Today we took the colectivo from the Osa Biodiversity Center to Matapalo beach. You have to understand that in most Latin countries, colectivos are usually a mini-bus. Here, however, due to the road conditions between Puerto Jimenez and Carate, the famous blue colectivo is a truck with a canvas-covered rear bed, lined on both sides with benches. I was with Liliana, Friends of the Osa's program manager based in Washington, DC, and Sonia, who has been volunteering with us for a couple of weeks now.
Since Liliana hadn't taken the colectivo before, Sonia and I were trying to explain the experience to her while we waited. That's probably a good point to make first - you have to walk to the road and wait for the colectivo. It has a fixed schedule, leaving from Puerto Jimenez to Carate twice a day and returning twice a day, so you usually have a pretty good idea of when it will pass your stop, in our case the Escuela Rio Piro. But this isn't like waiting at a bus stop in any American city. During this time of year, the truck is surprisingly consistent as the road is dry and has been well-maintained. However, I understand that during the rainy season when conditions worsen, it can be a crap shoot as to when the colectivo passes.
Another thing that is different, yet somehow similar to bus stops in the States, is that there is always something to watch while you wait. Back home you might people watch, or watch drivers talk on their cell phones, text friends, sip coffee out of disposable containers or even read books [yes, drivers] as they speed by the bus stop. Here, you often hear racket in the trees above the road and look up to see curious white-faced capuchin monkeys, scan the forest to locate the singing bird that sounds so close, or ponder the salient color of a passion fruit vine that dangles from a tree along the road. And then the roar of the big blue truck breaks your meditation.
The driver stops, and you tell him where you're going. If you're a guy, you climb up the rear gate, swinging your leg over and tumbling into the mass of passengers. However, if you're a woman, or traveling with women as I was today, the driver gets out and opens the gate, helping you up, and makes sure that you're situated before climbing into the cabin and roaring off.
The ride is noisy, dusty [at least at this time of the year], and quite bumpy, at times jolting you into the air off your seat. Your options are to grab the wooden gate behind you, clasp the bench tightly [which only works if there aren't too many people inside], or lean forward with your elbows on you knees which seems to work fairly well and I'm sure is funny for the locals as it looks like you're praying.
I've been impressed so far with the handful of colectivo trips that I've made, that the driver always remembers the stops that people have indicated. Although I guess it isn't very complicated being that his route is the only road on this side of the peninsula and there's only places that anyone would want to stop every few kilometers. So I take that back, it really isn't very impressive at all. The deboarding process respects the same rules as boarding: guys fend for themselves and you hope you don't snag anything on a bolt and fall face first into the dirt, while women enjoy the attentiveness of the driver. I suppose you still experience similar behavior in other parts of the world, but I tend to think of this as part of being in Latin America.
Here are a couple of other things that have reminded me that as idyllic as it can seem down here much of the time, that I'm still in Latin America:
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