This article is one of a series on life in the campo, or country living in Costa Rica, as my wife and I* experienced it on our visits and after moving to Costa Rica. Each is a sort of time capsule, the stories evolving with us as we have lived more experiences and delved deeper into the culture.

Having lived for nearly 5 years outside New York City, I know traffic jams. My commute was roughly an hour each way with spikes up to 3 hours, depending on what happened 30 miles away. When people are zipping 6 lanes across — in one direction — at 80 miles an hour, it doesn’t take a lot to turn a superhighway into something that closely resembles a mall parking lot at Christmastime.

Our list of things we were looking forward to about life in the campo in Costa Rica included not having to sit in traffic jams. I mean, you don’t exactly have 12-lane highways out this way; in fact, they usually are between 2 and 1 lane — with the bridges almost all the time one way. I was commenting to Ana (our assistant) that I don’t know why they bother putting “puente angosto” (narrow bridge) signs up — it would be much more efficient to just put “puente ancho” (wide bridge) at the few exceptions. I thought it could really save the government a lot of money, but nobody else seems to see the sense in the idea.

 Well, it turns out we do have traffic jams here, but they are very Costa Rican. Not having lived in Costa Rica that long, I usually am slightly perplexed about how to handle them.

 First of all, when a road is being repaired in the USA, the traffic may be backed up until the next state, but there is some movement, because there seems to be a rule that at least one lane of traffic should be kept open at all times. This is not true here. If it’s easier to shut down the road for an hour or two to get the job done, that is exactly what they will do — and the only people who get through are those on dirt bikes. Everybody else gets out of their vehicles and catches up with people they haven't seen for a while (I kid you not).

In the USA, when a road is being repaired, there will be an announcement on the radio, signs on the road, detours established, etc. Here, it just happens. However, the people here are so happy any time they see road crews that they give thanks for the divine intervention, and you can hardly feel frustrated while counting your blessings. Waiting and watching while a road crew repairs the road, rather than being thought of as a traffic jam, is a celebration and a rare form of entertainment (see Watching the Paint Dry).

The real traffic jams happen because of the most unlikely situations. For example, once we had very important visitors to retrieve and we needed to go out to the finca and then go to their hotel to pick them up. We allowed more than enough time for anything — except for a long-distance horse rally that was going exactly in the direction we were going and that there was no way around. Very interesting, and you learn to relax, because there is absolutely nothing you can do. You wouldn’t even think of honking the horn, because that could spook a horse — but more likely it just wouldn’t work, as the horses in the campo would probably just turn and look at you like you were stupid or something. Unlike the USA, there aren’t alternate routes that don’t require a detour measured in hours, not minutes.

Speaking of that, we once had a 1-hour trip balloon into 5 hours, because a truck stalled at a narrow ford through a creek (yes, we do ford creeks sometimes). We played “You’re getting hotter/You’re getting colder” all the way through the alternate route by asking for directions at every crossroads and stopping passing vehicles to see where they had come from.

A very frequent traffic jam is caused by cows. I have been stuck behind a herd of cows for a kilometer or two. I try to get past them and I swear they think it's a race. I have been driving along with cows on the left and right of me, just chugging along — I have no clue what in the world they are trying to accomplish. What bothers me most of the time is that the cows can actually keep ahead of me with the rate of speed I can make on some of the roads.

One of the things I dread most is getting behind a tractor hauling sugarcane up the mountain to Ciudad Quesada — normally they have at least two trailers behind one tractor, and each trailer has been modified in such a way that it can be loaded to twice its original weight capacity. These will be moving slightly slower than the cyclist peddling up the hill. Since an uphill trek is full of curves, you need to find a straightway, and if the people in front of you don’t have a vehicle capable of accelerating quickly, you can end up needing to pass them, the two trailers, and the tractor before the next curve comes up.

As in the USA, an accident can cause a sudden traffic jam. Recently one occurred here that people will talk about for a long time. It happened on the bridge over the Rio Arenal and caused a considerable backup, even at 6 a.m. What happened was that the driver of an empty cattle truck fell asleep (or so he says) as he was approaching the bridge. If so, I am amazed. I would never be able to sleep on that route knowing that the bridge is bad enough to have signs before it saying the bridge is in a bad state. These signs have been there for as long as we’ve been driving out to the finca, so it’s not like he didn’t know. This is a classic Costa Rica thing — if something bad happens to the road, just put up a sign and call it a day. In fact, there are a few areas where they just leave the signs up even after they repair the problem, so they will be there for the next time the road washes out.

Anyway, this guy managed to get his right front tire squarely inside one of the arched support girders of the bridge (see photo) and rode the girder on one tire almost to the top of its arch. When I arrived, fifth in line, the truck was hung up diagonally by the right front tire near the top of the girder, with the left rear tire barely touching the deck of the bridge. Extracting the truck from this position was not going to be easy. If you pulled the truck down, it would slam onto the deck, removing the only usable bridge across the Rio Arenal — effectively cutting off a large segment of the North Zone from the rest of Costa Rica.

I think it possible he didn’t really fall asleep, but had watched one of the extreme sport shows on ESPN. Or he decided it was probably safer to try to cross the bridge on one of the girders instead of on its surface. The girders do look much more sturdy.

After assessing the situation (and the looks of resignation in the eyes of the other drivers), I figured that now was a time to go exploring to see if there was any other route that could get me to our finca (farm). I drove over to La Fortuna and stopped at a little cafe to ask. The people said that, yes, there was another way, and as long as you have a 4-wheel drive you should be able to do it. They told me where it was. I was thrilled that it was just a little up the road, and — wonders never cease — I found the turn-off on the first try! Okay, to be honest, I played hotter/colder when I got close. (Men, when you move to Costa Rica, you quickly get over the tendency not to ask directions, because there are hardly any road signs. Never mind the ones that exist — they won’t enter into any directions you get. My wife once referred to the big, red “Calle #2” sign at the corner of our street and got an argument that there was no such thing from a woman who grew up in this town. Should have seen her amazement when she was shown the weathered sign. “How did that get there?”)

So I proceeded down a road that started off with great promise, but once it passed the town, it turned into one step above a goat trail. This was not encouraging. Finally, I started to approach the Rio Arenal, which I could hear down in the valley. “Interesting,” I think, “I wonder how they cross the river?” I had heard about a bridge over the river near here, but I had been told that it wasn’t safe.

I finally turned the corner and saw the river and the bridge. Friends, I wouldn’t WALK across that bridge, and it is obvious from the vegetation taking it over that no one else has for a long time, either (take a look at the photos). I walked down to see if there was a ford across the river. I saw a few tire tracks going to the water, but nothing coming out the other side — not a good sign.

I decided that there was a chance that just possibly they had by now extricated the would-be stunt driver’s truck from the bridge. So I returned to the traffic jam, which was now very long — nope, no one doing anything. I decided to head over to Muelle to see if perhaps there is another route on that side. A taxi driver said that he heard there was one in Santa Clara, 23 kilometers north, but he didn’t know it — perhaps I could go there and ask. I decided to call our manager, Hector, instead. Hector said that there might be, but if so, it will be very bad. This means passable only by helicopter.

It now being 10 a.m., way past my breakfast time, I decided to approach it in a more tico fashion, and went in to eat at a place along with others who were waiting for the obstruction to be cleared. Looking around, it occurred to me that I was frantically trying to get somewhere, and no one else was. Besides, Hector now had no reasonable expectation that I would show up at the finca, and my wife knew my whereabouts. So I proceeded to relax for the next hour and a half, enjoying the peculiar sensation of nowhere to go and nothing to do. Of course, just about the time I was really getting into the slothful state, someone announced that the road was open and it was time to move on. Thankfully, no cows decided to race me, and I was able to make it to the finca before noon.

As I said, I’m still learning how to correctly handle a traffic jam. Nobody cared that I wasn’t where I said I’d be when I said, but they sure were upset that I didn’t take a picture of that truck dangling up there.

*We are Fred and Amy Morgan, originally from the US. We bought a dairy farm in Costa Rica to plant trees in its pastures, then later caught a dream of turning all the land we can to permanently protected, sustainably maintained forest once the plantation trees have been harvested for profit. Along the way, we made it possible for our former partner to realize his dream of starting a business of his own in his native land. He is featured in many of the earlier stories.

To read more about Finca Leola S.A. and how you can also invest in trees and at the same time help with reforestation, go to Own Trees with Us.

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