Michael: An Hour to Kill

Yellow, orange, blue,
Violet and white; the hills are
Bursting with colors.

Thursday, March 30, 20`7

This is the limbo part of travel in between the purgatories of a long plane flight and a long bus ride.

I have a little over an hour to stretch, snack, watch and write a little before resuming my penance in another recliner of slow pain. At least it’s a fairly timely purging of sins. The plane departed and arrived on schedule. The bus and taxi were right on cue. There’s a little gap in movement now while I wait at the downtown San Jose Tracopa bus station before heading to the border of Panama. But actually I appreciate it.

Before departing L.A. I also hit what should by now be a familiar snag. Costa Rica requires some type of proof of departure before you can be checked in on a flight into their country. Panama has the same requirement but I’d forgotten about it since we now have our residency status and no longer have to go through the goofy hoop of buying a plane ticket that I was going to immediately cancel as soon as I was cleared to go by the ticketing agent. When I got to the counter that’s what I was prepared to do but was pleasantly surprised when the agent was kind enough to just make a note of my status as a Panamanian resident in transit through Costa Rica.

Of course that hassle, along with the long bus ride to the border, could be avoided by just flying into Panama, but it’s so much less expensive to fly through Costa Rica. Whether the trade-off is worth it or not, I can’t say just yet. I’m only halfway through my time on an upholstered rack.