, put their bags on the table and began opening them up. The rest of us dropped our bags on the ground and waited. We waited a few minutes, wondering who was coming and when. At last, a guy in an official looking vest came in. At first, he sat in a little cloth and metal chair and started calling our names one by one. When that method took too long, he ordered everyone to open their suitcases and he began walking around inspecting each one. He took one look at my backpack stuffed in a rucksack, patted it down, and said, Listo. So I zipped it up and threw it back on the bus pronto.
We were all so greatful to be back on an air conditioned bus after our 2+ hour layover. The bus idled for a few minutes and then pulled out. Minutes later, the staff started a movie; it was Avatar. I found it amusing that all of us passengers had our bags searched, and all the while it was the drivers who had the goods. Ah, Central America.
Not an hour later, I was resting comfortably in my hotel in David watching English language cable TV. There was hot water there, but I willingly took a cold shower. It's hot in David.
The prevailing thought in my head as I fell asleep was, I have to cross five more borders! Sweet dreams.
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