The Rio Frio runs north into Nicaragua. I managed to make my way down the steep stairs to the boat that would take me across the border, then sat and watched as people and cargo kept coming and coming. I took a couple of pictures, intending to show how croweded the boat was, and each time I realized I should have waited a little longer.
Chaotic as it seemed, everyone got a seat. The ticket seller came aboard and collected money and added names to the manifest. I returned my seven of hearts, the last big bag of something was loaded on board, and we puttered off.
A trip on the Rio Frio is sold in Costa Rica as a tourist attraction, a trip through the jungle. While it was pretty and pleasant, with plants and birds and little clusters of houses, it was hardly wild. Most of the time the 'jungle' was no more than 50 yards deep, and sugar cane fields could be easily seen through the not-so-dense undergrowth.
When we got close to the actual border, we were asked to remove the life vests from the overhead racks and at leastr drape them over our heads to satisfy the policia. We made a quick stop, exchanged a couple of pieces of paper, and motored off again.
Passport control in San Carlos was right at the dock. While waiting in line, three steps to the right would have put me in the water.
It seemed so informal, I even took pictures, something you are never allowed to do at borders.
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