THE MAIL SYSTEM:

I decided I needed more of my clothes since barely any of them made it and Costa Rica is not known for its shopping. It is actually pretty bad. Everything is really expensive here because of taxes. Also, nothing fit normal size people. Apparently Tico's are all miniature beings. So, my dad boxed a bunch of my stuff up and sent it to me. My mom decided to box some stuff up and send it to me too. My mom goes a little over board though. Now I have 6 boxes between the 2 on the way. This does not pose a problem you think, wrong. Remember there are no addresses here meaning no mail-delivery system to the home. My P.O. box is in downtown San Jose, in the heart of downtown.

I keep checking for my stuff and finally I receive a telegram- yes an old-fashioned telegram-saying that my boxes have arrived at the other post-office. The customs one. My Tica family is kind enough to drive me there. This is the fun part. They warn me depending on the guy's mood determines how smoothly this is going to go.

It proceeds as follows:

I get called up to window Number 1, he checks my passport, I sign a paper. I go sit back down. The guy at window Number 2 calls me over, I sign a paper, I sit back down. Window Number 1 calls me back to tell me something, I sit back down. Window Number 2 calls me over and gives me a receipt to go pay at the window Number 3, about $4. I pay it and sit back down. Then window Number 2 calls me back over and starts opening both of my boxes and checking that the contents match the customs forms. Luckily he was in a good mood, because apparently the guys in front of us did not have as much luck and had been there quite a while. He gives us another paper with an amount to pay. We go to the window Number 4 which is a bank branch and pay another small fee; actually this amount was funny because it was a number that doesn't even exist here, 72 colones. There are no colones smaller than 5 here so this was interesting. Then I go sit back down and wait. Believe it or not there is a window Number 5 and now I am staring at my boxes which are sitting behind the lady in a shopping cart. I am waiting to be called to just be handed my boxes. Finally about 10 minutes later, she calls us over, I sign another paper, and she passes me the boxes. I received two of my six boxes.

I keep checking the mail daily and I receive a notice that my boxes are there at the central location. I don't have to go back to the other customs ones, even though they are the other two from my mom. I go to the window and she hands them over the top. I had to pay money because they were stored there for a few days longer. They were too big to take on the buses, so I had to buy bags, open up the boxes in the middle of the streets and stuff everything in them with everyone watching me. Now I have four out of my six boxes.

About a month later I still had not received any notice of my other two boxes and these were the most important ones because they contain my clothes and shoes. So, we call and find out that they are there and have been there for quite awhile and are even close to being sent back to the states. I rush to the post office the next day, and tell them I had no notice in my box. They just say that they are there for me. I do not have any help that day. She hands them over to me and of course they are the heaviest. I was smart enough to bring bags and open up the boxes to stuff them into them. Then I had to lug them out to a taxi almost dying on my way out. I can't respond to the requests to help me because it is possible they would steal my stuff since it is not a good area. So now, I refuse to let anyone send me any packages.