The best laid schemes o' mice an' men - Penas Blancas border cossing

As I think was mentioned in the last post here we'd planned to leave Ometepe early, hop on a bus to San Jose and see where we could get to from there. I guess you've realised already from the title that the situation quickly became FUBAR. If you hadn't realised this already, I suggest you read your Burns (or Steinbeck if you're American).

We woke at 7am to find the next ferry was at 9am. No worries. Had some breakfast and made pleasant conversation until the ferry showed up and fulfilled its ferrying duties. All going to plan.


Next stop, bus station. Quickly jump a taxi for the Rivas bus terminal. Bus is leaving imminently no time for snacks. Jammed onto a pretty packed bus. Shoot off for Penas Blancas border crossing. So far so good.

Arrive at border, pay $1 to local community (not sure why, but they won't let you pass without doing it - meh) and head for the border. That was easy. Little did we know that was just the beginning. It had just turned 11am.

Turned back at the border - we need an exit stamp. Walk back to the immigration office to find a disorganised mass of humanity, noone seemingly knowing what was happening and only one window open. We joined the back of what looked like a queue and quickly found that the only way to get anywhere is to march up to the front, find someone you know and get them to let you into the front of the line - either that or just stand around until you can push your way into the queue without anyone attacking you. Unfortunately, we didn't know anyone in the queue and we'd be a little obvious if we blatantly jumped the queue, so we were stuck waiting 3 hours until we could press our way to the front. Stamp, stamp, $2 each please, here's your receipt, done. Quite why it was taking so long? I dunno... Everyone else seemed to be Nicaraguan and carrying tools. Are they looking for work in Costa Rica? Why are they all crossing on a Wednesday afternoon? Is it always like this we asked? Yes. Madness.

So, stamped passports in hand we were relieved to get out of the press of humanity and across the border. Anything to declare? No. Welcome to Costa Rica. Nice. Little did we know that was just the appetiser. The main course was yet to come.

We'd just walked across the border when we were confronted with Costa Rican immigration. Basically the same people we'd just waited behind were now waiting in a line which snaked around the building, into the car park and wove back and forth across the car park like a drunkard who's forgotten where he parked. Nice. It was now 4pm.


The line moved as slowly as the last. Every 10 minutes or so we'd pick up our stuff, move it a few feet and put it down. The queue was showing no signs of dying down or speeding up. By 5:30pm we were still nowhere near the building. 6pm arrives and so does the rain. Little drops pepper those waiting in the line - a few umbrellas go up but mostly everyone maintains the same dispassionate attitude. The shower puts an end to our reading though. Very quickly though the rain intensifies and suddenly people break ranks and dive for the cover of the immigration building's porch. The fairly orderly queue has become a rugby scrum complete with pushing and shoving, complete disregard for any rules and noone to sort it all out. After another hour or so of fighting (almost literally) for a spot to stand in, we're at the immigration desk. Stamp, stamp, no charge to enter Costa Rica, don't need a receipt the stamp is enough, done.

8 hours after arriving at the border we were finally out of the other side. It felt like we'd just been come out of a slow wash cycle with extra spin - we were certainly wet but we weren't any cleaner. Dazed, confused, tired and hungry we stepped into Costa Rica.