After the significant effort we had made to get tickets to enter the area around Volcan Poas, the active volcano just outside San Jose that had erupted only 20 months ago and recently re-opened to visitors, we didn’t want to miss our scheduled time slot, 10:40-11:00. The ticket Terms and Conditions were very severe, stating that everyone needed a timed slot and slots would only be held for a maximum of 5 minutes if you were late.
I therefore got up at 5:30 a.m. to make a packed lunch and sort our bags, and we left to walk the mile-plus to the bus station and got on a bus shortly after 7 a.m., just in case the traffic was as bad as yesterday. Today, the traffic was light, so we arrived very early in nearby Alajuela for our connecting bus, with time to wander and pick up empanadas (savoury pasties) for a roadside, stand-up breakfast and a couple of mugs of cafe con leche (milky coffee) to share between the four of us in an actual cafe, as an excuse to use their toilets.
We got onto the Volcan Poas bus about 10-15 minutes before it left for its hour-long, 34 km journey. With a good hour and 40 minutes before our time slot (40 minutes of contingency time), we felt happy and relaxed as we settled back to enjoy the beautiful ride up to 8000 feet with fine views and verdant vegetation, pretty yellow and orange climbing flowers adorning front gardens, and blue-grey hydrangea with flower heads the size of motorbike helmets.
The last few km seemed to pass slowly, but we’d still be 30 minutes early for our time slot. Then, 8 km from the entrance, we unexpectedly pulled off into a restaurant area so that all the other tourists on the bus, none of whom, it turned out, had tickets, could go and buy their tickets ... and food ... and drink ... and use the loos ... and amble ... and natter ... whilst we waited on the bus, getting increasingly agitated, then quite close to panic-stricken about our time slot. The driver was nonchalent, “No problemo!”
Finally, after 40 minutes, just enough time to miss our slot completely, people strolled back to the bus in the most leisurely way and we set off again. Everyone who’d turned up disorganised and unaware would get to see the volcano, and we four – who’d researched how to purchase tickets and painstakingly persevered with the rubbish government website – would not.
In the event, the threatening T&Cs about holding your slot for only 5 minutes were not enforced and they let us in along with everyone else on the next slot (and we did save a hefty, wait for it, US$4 between us compared with buying at the restaurant on the way). The problem now was the cloud that had been rolling in, which is what it does most days and the reason we had booked for the earlier slot. We signed waivers for the children, donned hard hats (as small rocks are periodically ejected from the volcano: in fact, substantial dents were evident in the metal fencing and concrete viewing platform when we got there), then set off with the rest of our group in the wake of a guide who was wielding a sulphur dioxide monitor (thankfully, reading zero today).
We walked through wispy cloud to the volcano rim and, with bated breath, peered inside. It was totally filled with thick, porridge-like cloud. There was nothing at all to be seen. We tried to hide our disappointment and think of positive things to say to the girls about the experience, and they played exactly the same game with us, which we found touching. Then, abruptly, the clouds thinned and parted, and we had the privilege of the most amazing view right down into the principal crater with its pale turquoise-green lake and steaming fumerole. Just three minutes later – which, for me, is exactly the right amount of time to spend continuously looking at a view – the clouds rolled back in as stodgily as before, and I am certain that was the last time anyone saw the crater that day. Those three minutes made such a difference to our visit – the hidden mystery revealed, the view imprinted on our minds for ever.
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