I could go on and on about what is missing in our lives today. I could go on and one about what has been enriching our lives today. I am pretty ambiguous about some of the things that make our lives easier. The fact that we now have the convenience of being our own travel agent. Mmm. Because I am impatient and because I am not that handy with computers, sometimes I yearn for the days when I just called my friendly (obsequious) travel agent and within a few hours she called back with exactly what I wanted and the tickets arrived the next day. Huge help. But on the other side of that, I had to carry the tickets around for months if we took a long trip, knowing that if I lost them or they were stolen, all was lost. Good side, bad side.
But one of the deals I miss the most in our adventures in Central America is using private planes. In the good old days, 30 years ago, I could go to a private plane airport in whatever country I was in and get us a plane ride within minutes to where ever we wanted to go. If I had my kids with me, it always ended up costing $100. Sometimes an hour and a half flight would save us days of overland agony; bad food, worse hotel rooms, and general discomfort. Sometimes we had to awaken the pilot. Sometimes we had to figure out whether he was sober enough to fly, sometimes I had to spend a little extra when I thought the gas tank looked too low to take off.
It was always fun and easy. If I was alone I could usually hitch hike a ride on a private plane (in the USA). People who fly a lot alone often like company. So last year in Costa Rica, I called up the private airport and asked for an estimate to fly from San Jose to the east coast of CR. The price quoted was staggering. Everything is expensive in Costa Rica, but this was off the charts. Last summer I went to the private plane airport in Ashland, Oregon and queried them about flights to SF, CA. The prices were not staggering, but the difference I experienced was that everything was so corporate that there was little room for flexibility. You couldn't even get into the room to schmooze the owners and pilots. (Of course, Oregon is famous to me for being righteous about rules. I have been yelled at by passing motorists for walking outside of the cross walk lines.) So, perhaps in another state, I could still hitch a ride from a small plane pilot.
I like hitch hiking in general. In college towns when I was young, students didn't arrive their freshman year with their new Saab convertible, they arrived with their thumb ready to go. I don't think it is a good idea these days. (Are their more perverts these days? We know more people carry guns around.) All around bad idea.
A current good place to hitch is sail boats. More lonely people in need of helping hands. Any Yacht club in Central America is good hunting ground to find a sailboat hitch to a far away port. There are two main dangers to this from my perspective. Firstly, you might find yourself with the world's most boring person who might also be a boat Hitler. (What happens to men when they own a boat? It often isn't pretty.) And secondly, if you are a woman I think you need to hitch with a friend. A big strong handsome friend, preferably - for obvious reasons.
How did I get here today? I was talking to an older man this morning, George from Houston, who got to know Central America back when he would fly his Cessna from Houston to where ever he could get to on two tanks of gas ($30) each. It got me to thinking about the good old days and the good old ways.
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