At 11:30 am on the dot, the bus pulled out of the station. I thought I had heard someone say this was a 3 hour trip. With that information, I felt secure having 4 cups of coffee at breakfast and using the bathroom nine times before the taxi arrived. There is a rare condition called nervous bladder syndrome, which relates to the need to go when there is nowhere to go within in the immediate future. This is something I suffer from. Knowing I am more than fifty feet or 2 hours from a facility, makes me need to go whether or not there is a biological need or not. As soon as the bus pulled away from the station, I started getting that nervous tinge. I should have checked to see if the bus had a WC or not, but the fear of knowing for sure was too great.
Two hours into the trip, the bus pulled over the side of the road where there was a small dinette. The bus driver’s assistant jumped from the bus and ran into an obvious door marked Caballeros. When he reappeared, we took off without any asking if anyone else wanted to check out the Caballeros room or not, let alone the other room next to it for the ladies. As we drove the tension was building. With each gas station we passed, a tear fell from my eyes. Another missed opportunity that will never be regained has just zipped by us.
In the third hour of driving, the whites of my eyes were jaundice looking, and floating in an unnatural water source. This is the only time I find religion and make bargains with something holier than thou or me. As each minute passes, I hear my mother’s voice telling me I am going to get an infection if I keep doing this. It is not my fault, ma! Go haunt the bus driver and get him to stop. By 3 ½ hours, we pull into a driveway with a roadside restaurant. I don’t want to get my hopes up for fear of being let down again. When the driver assistant announces we have twenty minutes, I spring from my seat like a Jack in the Box only leaving one of those comic book streaks behind me as evidence that something just flew by. Twenty-five minutes later, I emerged. I really had to go. For good measure, I went twice more during our twenty minute break time.
Wait, this trip is longer than I thought. We left at 11:30 am. When are we getting to the end of the line? There was no answer until it happened at 5:40 pm. We then needed to call the hotel to send boat to get us. We are staying on the other side of Rio Dulce, Sweet River.
There is a bungalow waiting for us; it is extra large with a queen and double sized beds. The bathroom is cause for celebration. We could fit a whole fraternity in there at once. On a down side, we are stuck here. We would need to take the boat to get to town, but they stop boat service after 6 pm. Dinner is at the hotel restaurant, covered but open on all sides overlooking wharfs and jungle. This place is in a nature reserve, but privately owned. Rains have started, the first time since we have been here. I love listening to the rain hit a thatched roof. After dinner, we start to watch a movie on the computer, but the rain is coming down so violently, we cannot hear the sound so try another movie. The same issue crops up again. We decide to read instead. I finished the 3rd and last Stieg Larsson book, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest – 824 pages. Over 2,000 pages of Salander and now I feel a kinship has developed. I dream of her continued successes as I drift off to sleep with the soothing pounding of rain on our roof. Though I know I will never read about her again. Sweet dreams Salander. This is the end of your fear factor too! Rest in peace Stieg Larsson.