Bordering on insanity

You know something isn't quite right when a two hour border crossing makes the rest of a 9 hour bus ride feel like a breeze. But such was the case crossing the border from Costa Rica to Nicaragua, on our way from San Jose to Granada.

It sounded like it would be a piece of cake when one of my coworkers told me about the experience. "They collect your passports on the bus and take care of everything for you," I thought I heard. "You don't have to wait in line." That memory must have been my imagination.

The bus operator did, in fact, collect our passports. Twice, actually. First, they take everyone's passports to get stamped departing Costa Rica. Then, as you pass through Costa Rica's border post into Nicaragua (where it seemingly got hotter by about 10 degrees) they handed passports back, calling names out one by one on the bus. Next, you pay the $8 entry fee for Nicaragua (which they say is only for Nicaragua, but in fact there's one on the flip side for Costa Rica, albeit somewhat less) and they collect passports once more to get the entry stamp for Nicaragua.

At that point, we filed out of the bus. People milled about gathering their luggage out of the bus's baggage compartment, while Avalon and I were able to get a head start at the customs line since we only had carry on luggage. Convenient, but we had to wait for everyone to process, anyway. Customs itself was uneventful. You present your customs card and then press a big yellow button and try your hand at customs roulette, as a stop light will light up either green or red. Green means you're home free (relatively speaking, as you're free to go stand by the bus and wait for everyone else) but red means you go get your bags searched. Avalon and I both passed with green. But behind us, an old nun in a white habit pushed the button and was greeted with a red light. I assume she'll get her reward in Heaven.

Finally, after fending off locals trying to sell us gum, spirographs, and passport wallets, and waiting for the rest of our co-passengers to pass customs, a border agent passed out passports and we boarded the bus and ambled on to Granada. As we left, I noticed a mass of people lined up to get their passports stamped on the other side of the building where we had been. As bad as the border wait was, I imagine if you didn't have a bus company coordinating your crossing, it could be much worse.

Now, the border crossing on the return trip included a much quicker trip through the Nicraguan side, but logically, Costa Rica then wanted to make sure we weren't bringing anything nasty back. We also had to get out of the bus to get our passports stamped, which I didn't mind at all, except the guards were very anal about which way the line went. Costa Ricans tend to be arbitrarily anal about rules that don't matter at all, while simiulanously ignoring general principles and otherwise helpful rules. (Expect a blog post on this soon.)

We got our stamps (and yes, the 3 days out of the country does get you another three months on a tourist visa, or so it seems) and went to customs. Which, strangely enough, was much less organized than the Nicraguan side.

At Penas Blancas on the Nicaraguan border, Costa Rica customs consists essentially of a man in a dirty button down shirt and dress pants ordering everyone line up to put their luggage on a bench outside the office. Then, he first inspects not the luggage or its contents, but the manner in which the luggage is lined up. If it's on its side a certain way, or not maximizing the space of the bench, he will rearrange it. After several minutes of this aimless activity, the man dissapears. After 10 minutes doing God knows what, he returns, and he and his cronies rifle through the luggage briefly to inspect for whatever they inspect for at customs. Except, if you're like Avalon and I, standing in between the benches because no one told you to move or put your luggage down, then you apparently don't get checked, as we slid away surreptitiously without being searched. (Lord knows what we could have smuggled into the country and could be selling now for triple my Tico Times salary). All this time I was sweating profusely and trying to do the math in my head of how much the country pays the customs man and his cronies to do what a simple x-ray machine could do at a much faster rate, and how much said machine would cost or save in the long run. But, by the time I could finish my math, we were back boarding the bus and on our way to San Jose. This actually took a while. I am bad at math.

Border issues aside, we had a fantastic three days in Nicraragua. The country--well Granada at least--is cheap and charming. Expect further posts on our stay in the next day or so.