A Thousand Ways to Die in Costa Rica

Follow a group of strangers touring a city on some kind of vehicle — a bus, a duck tour boat, a party bike… anything that transports passengers!

A Thousand Ways to Die in Costa Rica

As the morning sun rose, my wife Linda and I were the first to climb aboard the small, gaily painted tour bus at the San Juan bus depot in the heart of Costa Rica’s throbbing commercial district. The bus looked like it had seen better days—a lot of them. The windows were all wide open.

We had booked a three-day excursion to Playa Quesera beach on the Caribbean side of the country. The bus ride would consume most of day 1, then we'd spend all of day 2 on the beach, and then the bus ride back on day 3. The accommodations for both nights were included. The brochure photos were all exotic and beautiful. The hotel on the Caribbean side was supposed to be on the ocean and first-rate.

“It’s not air-conditioned. Jake.”

Linda was right. Even though it was early morning in mid-November, it was hot and stifling. I moved to the front of the bus to speak with the driver, who, according to his nametag, was "Thiago," a middle-aged man with leathery skin.

“Hi, Thiago. My name is Jake.”

“Si. Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence from New Jersey. Correcto?

“Yes.”

We shook hands. My palms were wet and sweaty. Thiago’s were dry as a bone. I guess it depends on where you're from.

“Thiago, can you please turn on the air-conditioning?”

"She is broken, Senor. But don't worry. Once we're in the mountains, it will be much cooler. In fact, we have a supply of blankets for your comfort on board.”

Mountains? Blankets? We hadn't bargained for any mountains or blankets. Thiago noticed my frown.

“Si Senor. To get to the Caribbean, we must go over the Central Mountains. They are very high. There is only one road over them. On some parts of the road, we will be above the clouds. But don’t worry. I have made this trip many times. As you say in the States, 'I got this'". He smiled, revealing three gold teeth and not much else. I wished he hadn’t.

I went back and took my seat next to Linda.

“Is he going to turn the air-conditioner on?

“It’s out of order. Let's re-think this.

“Why?”

“We have to go over a mountain range to get to the Caribbean. Some parts will be above the clouds. They have blankets so we don’t freeze to death. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“Oh, Jake, don’t be such a worry wart.”

Just then, the side doors to the bus opened, and two young men climbed in. We introduced ourselves and learned they were Jody and Nick, two stockbrokers from New Jersey. They seemed like a couple of really nice guys, excited about the upcoming ‘adventure’ (their words, not mine).

They lugged two surfboards onto the bus and sat down.

"Hey! What is this, the torture bus?" Jody bellowed in Thiago's general direction. "Hey, driver, where's the freakin’ A/C?” Nick added. Thiago ignored them.

"The A/C is broken," I explained. "But we have to go over a mountain range later, and the driver says we'll need blankets instead of A/C."

“Blankets?” Nick laughed. “We don’t need no stinking blankets!”

A minute later, the doors on the side of the bus opened again, and an elderly couple came aboard. There were handshakes all around, and we all learned they were Edgar and Nancy Buchanan, two retirees from, you guessed it, New Jersey.

"Hot in here," Edgar commented.

“Yeah, the A/C is broken,” I explained, “but Thiago says we won’t need it once we get up into the mountains.”

"Good to know," Nancy said, fanning herself.

“All aboard!” yelled Thiago as he jammed the bus into gear with a grinding sound that rattled the seats.

The minute we pulled out of the bus depot into San Juan morning traffic it started to rain.

“What the hell is this?” Nick yelled. “It better not rain on the Caribbean side tomorrow!”

"Not to worry, senor," Thiago shouted back. "This is the tail end of the rainy season."

I put my arm around Linda in an attempt to shield her from the raindrops blowing in through the open bus windows. Shutting the windows was not an option due to the sticky morning heat.

Thiago maneuvered the old bus through city traffic. As we got outside of town, things opened up. The city traffic was replaced by a seemingly endless procession of eighteen-wheelers. The rain continued. Steady and wet. As the trip progressed, I noticed we were definitely going up. It wasn’t steep, but the incline was steady and constant.

The road was heart stopping. It was a three-lane road with one lane dedicated to each direction and the center lane used for passing in both directions. This meant that due to the endless procession of eighteen-wheelers, we'd occasionally get behind one creeping along the upgrade with a load of cinderblocks or some other heavy material. Thiago would stick his head out the window to see if it was okay to pass the slow-moving vehicle. This was tricky. The trucks going the other way had no such difficulty because they were going downhill. If one of them decided to pass a slower truck they would go by us in the center lane at what seemed like the speed of light. Moreover, if Thiago chose to go for it, he had no way to be sure we weren't following a platoon of slow trucks traveling together. In other words, if he decided to venture out into the passing lane, there was no guarantee he'd be able to get back into our lane before being obliterated by a fast truck passing in the other direction. Every time Thiago pulled into the passing lane I thought of Clint Eastwood's warning: "Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”

The rain continued without letup as we ascended higher and higher into the Central Mountains. It was easily 15 or 20 degrees cooler now than in San Juan when we left. Jody got a supply of blankets from the back of the bus, and we all gratefully accepted.

Thiago advised that we should all move to seats on the driver’s side of the bus. He also requested that all luggage and surfboards be transferred to the driver’s side. When I asked him why, he said the remote parts of the road over the Central Mountains had no guardrails, and redistributing the weight was done to minimize the chance of the bus sliding off the road. “Some of the turns are banked the wrong way. It’s a mile straight down,” Thiago said. Terrific, I thought.

I looked out the window, and we were above the clouds. It was beautiful. This was the first time I had seen anything like it. It almost made the trip worth it. Almost.

Nancy Buchanan must have thought the same thing because she got out of her seat and moved to the passenger side of the bus to take a picture with her phone. “Please sit down on the driver’s side!” Thiago yelled from the driver’s seat. There was panic in his voice. Edgar jumped to his feet in an effort to pull Nancy over to the driver’s side. I could feel the driver’s side wheels of the bus coming off the ground. We were going over! Just then, the side doors of the bus opened with a whoosh, and Nancy and Edgar fell out into the clouds. The bus settled back down on all four wheels with a thump.

The four of us stared at Thiago with our mouths agape. “I had to do it!” He cried. “We were all going over!”

Thiago kept driving. The bus kept rolling,

“How far to the floor of the canyon?” Jody asked.

“About a mile straight down. Maybe a little more.” Thiago replied.

“What are the chances they’ll be found?” Jody continued.

“None. It’s heavy jungle down there.” Thiago said. “A few years ago, a bus full of tourists went over the side right around here during a monsoon. The authorities organized search parties. It went on for days. The only thing they found was the gas cap from the bus. No bodies, no debris, nothing. It's amazing what Boa Constrictors can do when they’re hungry and pissed off.”

“Are we sure we want to play it this way?” I asked.

There was stony silence in return. We all sat deep in our thoughts until we arrived at Playa Quesera on the Caribbean coast a few hours later.

When we checked in, the desk clerk asked about the missing tourists. He had expected seven quests, not five. Thiago explained in Spanish that two guests, the Buchanans, had canceled at the last minute. The desk clerk was unhappy and reminded Thiago that a 30% late cancellation fee had to be paid. We all agreed to chip in and cover the difference.

When we got to our rooms, it was the first time I noticed that the hotel had no screens covering the windows. It was all open air. The brochure had neglected to mention that. A howler monkey visited our room at one point and scared the shit out of Linda. Me too. Thiago warned us to avoid leaving anything shiny, like phones, coins, watches, glasses, etc. out in the open. The monkeys would steal them. He also advised that the mosquito nets over the beds were not decorations. They were essential for survival. Dengue Fever was the chief concern.

Given the absence of a bar and a TV, Linda and I turned in early. I slept fitfully, worrying about monkeys, mosquitos, and dead bodies, not necessarily in that order.

The next day was beautiful, and the hotel's breakfast was excellent: fresh fruit, a selection of fresh juices, and the best coffee I ever had. However, this did little to lift our spirits as we headed for the beach and the chaises provided by the hotel.

Jody and Nick were already in the water, paddling far offshore on their surfboards and catching waves. They were outstanding surfers.

We spent the whole day on the beach, and, at suppertime, we were treated to the hotel’s specialty: Costa Rican Shimp Ceviche, one of the best shrimp dishes I’ve ever had. After dinner, as we were returning to our rooms, Thiago asked that we be on the bus, ready to roll, about an hour after dawn.

The following morning, Linda and I were on the bus, all packed up and ready to go, when we saw Jody screaming and waving his arms from the beach: “Help! Nick’s been bitten by a shark!”

It turns out that Jody and Nick got up early and hit the waves, looking to get a couple more rides before returning to San Juan. Unfortunately, Nick crossed paths with a shark looking for breakfast.

We all ran down to the beach, including the desk clerk and the rest of the hotel staff with some first aid gear. The chunk the shark had torn out of Nick’s leg was big and bleeding.

Thiago and the desk clerk were engaged in an intense discussion in Spanish. When they'd finished, Thiago approached Jody, Linda, and me to discuss the situation. Unfortunately, the medical facilities in the area were very limited. They recommended we clean and dress the wound, stopping the bleeding as much as possible, and then transport him back to San Juan in the bus so he can get proper treatment in one of the major hospitals. They said it was Nick's best chance of survival.

“Okay, let’s get to it,” Jody said.

A half-hour later, we were underway. Nick lay on the bus floor on his surfboard, his leg freshly bandaged. We tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

We proceeded uneventfully for a few hours until we were near the top of the Central Mountain Range. It was slow going on the upslope. There were plenty of eighteen-wheelers to keep us company. Suddenly, the side doors to the bus burst open, and two men charged aboard. They had bandanas over their faces and carried pistols. They were yelling in Spanish. Thiago brought the bus to a stop.

"It's all right," Thiago said with his hands in the air. "They just want our money. They're not going to hurt us."

Just then, there was a loud BONK as Jody clobbered one of the bandits with his surfboard. The bandit fell to the floor, and his gun slid to my feet. I grabbed it. The other bandit pumped three shots into Jody, who fell backward against a window. I returned fire, hitting the bandit twice. He fell to the floor on top of Nick. I heard moans. It was the first bandit recovering from the surfboard clobbering. I fired a round into his kneecap to incapacitate him. His screams were somehow therapeutic.

When we finally arrived in San Juan, Thiago drove straight to the Hospital de Dios, supposedly the top hospital in town.

The bandit I shot was dead. So was Jody. Nick didn't make it either. He apparently expired on the trip. The bandit I shot in the knee survived, albeit with a limp and a lengthy prison term.

The police held my passport for a couple of weeks while they sorted things out. I probably would have been in trouble without Thiago. He went to bat for me and made me a hero instead of a villain.

I invited Thiago to come to New Jersey the following year. He was surprised Linda was no longer with me. I explained I had lost her to Dengue Fever a few months earlier.

Thiago and I remain friends to this day.