Hopping on a bus in San Jose isn’t quite as easy as it is here. Sure the city has a big Coca-Cola bus terminal, but my bus didn’t leave from there - it was one of the local runs that went from one of the many tiny terminals hidden down little alley ways within a twenty minute walk from the central station. A bus driver and a nice old lady tried to give me directions, but as I don’t speak Spanish and they didn’t speak English we played charades. I lost. I was lost.
Eventually I found the friendly policeman. There is no military in Costa Rica, which has helped them avoid the nasty political coups that have crippled too many Central & South American countries. What Costa Rica does have is la policia at every turn, some of them carry much larger guns than others. The officer I met was quite nice, and very chatty. He walked me around a corner and pointed out where I needed to go.
I thanked him.
I was off.
No? You want a hug?
Because the hug came as an afterthought and a strange angle, I was pressed up against his gun.
Yes, a very real gun.
But I found the bus station.
And when it was time to transfer in Grecia, I found that bus station too.
Welcome to Sarchí.
The town is famous for their carpentry ....
..... but I was blown away by their dulce de leche.
And yes, mountains were seen and very much enjoyed.