Just as the United States divides itself sharply along volleyball lines each spring between factions of police (Sheriffs Vs. Deputies, local cops Vs. state troopers, Reno PD Vs. John Stewart, etc.), so does Costa Rica subdivide its public protection forces. There are immigration police, dedicated to keeping our beloved country free of the dreaded scourge of Nicaraguan aliens (who, as local scapegoats, take all the jobs the Ticos refuse to do, giving rise to resentment, racial slurs, and even calls for border fences along the Northern frontier...). Then there are the local police, who get paid shit, have no say in where they are posted, live in tiny shacks, and as a result, respond to the easiest calls only (noise complaints about local musicians mostly).
The OIJ is the investigative wing of the police department. They get paid more for doing slightly less. Oh, they’ll come by, dust for finger prints, and look for clues, but that’s about where it ends. The local neighborhood shall very soon be more powerful and effective, mark my words. We have park security cops, mall cops, rental cops, bank cops with automatic weapons and shotguns, and all the other iterations of crime fighting hooplah, but nothing, and I mean nothing compares to the power wielded by the traffic police. It took me three years to fully realize this, as I have been on foot until this past week, but it is absolutely true. I’ve heard other people’s stories about having their passports taken from them, about bribes, about harassment, but as with so many things, nothing is as real as personal experience.
They are everywhere. Traffic cops here are like Starbucks in the US. That is, I often find Traffic cops across the street from Traffic cops, or just down the block a bit. They stand in the middle of the highway and, with superhero confidence, throw themselves in front of oncoming traffic when they sense danger, unlicensed vehicles, or gringos ignorant of Costa Rican transit laws.
I put an offer down on a car about five weeks ago. The owner is a local who fixes cars up and sells them, and this one’s a beaut! ’95 Mitsubishi Montero with a turbo intercooled diesel engine (hello, biodiesel!) and nearly everything from bumper to bumper recently replaced. However, said car was not ready when promised. Due to busy schedules, a couple of last minute repairs and some other business that came up, the owner told me the car would not be ready until this Thursday (this was a couple of weeks ago). In the mean time, he gave me a different car to use (also a Montero, but model year '90). This other car has had a series of engine mishaps, and we as a family have had adventure after adventure in it.
Fuel filters and water pumps aside, we set out yesterday to gather paperwork needed for Cedro’s US citizenship and to pop in for a visit with Sandra’s family in good ‘ole Sonzopote. As we wound our way out of Liberia, paperwork in hand, I was waved to the side of the road by an older traffic officer, who promptly let me know I would be receiving a ticket for going a whopping four kilometers over the speed limit (which works out to about 52mph on the highway here). He asked for a license and passport, which I handed over. Now, Costa Rican law requires that foreigners acquire a Costa Rican license within 90 days of entering the country. If one leaves and comes back within those 90 days, the cycle starts over. In other words, one's most recent passport stamp serves to validate one’s foreign license in Costa Rica for three months -indefinitely.
It’s a fine system, but flawed in my case, because they don’t stamp my passport when I enter the country. I have a work visa, which renews every year. The most recent renewal date was June 3rd, and a lawyer told me that this should cover me for at least the next three months. The traffic cop didn’t agree. “This is invalid. I’m impounding the car and suspending your license.” He declared, as much to my wife, baby and 12 year old son as to me. We were on a lonely stretch of highway, about an hour shy of our destination. With no cell phone and no one else that could drive, this left us with a bit of a problem.
“Look” I said, gingerly wiping a red ant from the officer’s shoulder. “I just got the car and was planning to go get my tico license in two days” (I actually was…). I explained about them not stamping my passport when I enter with the visa, so there really is no way for me to prove that I’m within my 90 day legal driving period. I told him that I had entered recently and that the visa stamp was legal. No dice. He wrote a bit more on the ticket he was filling out.
It was at this point that the junior officer chimed in, telling his partner (the proverbial "bad cop") to please hold off on completing the ticket for a moment. He made friendly conversationg with us for a couple of minutes, while the older cop scowled, pen ready to sign the death warrant and finally confided in me that one way to save the situation was that I could go to the Nicaraguan border and pay so-and-so such and such amount and he’d probably put a stamp in my passport, which would make me legal. I could do this without having to stay out of the country the mandatory 72 hours. "My sister did it just last week" he told me. I could then come back and get the car and drive it with no trouble... However, if the older officer signed the ticket, they’d simply HAVE to impound the car and suspend the license. Several seconds of awkward silence ensued. I then asked how far it would be to walk to the nearest telephone. “10 km” came the reply. “Honey, I’ll be back in a couple of hours, I’m going to walk the rest of the way. Maybe I can get us another legal driver” I said. "That would be acceptible, right?" I added to the dynamic blue duo.
There was a quick exchange of glances followed by “Sir, you can go. We’ve decided not to ticket you. Have a nice day” and off we went. We talked with my wife’s cousin who is a lawyer later that night, and he assured us that there was no way they could have suspended my license or taken the car away. His best guess was that they were hoping the big rich gringo would just whip out his fat wallet and bribe his way out of the situation. Little did they know they were dealing with GRINGO/TICO JEW Man – he’s poor, he's stingy and he walks places!
Interestingly and "carmically", the following day we headed out for San Jose, and the car overheated (see above parenthetical reference to bad water pump) leaving my wife, my baby and I stranded by the side of the road on a tall remote mountain pass. We pulled off the road and within one minute, a traffic cop stopped, helped us get the car to a safe spot, called a mechanic, and stayed with us until the car’s owner got there to fix the radiator and drive us the rest of the way to Alajuela. This cop was among the nicest, most helpful officers of the law that I’ve ever met.
As of this morning, I have a Costa Rican driver’s license, own a new car, and managed to find time to register Cedro for his US birth certificate and passport. All has seemed to work out quite well for now…
Buddy,
I almost got nailed on the way to the beach last week - luck of the draw! Miss you guy, hope all is well up there. See you in a few.
Posted by: mr. evil | June 28, 2009 at 09:54 PM