Stay Away From San José

The first day we arrived in San Jose we were confronted with two theft stories. One woman, an established travel journalist, was stripped of her laptop and all money bearing materials. Another man was the victim of a theft that struck seven travellers at a different hostel. But of course, that would never happen to us.

Never assume anything.

This morning I was brutally awaken by Meagan at the evil hour of 6 a.m. She politely (as she always does) informed me that our room had been broken into. I did not believe her with her calm demeanor; however, the three armed policemen outside the door made me think otherwise. In the room our precious belongings were carelessly strewn about. I searched but found nothing missing. Luckily, I had stowed all of my valuables in a locker.

The thief woke Meagan at 4:30 a.m. She immediately questioned his presence in our room. He calmly said, "Oh, sorry," and shoved our stuff back into her arms. Obviously he had more than the eye could see. She chased him down the stairs and demanded that ALL of our stuff be returned. He submitted and gave back her passport along with his own identification card (why? I don´t know). It turned out that he - Norel Rafael Sanchez Diaz - was a Colombian staying in the hostel. The front deskman locked the front gate and called the police before he could take flight.

When Meagan informed me that Norel was being held downstairs I could not resist.

"Where is the little f%$&/·$!"

I accosted him with a massive string of Spanish profanities. He was not prepared for my wrath.

Ravaging through all of his belongings, as he had mine, I found my flipflops but nothing else. When I asked him where he bought them he cleverly justified it with "look I have Hanes underwear and an Old Navy shirt. Why would I need to steal?¨Very intelligent response.

At this point, the only known missing items were two of Meagan's credit cards. I persistently demanded that they be returned. He "had no idea what I was talking about."

As I became more heated he became more aggressive. At one point, he yelled two inches from my face; I grabbed his jaw and shoved him aside.

The best part: The entire time the Costarican cops watched and gave me free reign. I asked if I could have just one punch, and the cop replied with a smile, "He´s in there and I´m not watching." I chose the more ladylike route and decided against it. I partially regret that.

To make the episode all the more entertaining the police called us down to the station. The San Jose police station looks just as I imagine it did 100 years ago: One counter, a hand drawn map dissecting the districts of the city, a few "safety posters" and four jolly old men sitting around. The head-honcho sat behind the counter noting everything by hand in an academic binder. Very professional.

To top-off my impression of Costarican cops, they asked us what kind of beer and rum we like and invited us for an evening brew. The man who had accompanied Meagan at the hostel gave her his cell phone number. Did I say very professional?

Then, they shuffled us into the large round-um-up van and drove us home. In the end, it was an entertaining experience to say the least. Nothing was actually stolen - the two missing credit cards were located in the bathroom - and our Colombian friend, Norel, was sent to Immigration where he will be dealt with by means of deportation. Now, I can only hope we do not run into him in Colombia.

Having a laugh in the back of the police van.

Meagan's Number 1 Fan, Officer Jose

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read Meagan´s account at www.meagancaitlin.blogspot.com. She was the saviour who stopped the madman. I was just the raging female who came in for the final blow.

Note to all: Stay away from San Jose.