Normally there would not be much to tell about leaving a country and returning home, but I felt that in this particular case, it deserved its own post.

After a couple of days in San Juan del Sur, and another couple of nights in Granada, the three of us, Kenny, Dennis & myself, were all ready to leave Nicaragua and start heading home. Our little town of Playas del Coco was calling our name, offering our own beds, and familiar, safe locales. Before we could enjoy those creature comforts of home though, we needed to spend nearly an entire day stuffed into several overcrowded buses traveling between Nicaragua and Costa Rica.

The night before we left I couldn't sleep a wink. Not because I was excited about going home, but because I had picked up a stomach bug at some point over the previous couple of days. Before we left Costa Rica I had not researched the drinking water in Nicaragua, and as it turns out, it is not safe to drink. I found out the hard way, so considered yourself forewarned.

Back Street Nicos of Granada

Luckily there was a pharmacy attached to San Jorges, our $5 a night hostel. The gentleman behind the counter didn't speak much English, but knew exactly what we were trying to convey. Two pills was all it took to give me, and my travel mates, a safe and comfortable ride home over the next 10 hours.

The bus route home was a grueling trek across 150 miles of stop-and-go country roads. We first needed to find our way to Rivas, then catch a connector to the border town of Frontera, which in Spanish literally means "border". This is the same border crossing we visited on our way into Nicaragua, so we thought we were old pros at this point.

Wow, were we ever wrong. This time we did not have our friends with us to guide us through the mayhem. Left up to our own devices, we headed to the building where we received our entry visas for Nicaragua. It had only been a few days, but things had already been changed around. Rather than sliding our passports through a small opening, we now needed to enter the building to clear customs.

We approached the customs agent together, but he only wanted one at a time. At this point we made our first mistake, and split up into separate lines in an effort to speed the process. I had no idea what the man was saying to me, and in my typical fashion during these types of moments, I just smiled, nodded and said "sí, sí."

Loner on the edge of Lake Nicaragua

I maybe understood a little of what he was saying. He pointed to my papers, and in Spanish said, "where have you been in Nicaragua during your stay?" Well, at least that's what I thought he said. I replied that we had visited San Juan del Sur and Granada, each for a few evenings. He accepted that, stamped my passport, and I was on my way.

Traversing the border on foot between these two countries requires you to show your passport & papers to many different border patrol officers along the way. There were no less than three stations on each side which stopped us to verify everything was in order. We were just about to pass station number three in Nicaragua and officially enter Costa Rica when I was singled out and not allowed to pass.

As it turns out, the customs agent who stamped my passport had given me another entry visa, rather than the exit visa I needed. My friends explained that the agent was asking where I was headed, not where I had been. Just another case of being lost in translation.

The patrol officer turned me around, and sent me back from where I came. My friends were stuck in no-mans-land, men without countries as it were, while I fought my way back into the customs building. If our first encounter was confusing, this round was down right uncomfortable. I had to cut in front of everyone else, without explaining why, and argue with the customs officer until he understood what I was saying, and gave me what I needed. Not fun, but I got it done.

Now onto the Costa Rica side of the border, we again pulled our trick of entering the exit of the customs building, saving ourselves a few hours in the process. However, this time did not go as smoothly. In order to enter Costa Rica, you must have proof that you are leaving the country before your 90 day visa expires. Its called Proof of Onward Travel, and is a total pain.

Little Nica in Nicaragua

Not all customs agents ask for this proof, so we decided to try our luck, which we apparently had very little of. The agent asked, and of the three of us, only Kenny had the required onward travel documentation. Dennis & I were not allowed to enter the country until we sorted this out, and the agent provided absolutely no direction as to what we were supposed to do now.

Just outside the building we started asking around... After all, somebody had to know how to get around this, we just needed to find the right person. It didn't take long, and all we needed was a $20 bus ticket. The ticket is good for one year, and we were told this is sufficient documentation for the customs agent.

To our surprised it worked, and we were finally back in our assumed country of Costa Rica. It felt great, and we found our second wind. We needed the extra energy too, because the mix up with customs had caused us to miss our bus. The next departure for Liberia didn't leaving for another hour and a half, much longer than we were expecting.

Once again we turned to the crowd and just started talking. We found a guy that was dropping off his family at the border, then he was headed back to San Jose by way of Liberia. Perfect! We paid him $10 total, and off we went. This was an incredible deal, since the bus would have cost us $9, and the taxis all wanted $40 to $50 for the trip.

It was an express route, straight through to the bus station in Liberia, then onto our last bus directly into Coco. We made it back into town around 4pm that afternoon, just in time to catch to 4pm monkeys. After a monster burger & a basket of fries at Coconuts, I was ready for a two day nap.

Home, sweet, home...