When we arrived in the airport in Liberia, for our trip to Miami, we found that it was not too busy. Still, it wasn’t completely empty – there were people there.
This is the third installment of our four-part series on our trip to Miami.
When we checked in, the young man at the counter couldn’t have been nicer. He made sure that we had our negative COVID test. We had uploaded our negative lab results into the VeriFly app, so he was able to scroll through our phones for confirmation. If you didn’t use VeriFly, you just had to show the results and then sign a paper. Seemed so anticlimactic after everything we’d been through to get those negative COVID results!
We were only doing one night in Miami, so weren’t checking any bags. We had one small rolling suitcase, and each of us had a backpack. He informed us that our flight was very full and asked that we put our carry-on suitcase in the metal carry-on guide frame “just to be sure.” We knew that we were on a smaller plane, i.e., a regional jet (two seats on each side of the center aisle), so I had looked up the allowed measurements for a carry-on and had also measured it myself the night before. Our carry-on just fit. He also asked if we had any substances in our bags, like coffee, and (I swore he said) sand, to which we replied, no. Costa Rica is known for their coffee, so it made sense that people would bring that back to the US. As far as sand? Well, again, maybe I just didn’t hear that correctly. Interestingly, Bill said he had never been on a smaller plane like this. For us, it was the usual size for what flew in and out of Des Moines.
Getting through security was a breeze, and the security agents were nice. There is no TSA Pre-check here, so everyone went through together. No one seemed to have to take off their shoes, either. There is only one terminal in this airport. The four of us grabbed a small lunch. After lunch, and not too soon before we boarded, we were seated in the rows of chairs by our gate. We saw a man and woman, dressed in street clothes, but with guns holstered at their waist, and some sort of badges on their chests. They went up to three travelers two rows behind us, and apparently asked them for identification, as the travelers pulled out passports to show to them. After some minutes of discussion and a fairly thorough bag search, the two officials moved on. We wondered what that was all about.
While we were seated, John also noticed that Bill had “SSSS” on his ticket. In his business travels, John has had that printed on his ticket before. It meant that he was randomly tagged for an additional security screening. He discussed it with Bill and Randi but thought that since Bill had already passed through security without being pulled aside, he was probably safe.
John still has status with American Airlines, because of all his business travel. We were able to board the plane in an early group, although First Class had already boarded. Ahead of us was an older couple. (I am sure that they were older than us, but to be fair, I don’t think of us as “old”. My illusion is often shattered, like when the Walmart workers in Costa Rica pull us out of the regular checkout line and usher us to the special line for old people. Or, when I look at a picture taken of me, and it doesn’t look anything like what I think I look like in the mirror. It’s especially jarring when someone else looks at the same picture and says, “Oooh, that is such a good picture of you!)
Anyway, the couple ahead of us to board the plane seemed older. The guy was walking with a cane. I think he might have had a small bag slung over his shoulder. I didn’t concentrate on him as much, because although he was not moving quickly, he was leaving his wife behind as they moved down the ramp. His wife was moving much more slowly. It was not surprising, as she had a bag slung across her body, was carrying a small dog in the crook of her arm, and the dog carrier (dog was NOT in the carrier). She was also lugging a two-wheeled, rolling carry-on suitcase that had an open kitchen-sized garbage bag stuffed with what looked like all kinds of papers looped over her carry-on suitcase. The carry-on suitcase was larger than ours. Remember that our carry-on bag just fit in the carry-on guide at check-in. This was even bigger and looked like it was bulging. That might explain her clothing choice. She was wearing a heavy denim skirt that came mid-calf and had full pants (not leggings) underneath. I speculated that the massive skirt just wasn’t going to fit in the carry-on, so she elected to wear it.
I don’t know how her carry-on bag was allowed, due to its size. I also didn’t understand how all of the things they were carrying on the plane with would count as only 4 items between the two of them (2 personal items and 2 carry-ons each). As she made her way down the jetway, each time her bag rolled over one of the floor seams, it flipped, and she would struggle to right it. After the first flip, I offered to help. She refused and told me that I could go ahead. I mentioned that her husband was ahead of her. I felt that if I moved past her, everyone would start to do that, and that would compound her problems. After the second flip, I offered again, and again she refused. The third time a small water bottle fell out of the trash bag, which I quickly scooped up. She thanked me and told me, “it takes a village.” (This villager had offered to help …) They were seated in the back of the plane. I have no idea how they were able to get anything in the overhead compartment and find space for everything they brought. Except seeing them fast asleep with the dog on her lap when I went to use the restroom, we didn’t see them the rest of the trip.
We boarded before Randi and Bill. Eventually we saw Randi, but not Bill. It turns out they pulled him aside for his additional screening as he boarded the plane. Poor Bill, he just couldn’t catch a break.
When we entered the plane, a flight attendant handed each of us a small sanitizing wipe. After we took off, no flight attendants came with a beverage cart down the aisle. One flight attendant did come through and handed each of us a plastic bag that contained a small plastic bottle of water, the usual package of pretzels, and another sanitizing wipe packet. Before handing these out, an announcement was made stating that if we wanted another drink, we could ask, but they weren’t offering any kind of alcoholic beverages. The rest of the flight was uneventful.
I should note that we were required to wear masks everywhere – on the shuttle to the airport, at the airport and on the airplane at all times. We were allowed to take off our masks when we ate or drank, but that was it. There is a mask mandate in Costa Rica, and for the airline, as well. From what we observed, everyone was following the mandates, without issue.
Looking out the window as we approached Miami, I was struck by how neat and tidy and spread out everything was, while Randi was impressed by just how flat everything was. Due to COVID, it’s been over a year since we’d been back to the US. It was interesting that the US is now “foreign” to us in some ways.
The line for customs wasn’t too bad at all – not that many people, and no kiosks. The last time that John and I returned to the US, there were mobs of people, and we were forced to use the kiosks before we saw the actual customs officials. This time we just went to the customs officials directly. We were required to drop our masks for a picture when we went through customs. Not everyone was great at social distancing while in line, but we were still all wearing our masks.
We took the Marriott shuttle from the airport to the hotel. Again, everyone wore masks, but there wasn’t enough room for everyone to adequately social distance. It was a short drive to the hotel. We marveled at the multi-lane highways, streetlights, and sidewalks!
We arrived at the hotel a little before 6 p.m. There was a short line for check-in. We were surprised to see that there was a line for check-in most of the night. The hotel seemed to be doing good business. It was dinnertime, so we asked about restaurant dining. When we had looked online, the hotel website said that there was a pantry open, but that the hotel restaurants were closed due to COVID. In actuality, the pantry and the hotel restaurants were open, but what we saw was indoor dining, so we decided to eat elsewhere.
We quickly put our suitcases in our rooms and met in the lobby. When we walked out of the hotel, Bill approached the guy manning the parking security gate, and asked him about good restaurants within walking distance, a grocery store and a liquor store. He highly suggested a Cuban restaurant about four blocks down and to the left, La Rosa, and also said that if we crossed the busy road we were on, on the same street as La Rosa, we would find a small grocery store and liquor store. We set off to find the restaurant first.
On the way to La Rosa, we passed another Cuban restaurant that had outside dining, and seemed very busy. We decided that if La Rosa didn’t work out, we would return there. We easily found La Rosa, but were a bit concerned that it didn’t seem quite as busy. We entered a smaller dining room. Some of the tables had plastic shields that sectioned off each diner from the other at the same table. We hadn’t seen that before. (Although it would seem that if you were sitting at the same table, you would be less likely to need the shield separation at your table, rather than having a separation from the other tables.) We asked about outside dining and were led to the back, to the door to the patio. But when the maître de looked out, he said there weren’t any available tables – either taken or reserved. However, he did say that there was an additional outside dining area, just on the other side of the patio. This was basically in a parking lot with a small fence for separation from the parked cars, that had picnic tables. We were welcome to eat there.
Well, kind of. There were four picnic tables. We chose the one on the furthest end and were told that table was part of three that had been reserved. We really only had one choice in the restaurant – a specific picnic table. At that point, we took it. If we were not living in Costa Rica, we might have been insulted at being seated at a picnic table in a parking lot. However, we are used to more “rustic” dining conditions, so frankly, didn’t think too much about it at the time.
Also, since we live in Costa Rica, we now automatically say “niceties” in Spanish, especially when we go out for dinner. For example, “Gracias” for “Thank you,” “Dos aguas, por favor” for “Two waters, please,” etc. So, when we were seated, we just automatically started saying these phrases in Spanish. The staff at the restaurant seemed to speak Spanish as their first language. Still, we felt the need to explain that we were living in Costa Rica, and that’s why we were speaking in Spanish. At that point, they seemed to warm up to us, and willingly gave us opinions on the best dishes, etc. They served us plantain chips to start, which, again, seemed perfectly normal to us. John had a Cuban flat iron steak dish and I had a shredded chicken dish with onions and mashed plantains. All four of us enjoyed our dinners and thought the food was very good. We also indulged in key lime pie!
The only small glitch came when Randi wanted salt for her vegetables. When they had set the picnic table for us, they hadn’t included the salt and pepper shakers that we saw on the linen-draped tables on the patio and main dining area. When one of the staff came by to refill our water, we asked for salt. He indicated that he didn’t speak English. Now, I know the word for “salt” in Spanish. It is “sal” and it really does sound very much like the English word, “salt” just without the “t.” I asked for “sal.” He looked at me with a very perplexed look. I repeated, “sal” several times to him. He finally motioned another guy over, and I asked for “sal” and “salt” whichever would work. He looked at the first guy and something that sounded like “sal” to me. Salt and pepper shakers were delivered.
Speaking of “salt”, John really wanted to pick up salt in the US, which is the main reason we asked about the location of a grocery store. Obviously, we can buy salt in Costa Rica, but it, well, it’s just not the same – hard to describe why, but I’ll try. It comes in very small containers, like saltshakers. The top is punched with holes like a saltshaker. This is generally adequate when you are salting food at the table, but it is impossible to measure out salt for recipes. When we cook or bake and need to measure salt, we pour the salt into the measuring spoon over the sink, hoping at least some of it will make it in. We waste a lot of salt that way.
You can buy refined salt or coarser salt, but it just seems to be either too fine or too coarse. Both containers have the same sized holes punched in the top. We had to cut a slit in the top of the container for the coarser salt, just so it would come out. Also, I don’t think the salt is iodized, like it is in the US.
So, John was hoping to score some salt while I was hoping to see the inside of a what I would consider a “real” US grocery store. When we lived in Iowa, we shopped at Hy-Vee and Costco. When John was working and living in South Carolina, we shopped at Publix and Costco. When we moved to Costa Rica and lived in Escazú, we primarily shopped at Walmart and PriceSmart (like Costco) for our groceries. Now that we are in Mar Vista, we still go to the PriceSmart in Liberia. And there is an Automercado that is more along the lines of a US grocery store a half hour away in Tamarindo, where you can get some US brands, but these just weren’t the same as a more full-service grocery store like we were used to in the US. In our current house in Mar Vista, we frequently visit a small convenience grocery store due to its close location, and availability of most basic goods. As for visiting a US grocery store, I would have loved to stroll the aisles, longingly looking at the variety of available frozen vegetables. In Costa Rica, you can pretty much just get frozen corn.
We had also asked the maître de at the restaurant about the grocery store location when we were about finished with dinner. He gave us the same info as the security gate guy. He referred to the small grocery store as a “Chinese” grocery store. Now this was interesting, as there are a number of small grocery stores in Costa Rica, that are referred to as “Chinese” grocery stores, because they are owned by Chinese. When we arrived at the small grocery store in Miami, I was disappointed to find that it was pretty much the same as the Chinese grocery stores that we went to in Costa Rica for our basic supplies. And, yes, the person at the register looked to be Chinese, although she spoke Spanish. John, on the other hand, was thrilled to find actual Morton’s iodized salt. We purchased two containers, for a total of $2.58.
We headed back to the hotel, giving the liquor store a pass. We did end our evening at the hotel bar. Again, we automatically spoke basic pharses in Spanish to our server, who looked and sounded like he could be from Central or South America, and again we felt compelled to explain ourselves. He told us he was from Argentina. As we were sitting there, three guys came into the lobby, none of them wearing masks (which was required), and one of them not wearing a shirt. No one said anything to them, as the desk was busy with the long line of people waiting to check in.
The four of us made our plans for the next morning, wanting to get to the airport early, in hopes of doing a bit of shopping. We didn’t stay for more days than we had to in Miami, but aside from the salt, there were some items we hoped we could purchase at the airport. More on that in a bit.
Before we retired to our room for the evening, John and I went to the hotel pantry. I had a $20 bill in my possession with a tear in it. Costa Rica accepts colones (the country’s currency) and US dollars. However, retail establishments in Costa Rica will not accept US any bills with tears, torn corners, etc. We waited in line at Walmart once and watched as a US customer pay for their items in $20 US bills. They had made a high-cost purchase. The clerk took each bill, examined it fully, even holding it up to the light. The clerk rejected some bills handing them back to the customer, who had to provide more pristine bills. So, I had a torn twenty that was burning a hole in my purse. We ended up purchasing Twizzlers (that I can’t get in Costa Rica), a box of animal crackers (that maybe I can, but not really sure), and John bought peanut M&M’s, for the flight home.
On Sunday morning the four of us had breakfast at the hotel before catching the shuttle to the airport. Again, we automatically spoke Spanish to our server, a small, older man with an accent. When he returned to our table, he said, “Yo soy Italiano”, meaning, “I am Italian.” Oh, crap! We thought we had insulted him! Our thinking was that he probably thought that because he had an accent that we assumed he was from Central or South American and that he spoke Spanish.
When he returned to our table, we once again explained that we lived in Costa Rica, and that we automatically spoke Spanish, like in restaurants. (This was beginning to feel silly, especially since we wouldn’t refer to ourselves as Spanish speakers!) He looked confused. Finally, he said, “I thought I heard you say, “Grazie” so I wanted to let you know that I am Italian. “Grazie” is Italian for “Thank you.” So when we were saying “Gracias” (Spanish for “Thank you”), he heard “Grazie.” After the incident at the restaurant asking for “sal” and now the misinterpretation of “gracias” I am really beginning to question my basic Spanish pronunciations!
We also saw the three guys from the night before, come in through the front door. It certainly appeared that they had been out all night and were just now returning. They still weren’t wearing masks. This time there was no line at the front desk, and they were admonished for not wearing masks. They immediately went to the elevators, where they were probably headed anyway.
We arrived at the airport, and when we went to check in at American, were asked if we were traveling internationally. We said, “yes”, and were directed to a small desk with a plastic shield. The woman at the desk asked which country. When we replied, “Costa Rica” we were asked to supply proof of insurance. Costa Rica requires tourists to purchase insurance for COVID health costs and for the cost of quarantining for two weeks, in the off chance you get COVID when you are in Costa Rica. In addition to purchasing the insurance, you have to enter a Costa Rican government on-line health questionnaire and upload your insurance documents. The government then sends you a QR code. We had printed off the official document with QR code, although you can just show it from your phone. When the woman at the desk was satisfied, we were then allowed to check in at the counter. The lady at the counter also asked for the insurance, and additionally for proof of exit from Costa Rica. We had purchased airline tickets back to Miami after our 90 days and showed her the printed documents.
When we went through security, we were not at all surprised to see our carry-on roller bag directed for additional, manual screening. We watched as the TSA agent opened it up and pulled out the two containers of Morton’s salt. Here we were, coming from Costa Rica, staying only one night in Miami, and upon return, were entering with two containers of salt! How is that NOT suspicious!
The TSA agent carefully wiped the containers and put the wipes in a machine to analyze them – presumably for explosive residue. He then repeated the exercise, dropping some blue liquid on the wipes, and put that into the machine for analysis as well. When he finally finished with all his tests, he closed up the containers and put everything back in the bag. We’d been silent the entire time. After he was finished, I offered, “You probably won’t believe this, but it is hard to get salt like this in Costa Rica.” He smiled but didn’t say anything. The salt cost us $2.58, but probably cost the US government a lot more to test it!
Our flight left from gate 60 in terminal D. We entered from security around gate 5. There is a train that you can catch that traverses the D terminal but ended up walking the entire way, anyway. John was hoping to find an ATM, as the one at the hotel was temporarily out of service. His was quest was the easiest to achieve, as he immediately found one. Randi wanted to see if she could find some sterling silver earrings, because she had a pair that had broken. She was also successful, as she found a shop that was having some sales and had a decent selection for the type she was looking for. As an added bonus, I purchased a cheap pair of earrings for $10, for everyday wear. (The lady at the shop told me these weren’t sterling silver -duh! – but silver plated, so I should be careful not to wear them in the shower. Not a problem for me.)
I was looking for a new travel purse. It has a great organizational design, and it has accompanied me to multiple continents over multiple decades. It’s finally wearing out. I thought certainly there might be a travel store in the airport that would have one. I was wrong. There were multiple higher end stores that sold purses, but none of them had what I was looking for. My travel bag shopping excursion was a bust, but on the bright side, at least I now had a cheap pair of earrings.
Bill wanted to check out the duty-free shop to see if they sold the kind of liquor he likes (Jack Daniels). It is expensive in Costa Rica, and since we were here, well, why not? There was a duty-free store near where we entered the terminal. He found what he was looking for and went to make the purchase. Nope, this duty free shop was too far away from our gate, so they wouldn’t let him buy there. He was directed to another duty-free shop that was supposedly larger and closest to our gate.
We made our way down the terminal, me looking for a purse, and Bill looking for the duty-free store. We did find one that wasn’t exactly where they told him, so we pushed on. We finally came to the one closest to our gate. It was very small and didn’t have what Bill had found in the first one. We had time, so we went back to the next closest and largest duty-free shop. Happily, Bill was able to make his purchase.
We went to our gate and waited. A short time before boarding, the airline guy at the gate announced that we all had to come to the desk and show him our passports and official insurance document. We had already been obliged to show all of this before we even got through security. Did they think we had somehow snuck in without going through all of this before? We all obliged and were given a Costa Rican customs form for our efforts.
On the plane, John and I sat in the row behind the bulkhead. There was a family group that was seated in the bulkhead row and also in our row, across the aisle. (Again, it was a small plane, with two seats on either side of the aisle.) All of the family members were adults. There was one son in front of us that was wearing a surgical mask incorrectly, but incorrectly on purpose. The flight attendant repeatedly told him to cover his nose and mouth with his mask. The father was sneakier. He was wearing a gator. When he saw the flight attendant come, he would pull up his gator to cover his mouth and nose. After she moved on, he would pull it down again. It was infuriating.
When we arrived in Costa Rica, and got in line to go through customs, there was an official there to greet us. He stopped the dad with the gator and told him that wasn’t an acceptable mask. The official gave him a surgical mask and told him he had to put it on. We were happy to see that they were enforcing the rules.
The customs guy that we got was sullen and not at all engaging. We provided all of the required documents, and he stamped our passports. We were relieved to see that he had written 90 in the stamp, meaning that we were good for 90 days, the maximum. Bill and Randi had a nicer official. They didn’t understand him when he asked for their other documents. Randi thought that he wanted them to pull down their masks and show their faces to take a picture, like they had in the US. She pulled down her mask and looked directly into a QR code scanner. This amused the customs official.
Finally, through customs we were picked up by our shuttle driver and headed home. Our total trip to and from Miami, door to door was 28 hours!
There is a bit more to this story – fourth and final post coming soon.
Remember, it's an adventure. 