The ship stopped in Puntarenas for 13+ hours.
It stopped this long because everyone was getting on buses and going on great long excursions. To see “real” Costa Rica.
If they took him to San Jose, he would get good treatment. Back when I didn’t have medical insurance, San Jose, Costa Rico was a part of my “Plan B”.
I didn’t book any excursions. I wasn’t even going to get off the boat. Well, of course, I got off the boat. And the first thing I noticed was there huge tire tread marks along the hull of our nice white ship.
I started on the wrong foot. I couldn’t walk on the white lines no matter how hard I tried. According to Google Puntarenas is a small flat sand spit. 4 short blocks at the widest. I can not get lost. So, off I go.
The cute little train goes from the ship to the customs control point. I walked. That’s were I had trouble with walking on the white lines.
Google says it’s $30 a night. I bet it’s cheaper.
These hotels are across the street from the beach.
There are more expensive-looking hotels on the beach. This is a pretty fragile-looking town. It’s absolutely flat with water on two sides. The high tide line is inches from the street on both sides.
On both sides the beaches have a distressing amout of plastic debris. The bottle caps and buttons are bad enough. But the tiny pieces of plastic are worse. The people I had dinner with complained about how dirty the town is. My standards aren’t very high and I felt the town was perfectly acceptable.
Funny story for my Asylum family.
Why I don’t pick up men (anymore). I was having a early dinner, alone, in one of the two “traditional” dinning rooms. And interesting, lively old woman comes up and engages one of the waiters in conversation. Seems that she is looking for a man, she thinks his name is Daniel. He is Asian, maybe. They were supposed to have dinner together. But she doesn’t see the gent.
Well, all of us passengers have “air tags” and the ship knows were we are all the time. (Think about that.) Well, the waiter types in Dan and get several location hits. One is in the other dining room. A man’s picture pops up. It’s her date. His name is actually Danny. The woman happily goes off for a night of dinner and who knows what else. And I very happily return to my Janet Evanovich book while I await my dinner.
Why I don’t pick up men (anymore). I could have been that woman. I would completely forget the guy’s name and where I was supposed to meet up with him. And was he Asian or not?