I don’t want to hear about Tico Time. Where did that expression even originate? It has been around for at least the 35 years I have lived here. It was likely coined by some impatient gringo who first said it in a voice of irritation and disgust. Personally I’ve never had a problem with a casual approach to punctuality.
If I wanted to be controlled by the clock, I’d have never left my nine to five phone company job in Washington, DC. One of the many positives of life here is the laid back, pura vida outlook that says that being late for social gatherings and other appointments is not a crime. And the reality is that even if you leave with time to spare to make a meeting, there are obstacles awaiting you as soon as you step out the door. Take what happened to me last week.
I had a doctor’s appointment in town. I left early, to allow myself time to park in a public lot and walk to the medical building. I took my usual route, only to find that the one-lane bridge by the river was closed as rains had swollen the river, which then washed away much of the earthen structure supporting each side of the bridge.
I turned around, headed back up the hill, past my house and came to a crawl behind the municipal garbage truck. Something was happening at the barrio grade school and cars were parked along both sides of the narrow street. For the next few minutes, unable to pass, I breathed the pungent air and watched the workers fling leaking bags of garbage into the grinding maw of the truck. Finally, the truck made a turn and I was able to proceed.
At the intersection to the four lane highway, traffic crawled. There had been a small crash, a fender bender, and the drivers waited outside their cars for the guy from INS to show up and write up an accident report. Five minutes later, I was passing the barely damaged cars, already late for my appointment.
These are but minor inconvenience compared to the delays that mount when extreme nature decides to make its presence felt. Landslides close important highways for days at a time. Flooding chases people to higher ground. About ten years ago, I arrived in San Jose for an outgoing flight that was cancelled because Volcan Turrialba erupted.
The runways were covered in ash and visibility was limited. Juan Santamaria airport looked like a hostel for stranded vagabonds. Hundreds of passengers stuck waiting, lounging in chairs, hunkered down on the floor. I spent the night at a hotel Alajuela and was lucky to catch a flight out the next day.
There is a week every year– the final week of July leading to the Dia de la Virgin on the second of August. Depending on where you are in the country, you may be delayed by groups of true believers, walking toward Cartago. And there was a time in Costa Rica when it was common for protesting groups to block highways, sometimes for days, to get the attention of the government, but that practice was made illegal a few years back, so that is one less delay to encounter.
As for my doctor’s appointment– I arrived fifteen minutes late– and waited another 30 minutes until the doctor could see me. Pura Vida!
