We wrecked our car!

 

It promised to be a fun day.

Any day in which we get to leave our community development during a pandemic lockdown is a fun day. It was just going to be a provision run to WalMart in Escazu, a suburb of San Jose in the Central Valley. We also planned to pick-up the gas grill we had ordered from Aeropost. (That is another sad story I need to tell later.)

We were traveling with our friends Bradley and Ali. We had enjoyed a traditional Tico breakfast in Santa Marta where we found the best chorizo sausage; our rounds were complete and were heading home, passing through Puriscal when Bradley asked if we could stop at the veterinarian so he could get the travel papers for his dog Coco; Bradley is going back to the States and Coco needs her vaccination record.  We had taken our animals to the same vet so I knew where it was located.

After a quick detour from our regular route through town we were at the doctor’s corner office. I stopped in front of several parked cars in the curb lane and waited for Bradley to jump out. He adjusted is facemask, opened the door, and BANG, someone hit the door of our car just as Bradley was stepping out.

From the sound of crashing metal and broken glass, I expected the crunched rear passenger door to be lying in the street but when I turned to look everything on our car was fine—not a scratch!  The car that hit us had contacted the trailing edge of my door with his passenger-side rearview mirror. Glass littered the street and the mirror was flattened against the side of the blue Toyota Yaris.

The driver of the Yaris was already out of his vehicle, pacing the street, doing his best imitation of a righteously indignant macho Tico whose car had just been totaled by an old gringo hombre.

Seeing that there was minimal damage to his car, and no damage to ours, I maintained my composure as Ali (our native Spanish speaker) talked to the young driver. It was clear he thought he had the right-of-way to turn in front of me, and everything was my fault.

Ali took me aside and whispered, “he knows you are a gringo estadounidense (American) and wants you to give him some money.”  By now every car that passed through the 4-way stop was looking to see what was causing such a “massive” backup in the middle of town.

When we had rented cars in Costa Rica I had been told that you should never move your vehicle if there was an accident so I was ready to wait the couple hours I expected it would take for the Policia de Transito to come and sort this out. My adversary, a young man in his twenties with girlfriend in tow, was not anxious to wait around for the traffic cops. He saw an opportunity to score some dinero and take his car to some shade tree mechanic for cut rate under-the-table repairs.

Armed with Ali’s explanation of the situation I went into my act. I produced my insurance papers and indicated that he was to show me his. He had none. Then I shouted that he had in fact hit our car and I was not going to give him a dime. I knew he could not understand my inglés so I talked louder and waved my hands higher and looked to Ali for a suitably angry interpretation. Then I leaned on the hood of our car with arms crossed and told everyone that I was not moving and would wait all day for the Policia because he had hit me!

Seeing the opportunity to get cash from this gringo slipping away, the kid continued to pace the street and examine his broken mirror. In the midst of his anguish, I guess he decided it would be best to start negotiations with the Tico chick Ali, who could speak Spanish and might be more sympathetic with his situation. He could not have been more wrong.

After several “no, no, no’s” Ali told me he wanted 50,000 Colones to fix his damaged car. I told Ali, “tell him I will give him ten-thousand.” After several furtive glances our way I could see the kid was losing hope of a big payday. About that time, a friend of his arrived on the scene to check out the situation. Bradley and I decided now was the time to seal this deal and get out of town. Bradley gave me a ₡10,000 note, I added another for a total of ₡20,000 and I held it out to the kid. He looked at me, and then at his friend who emphatically said, “toma el dinero.” He took the money and everyone got in their cars and left. I figured he bought some mirrored glass and a tube of super-glue to replace the broken one and pocketed about half the money. 

That’s the way it is living in a foreign country. Sometimes you must be willing to play the game and stand up for yourself. But I must admit we felt a little like Butch and Sundance in a Bolivian Bank.