San Jose to Granada

The last few days I spent in San Jose were fraught and stressful, I’d had my camera stolen in a bar and devoted the rest of the time to finding a new one. There are places in San Jose, near the infamous Marcado Borbon with its piles of produce and grubby shop holders, where you can buy the hundreds of digital cameras and camcorders stolen from tourists every day. This area has the reputation of being very dangerous and though I shop there for fresh fruit almost daily the thought of carrying massive wads of cash around didn’t appeal in the slightest. Luckily, after mooching about the hostel for a few hours I met André, a blonde South African surfer with a very strong accent who’d fallen foul of thieves and didn’t want to pay $300 for a new camera. ‘Alright Bru’ he smiled when I told him about the “Black Market”, ‘sounds great.’ The next day we took a taxi through the outskirts of the red-light district towards the market but became lodged in fearsome traffic jams. As Tico after Tico revved his engine, beeped his horn and became increasingly agitated André got talking to our driver with the help of my horrible translations:

Gringo’s: Ah, it’s very busy here!

Taxi Driver: @#*&ing busses, they clog up all the roads. (He gives a five-minute explanation of the entire San Jose traffic system complete with eloquent hand gestures.) Why are you going to Marcado Borbon anyway?

Gringo’s: (Bashfully) We had our camera’s stolen and we really need to buy new ones, do you know a shop?
Taxi Driver: See, that is the problem with tourists. You must hide your stuff like all Tico’s do, look… (he swerves across the road to show us his socks, explaining that he hides his wallet there.) A lot of Costa Rican’s rob tourists. Many of my friends do, but I am a taxi driver and all I do is drive my taxi. Hey, do you want any cocaine?

Gringo’s: (to each other) did he say… I think he… what??? (to Taxi Driver) we’re alright thanks!

Taxi Driver: (Pulling up at Marcado Borbon) Ok, watch out for thieves because they’re probably going to rob you here… bye!

The camera shops we found when we got out of the cab were bizarre, places selling mountains of mobile phones and foothills of welding equipment for some strange reason. After two hours of bartering we found what we were looking for and went back to the hostel where I met my friend Emma and took her to the movies.


Plaza Morazon, somewhere in the Red Light District


Sleazy market

This morning I caught the bus straight to Granada. We left San Jose as the sun was beginning to come up over the roofs of the 70’s era government buildings and the green dome of the national theatre. I’d been unable to find anyone traveling up north but the need to return to the road proper was making me antsy so at the last minute I forfeited my plans to travel with an English girl to the beach and took a taxi to the Ticabus headquarters instead. Nothing happened till the border, but there amid the fruit juice sellers and crowds, moneychangers and armed policemen I bumped into Arma. A 32 year old Dutch woman, she’d just finished working in Costa Rica and was heading north to Cancun, Mexico. We decided it was less lonely traveling together and for the rest of the bus ride we sat together as I pondered over a pile of $1 DVD’s I’d borrowed. Later we arrived in Granada, capital of Nicaragua’s growing tourist scene. The tiled pavements and crumbling colonial roofs are a delight to someone who’s been dealing with the 1984esq architecture of San Jose.


Rosie in San Jose

Arma in Granada