www.CostaRicaTicas.com

CR DRIVING: PUERTO VIEJO TO SIXAOLA, CR AND GUABITO, PANAMA

On the third day of our stay in Puerto Viejo, my wingmen (Oscars Bueno and Malo), my beach chica (Maritza) and I enjoyed a day trip to Guabito, Panama. The trip from PV to Sixaola is about 40 km. Although PV is not very far from Panama, the only road through PV dead-ends in Manzanilla. From Manzanilla you can either hike through the jungle or take a boat to reach Panama.

In order to drive to the Panama border, you need to head for the Sixaola border crossing. You must double-back on the dusty road to Hwy #36 (about 5 km). Don’t forget to check out with the Fuerza Publica before reaching the highway (he will ask to see your passport). Make a left onto Hwy #36, and head towards Bribri…another 5 or 6 km away. The drive to Bribri crosses a few small mountains and is very scenic. Banana trees occupy the valleys below. Upon reaching Bribri, veer left to stay on Hwy #36. Bribri is a small farming community with a few shops and sodas, a bomba and even a bank. Bribri is on the doorstep of the Talamanca Indigenous Reservation…two small roads just south of Bribri off of Hwy #36 will take you there. I believe some prior arrangements with the Indigenous tribe are necessary before you receive an invitation to visit there.

The 30 km to Sixaola is an easy drive…the road is new and flat with few potholes. We experienced a few curves where the pavement is deteriorated probably due to washouts. You will pass through several small villages (Olivia, Margarita and Daytonia) before arriving in Sixaola. There is a banana processing plant along the way, where you can watch freshly harvested bananas being readied for trucking to Limon. About 2 km before reaching Daytonia, there is a small dirt road off to the left. This road will take you to an airfield and Gandoca, the southern access to the Manzanilla-Gandoca Preserve.

As you approach Sixaola, the road changes to dirt and gravel. A long line of tractor-trailers will be waiting patiently at the border crossing. An old railroad bridge constructed in 1908 by the Baltimore Bridge Company spans 400 meters across the Sixaola River. It is very dilapidated, narrow, and single-lane with railroad ties and planking for decking. After closer inspection, it is apparent that it has not been maintained for decades. The bridge accommodates both truck and pedestrian traffic. Only one truck at a time is permitted to crawl across the bridge at 5 kph, so it is not unusual for a trucker to wait several hours for his turn to cross. The flow of pedestrians and trucks is regulated by a flagman stationed mid-span. A partial catwalk on the easterly side of the bridge offers pedestrians some protection for the first 150 meters, but then ends abruptly in the middle of the bridge. On cue from the flagman, walkers are permitted to cross the middle span, but they must tread cautiously…one step at a time…without falling through the openings between old railroad ties and the river below. After crossing the bridge, a drink at the bar on the other side is definitely in order!

As we approached the line of trucks, two young men wearing official-looking ID badges around their necks motioned for us to follow them. Our duty driver, “Oscar Bueno,” followed their lead. One of the gentlemen, who spoke some English, identified himself as an official guide and showed us his ID. He pointed towards a fenced in area next to a store and told us we could park there, because rental cars were not permitted to enter Panama. (We didn’t feel like waiting six hours in line either, so we parked the SUV). The two escorted us over the bridge bypassing Panamanian immigration. Several armed soldiers, outfitted in their finest US Army surplus uniforms, nonchalantly gave us the eye. We headed for a little bar located at the foot of the bridge and sipped a few Cervezas. Panamanian beer is good and cheap…less than $2 for a round of six. Our English-speaking guide, Juan Carlos, told us that he lived in Panama, but would like to come to the US. We told him that he was probably better off staying in Panama. Juan Carlos explained that he would make “all the necessary arrangements” for safe travel and accommodations in Panama (including our chicas) if we ever planned to visit Panama. We strolled around the little town for about two hours, did some shopping, and were amazed at how cheap things are… compared to even CR. Juan Carlos took us down an abandoned track bed to a large warehouse. It turns out, the old warehouse is the local Panamanian “Sam’s Club,” stocked with very inexpensive goods ranging from canned goods to major appliances, clothing and even Swiss watches. I watched Maritza’s face light up as she wandered towards the clothing section. 30 Bucks got her a new pair of jeans, a denim skirt, two matching tops, a pair of knock-off Puma sneakers and some socks.

As we headed back to the border crossing, we stopped in a general store to get something cold to drink. I noticed several shelves of very inexpensive liquor…many with brand names that I never heard of. Once outside the store, we were mobbed by a small army of shoe shine boys. The k*ds were very polite, but persistent. We ended up giving away all our loose change before crossing the bridge. On the way out, Juan Carlos asked if we would like to have a souvenir entrance stamp in our passports. Our passports were stamped and returned to us. (Travel outside of the Panama border zone requires a $5 tourist card that is valid for 30 days.) We made our way carefully across the bridge and back to CR. Nobody asked to see our passports on the CR side either. When we reached our SUV, Juan Carlos informed us that the souvenir stamps and parking fee cost $5 per person… for a total of $20. Oscar Bueno pointed out that Maritza’s cedula did not get a stamp, and that my passport really didn’t get a stamp because it was just a laminated copy. We gave him $10 for his efforts (which we thought was more than generous). Juan Carlos grumbled a little bit, but then resigned himself to the fact that this was all he was getting from us gringos.

Oscar Bueno, who has a lead foot, headed the SUV down the gravel road towards PV. 3 km along Hwy #36, the SUV was almost launched in the air (like the scene in Steve McQueen’s movie, “Bullit.”) when we hit an abrupt 45 Degree down grade in the gravel road. Oscar hit the brakes just in the nick of time! At the foot of the incline is an ID checkpoint manned by a sour-faced Fuerza Publica policia man named Jorge Jiminez. He took his time studying the Oscars’ passports. Jorge completely bypassed Maritza, perhaps it was her feminine charm, but when he got to my laminated copy, he was not amused. “No possible,” he said staring me in the eye. I said nothing. He kept staring at the copied document for a minute or two…thinking. Officer Jiminez handed my makeshift passport back to me and waved us through…as if to say, “Get the phuck out of my sight!”

With Oscar Bueno at the throttle, we made it back to PV in no time for more partying and another night to remember.

Happy Motoring in CR!

_________________
Blue Devil

Pura Vida...enjoying life to the fullest...

Anouther nice report.You are quite an adventurer.I have done a bit of driving in CR in the past but decided traveling alone the bus system worked better for me.rbc100

Nice report BlueDevil. You truly are as adventurous as I am. After doing biz in Limon a couple weeks ago, I took that same route to Sixiola and over that border for the first time. It actually worked fine as an alternative way to Panama city. I took a taxi from Limon to Sixoala ($50...could have taken a bus if I had more time for less than $2-3), got inundated by the K*ds and "licensed" guides on the CR side...but let the older one carry my bag and escort me to the somewhat unmarked CR immigration post to stamp my way out. Then we jaunted quickly ahead of a large group of young backpackers...some european, some gringos...across the rickety bridge to the Panama side immigration. My "helper" was trying to get me through fast because I had booked a regional plane ride from Changinola, Panama to Panama City. It was going on 4PM and my plane left at 4:40Pm. I didnt think I was going to make it. BUT...the K*D helped push me through the growing line in the small immigration shack on the Panama side and arranged for my taxi on the Panama side. First price was $25 to take me to Changanola, but I knew the price to be $10...so after an initial grumble, he arranged my $10 fare in a newer 4 wheel drive Toyota truck with a laid back friendly Panamanian driver. The taxi ride was about 30 minutes to the airport...and the plane was a little late so I was able to pay the ticket and plenty of time for the 85 minute plane ride to Panama City regional airport. This whole trip from Limon took 7 hours and around $130...all last minute travel. With the air prices between San Jose and Panama being sky high right now...especially last minute...this is a nice option for traveling to Panama with some adventure and lower price. With the regional flights, you can show up 15 minutes before the flight and still pay and get on the plane. Like the good ole days of flying domestically in the USA. I also have done the same trip going from San Jose to the Paos Canoas border to David and flying David to Panama. Regional flights average around $65 each way. You dont have to buy round trip so you have more flight and time flexibility. The border crossings are a pain and like something out of "Future World", but its an adventurous and inexpensive way to see Central America. Congrats on your spirit of adventure and getting out of the gulch...

Tman,

Thanks for the additional intel on traveling in Panama! I intend to take in that country, too, before the year is over. I have heard a lot of good things about Panama, and wish to check it out. From what I've read, the infrastructure is in pretty good shape down there...a major consideration when deciding where to make my hideaway/retirement home.

The licensed guides and k*ds at the border are pretty neat and very helpful. They are not like the usual touts one encounters in San Jose and other parts of the world. From my discussions with Juan Carlos, I sensed that he is someone who can deliver the goods. It's nice to hear that the assistance offered by these guides actually works...as in your case.

I also did the Paso Canoas border crossing on a subesequent trip down the Intermamerican Hwy by way of San Vito. PC is like a carnival in an old wild west town.

I would appreciate any other good scoop you have on Panama.

Muchas gracias, amigo!

_________________
Blue Devil

Pura Vida...enjoying life to the fullest...

Consider this story, by Chefortune:


In case you ever consider a bus trip to Panama:

From Inside Costa Rica Aug 3, 04:


No Mans Land, Paso Canoas, Costa Rica
By traveler: chefortune

The border crossing between Costa Rica and Panama has to be the least hospitable in Central America, if not in the entire continent. Today I crossed it on bus for the second time in a place called Paso Canoas (the passing of canoes) and I really wish I was passing gently down a serene river on a canoe instead of going through the red tape mayhem they have set out for tourists here.

The first time around, I was heading northbound with all my luggage from Panama City to San José, and I hit the border at around 5 a.m., after roughyl 8 hours of overnight travel. All 60 passengers disemabarked and grabbed their luggage from the underneath compartments, then were ushered into a dingy room and made to wait for more than an hour until the border patrol opened up. Then began the search...a three-ring circus that began with them strategically positioning us in various parts of aforementioned dingy room, whilst having us line up the luggage in neat rows. In came a drug sniffing dog that merrily leapt and sniffed among the rows of bags as we looked on. All except for a blind man on the bus who was rightly wondering what the hell was going on.


After the pooch was taken back out, we were asked to orderly line up to have our bags searched. Thus began the frenzy of everyone trying to find their cases in the rows and get back in line to have one of the two officers massacre their neat packing jobs with grubby hands, throwing books, sunscreen and lingerie flying in all directions on the worn counter. Every bag was gone through in this manner, by only two officials. So for 60 people, times at least two cases each, plus backpacks, purses and the odd bodybag (ok, not really), there were more than 200 pouches of crime in all to be sifted through. When it came to my turn, the flary-nostrilled cretin beholden to the search of my boxers and socks had trouble figuring out why I was Irish but lived in Argentina. This conundrum, which one could physically see being twirled around in his head, came out in the eloquently grunted question,"Are you an (expletive) gaucho?" Having answered in the negative, I could see he was pained to have to think once again. His next ploy was to try and figure out how it could be possible that the person in front of him, frail and tired at 5 am after a long bus ride, could be the same person in the passport photo of what was surely a happier moment several years earlier. "You used to be fat," was his epiphanous summation of this mental puzzle. After several minutes of such pithy conversation with the official, I was on my way.


The fun was far from over yet, though, as the bus took off with our luggage to the other side, while we were left to deal with Panamanian immigration. AKA the place where you buy a $1 stamp which was the brainchild of a local politician, for the sole reason to make him money. Ingenious.


After this, we had to enter the obstacle course of the physical border crossing--a stretch of a couple hundred metres of dust, potholes, a giant truck wash and seedy looking businesses. Then the mirror process of immigration lines and bag searching began on the Costa Rican side.


Nearly a full four hours after arriving 200m down the road, we headed off once again, only to be stopped three more times on the road for passport checks done by police. At one of these, two unsuspecting Jamaican ladies who had forgotten to get the Costa Rican stamp were hauled off to be carted back to the hinterlands of the border crossing.


A month later, I was hurtled back into this fray once again, this time consolidating my luggage in hopes of a smoother time. However, the wily border crones had a better scheme set up for me this time, which was a crossing in broad daylight. As soon as we disembarked and lined up on the Costa Rican side, we were flanked by a crowd of K*ds offering to show us the way to the Panamanian side. Since there is only one road in Paso Canoas, and only one direction to get to the other side, this seems like a no-brainer and the K*ds are usually shooed away at first.


But the knee-high knowitalls are persistent and follow you all the way down, and they actually become useful after a while, when you buy your $1 useless stamp and face off with the growling border official who persists to ask you a series of questions despite having all the answers in front of him on a piece of paper you just handed him.


At the end of this process, they tell you that they decided you have to buy a tourist card (only sometimes and for some travellers, apparently depending on their mood--two Canadians travelling on my bus needed one also, but two Brits did not, even though they tried waving money to buy one, just to be safe, but were refused). This is where the pestering K*ds actually became useful, dragging us off to a little hidden away office where the toursit cards are issued.


Here I was pitted against another official who asked all questions whose answers lay right in front of her. When she asked which Ireland I was from and I told her, I was told it didn´t exist. Silly me, there is no Republic of Ireland, just South Ireland. South Ireland is my new citizenship.


Anyway, after forking over my $5 for this completely useless bit of paper saying that this poor schmuck from South Ireland can have 90 days in Panama, I returned with my pint size guides, whom I was kind of warming up to at this point.


Back to grunting official number one, who, despite the lack of a queue at this point, waited a good 2 minutes before talking to me. Then he told me I needed another piece of paper that the previous official hadn´t given me.


A mad dash back through the dust, and the paper was there. "It must have dropped" she told me. Right. Back for a third time to the grunter, who by this time was actually gone. In his place was a border official who was all smirky and persisted in calling me Fortune, as he asked me a series of questions, the answers to which were on the papers in front of him.


Then, escorted by the lollipop guild representatives, I went to have my bag examined, hauling it up and proudly unlocking it and opening it up ready for inspection. The official took one look at my passport and asked, though the answer lay in front of him, "Where are you from?" South Ireland I responded, then he handed the passport back and told me to go ahead, I was finished. He didn't even bother to see that I had packed clean underwear this time.


The K*ds all lined up around for their reward for a job well done, more joining up with the two who had helped me out from the start (or more accurately, bugged the hell out of me in the start, then helped me later on). Apparently all the town were their cousins and felt that through their blood relation were entitled to some contribution on my part as well. Though they were happy enough to be told that I would look for them specifically on my next voyage through. Next time, however, it will be a serene passing in a canoe.

_________________
PacoLoco: "You pay for it one way or another."
Ace: "Rent everything, do not buy in Costa Rica"