I know it has been a while since the last post. So much has been going on that I haven't found the time, or haven't had the energy when I had the time, to spend it creating the blog. Me disculpa!
The trip to Monteverde was beautiful.
Monteverde really just a thin strip of land strung between two well-preserved cloud/rain forests in the mountains of Costa Rica a few miles north of the costal city of Puntarenas. When I say 'preserved' I mean just that. The roads into the area are fine, for a while, but then they become tiny dirt paths, just about wide enough for a bus, and so steep, sometimes, that you wonder how anything gets up them.
And this is by design!
The Quaker community who settled there didn't want a lot of tourist trade to upset the ecological balance and have lobbied to stop developments on the roads, leaving it up to those who are stout of heart and determination to make the trip. The roads inside the communities of Moteverde and St. Elena are nicely paved, but getting to them could seem like a nightmare (which it did when arriving long after dark and watching the bus driver negotiate the hairpin turns in a forty-five passenger Greyhoud).
During the day, however, your mind is distracted from the rigor of the trip by scenery, about which words seem puny to describe. This scenery remains pristine because the communities have fought to preserve the delicate eco-balance and therefore give hope to the committed traveler that there may be a way to turn around the mess we have made of this tiny blue marble in space. Organic farming, the use of alternate energy sources, and a stout resolve to make it all work, is inspiring.
While the sun was out I was treated to the most amazing views. Mountains rising straight up from the road, covered in lush green. The road nothing but a thin strip, sans any railing or other guards to keep the careless from falling hundreds of feet below, where everything is also emerald and filled with life. Below you, the valleys cut through the green in narrow strips, and nestled in, here and there, are clouds, white and fluffy, like small animals burrowed in for a nap.
I couldn't help but think of that miniature poem by Carl Sandburg:
The fog creeps in on little cats feet
It sits there on its hauches
Looking over harbor and city
and then moves on.
The clouds were sometimes above us, white and billowy.
Sometimes just a mist that shrouded the topmost curves of the mountains.
Sometimes below us, filtering through the crevices and blurring the small communities tucked in between peaks.
Sometimes all around us, cooling the air significantly, and blocking view of anything more than a few feet away within the encircling space.
In the afternoon, as I was walking back from the national forest in Monteverde to the little backpackers hostel in which I was staying, the air suddenly became almost chill and the clouds rolled in, sifting through, lifting for a brief moment, and then settling in again. A jacket was not wasted there, though after walking for just a few moments up and down the extreme grades of the road, I had to shed it because the air was so thick and full of humidity. I took several pictures, one of which was the path in front of me on the way to a pequeno (tiny) but wonderful mariposa preserve (butterflies). It was little more than a tunnel of clouds burrowed through the density of the trees shading the path. The picture looks like something out of an eerie thriller, where the music in the background signals something dire in the mist.
I'll try to post pictures when I return.
It is the Quaker community who took responsibility for preserving the rain forest and cloud forest which top the two peaks along the strip of land. They came to the area because, as committed pacifists, they wanted to be able to live and work without having to worry about the draft which had resulted in so many of them being imprisoned during the Korean Conflict and World War II. Costa Rica had dissolved their army following the Second Great War, and had already begun funneling the resulting windfall of tax revenue into the two significant issues of ecology and education within the country. It seemed, therefore, a likely place to begin a community where they could work and be left in peace. They raise an abundance of cattle and crops.
Indeed, one of the 'must see' tours is their dairy and cheese factory.
It was, of course, closed on Sunday when I was there.
The Quakers have been joined by other stout souls and the resulting communities have done an amazing job to preserve the beauty of the area. There are so many species of animals, birds, snakes, insects, etc. within and around the two forests, that it has become a watchers paradise. Everyone wants to see the resplendent, long-plumed quetzal. We actually saw two on our guided tour through the forest. (I took the tour, indeed all the tours, in spanish by the way).
There isn't a lot to do in the evening and St. Elena is small, but I managed to find a restaurant built around a huge fica tree, and had dinner beneath its abundant foilage on the second floor where I met a young woman from Syracuse who has made several trips to this tiny paradise. She and her partner have become captivated by the beauty and quiet that engulfs the area along with the clouds. While we were eating and talking it began to rain, but broad leaves and branches of the tree kept us sheltered and dry the entire time.
The bat jungle was another amazing discovery. I learned more about bats in the hour and a half presentation than I have ever known. After hearing about them and their habits, you begin to understand what remarkable creatures they are. Indeed, what an amazing and interconnected planet we have on our hands. I only hope that we can begin to learn how precious and fragile it is and work a lot harder to make sure that the balance between humans and the planet doesn't tilt too far in the direction of the humans.
If it does we lose!
Since the trip to Monteverde I have concentrated heavily on studies, though I took a couple of little trips. One was to Grecia, less than an hour by public bus to the north of San Jose. There I saw the most amazing insect and snake preserves I've ever seen). Also a little two-day trip to Cahuita, a tiny little community along the Caribbean coast where I was able to snorkle (though not scuba because of the national preserve there) and where I actually petted a shark who was nestled in among the coral about ten feet down and who didn't seem to mind us getting up close and personal.
If the trip to Costa Rica has done nothing else, it has reminded me again of the necessity of ecological concern. Costa Rica is such a tiny place, the entire country not even as large as Yellowstone Park in the U.S., but a place teeming with a variety of life and beauty.
But then, anywhere you go, in the US, in the oceans, in any place you might choose to visit on the earth, you cannot help but be reminded, if you are at all conscious and observant,of the variety, the stark beauty, and the absolute wonder of life.
I hope I never lose the excitement of discovery - of people, places, ideas, etc. If I ever decide to be complacent or satisfied; ifdiscover myself to be cynical or uncaring; it will be time to shut me away in that little six by six by three room and call it finished.
This will be my last post from Costa Rica.
I arrive back 'home' in just three days. But who knows for how long?
And the adventure continues!
Now that I've seen the clouds from both sides, it's time to think about the next phase of the journey.
Vaya con Dios, mis amigos. Hasta tan pronto!
(Go with God, my friends. Until very soon!)
Still learning, still growing, still discovering, still living!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Un dia muy interesante (A very interesting day)
Saturday Kelsey abandoned me to become reimmersed in her real life which anxiously awaited her return. Of course, I couldn't blame her. A new apartment and friends, school, and a life full of new possibilities....
But now, orphaned, I...
Alone in a world that has become strangely silent amid all the noise.
Don't get me wrong, I love being here. It's just that you don't realize how important easy conversation can be until it is no longer possible.
I know that I will eventually become more comfortable with the language, but it takes time. And it's very difficult for me to be unable to express myself comfortably.
There are new students here. Eight of them. All from Germany. They are all very young and, so far, seem to run together as a pack. I don't see myself being able to break into that circle very easily given my innate shyness, plus the fact that whenever I do find myself in the same room with them, they are all speaking either flawless Spanish or German. So I smile and say 'buenos dias' and head on to my class. I have promised myself that I will try to get to know them.
Sunday was an interesting day.
One of my profesoras mentioned, on Friday, that she belonged to a group who met on a regular basis to eat together and dance. At the word 'dance' my ears perked up and I questioned her about the details.
It is a group of singles, who range in age from mid-thirties to much older, and who meet about every other week in different locations to eat together, drink various beverages, and dance. The cost for the day, including transportation by tour bus, lunch and snacks, and all the dancing you could take, was about $20. It sounded like a good deal to me and I called her later to tell her I was 'in'.
Mariello gave me typical Tico directions. I was to meet her one hundred twenty-five meters from the Cafe Maravilloso headquarters, somewhere around the Princesa de la Marina restaurant. There the bus tour-bus, already filled with the others, would pick us up on their way from San Jose to Cartago, at about 9:00 a.m. on Sunday morning.
Forgetting that I am on 'Tico time', I showed up at 8:55.
At 9:20 I heard Mariello yelling to me from across the street that she would be there in 'un poco minuto'. Her house was right there! Ten minutes later she joined me at the spot only to announce that the bus driver had only thought he knew where the Princesa de la Marina was located, and now we had to hoof it about 10 blocks north to the Pops (ice cream joint) just north of the school. We made it in plenty of time, by the way.
The bus stopped and we were welcomed aboard by a chorus of welcoming voices, all of whom seemed to know Mariello. She announced to the bus that I was a student from the United States and that I 'needed to practice my Spanish', which announcement warranted a round of applause. And I was quickly dubbed 'Rickie'.
I wish I had the words to describe the countryside through which we traveled to Cartago. Kelsey and I had walked the route to the fiesta the week previous, and I had taken several pictures, but looking at them later I was struck by the fact that none of them did justice to the depth and breadth of the beauty of the scenery.
The mountains, which would be more like the hills of Appalachia or Arkansas -- not mountains like those in Colorado or New Mexico -- rose from the valley, sometimes nearly straight up. They are the deepest shades of green you can imagine, and the trees which cover them are huge, with wide expanses of branches. Among the trees are palms of a variety of shapes and sizes, and where there are flowers, the colors pop like neon signs backed by the lush green of the hills. You can only imagine the purples and reds and oranges and yellows and colors like those I have never seen anywhere. Often the crests of the hills are blanketed by clouds and the leaves of the palms and trees constantly drip with water.
We passed through Cartago and over the mountain to the other side, where there were small villages nestled in among the crevases of the mountains. Tiny little fincas (farms) which were sometimes located on a pitch so steep that it seemed impossible to walk there, let alone grow anything. Coffee plants, pineapple, coconut palms, potatoes, chayote, fruit trees of every variety. It was beautiful and quaint at the same time. So picturesque.
To get to the little farm/bed and breakfast where we were going the bus had to negotiate the narrowest of paths up and up and up and then down and down, and then back up again. Finally the bus could go no further and we had to walk up a steep incline to the little farm. I have yet to understand how they got those two buses turned around and headed back down. Those drivers must be 'los expertos buenos!
The rest of the morning and afternoon was spent eating, drinking, and dancing in the dining area which, like most in Costa Rica, was open to the air. Especially dancing!! I guess you could say I was a hit. An american male who knew how to dance and didn't know enough of the language to be any trouble! I don't think I sat down for more than ten minutes at a time. The only way I could get off the dance floor was to go to the 'bano' or take a walk down the path away from the floor. Otherwise, as soon as a song would end, another mujer (woman) would be there with her hand out and an invitation to the dance.
Don't get me wrong -- I loved it. I met a lot of people and was exposed to a lot of Spanish, and I learned a few new dances and a lot of new steps to some with which I am already familiar. Their 'favorito' was Cumbia, which has never been one of my favorites, but they attack it with such joy and gusto that one can't help but get in the spirit. Bolero, on the other hand, is a nice, slow, 'romantica' dance, much like the rumba, but with more spirit. We did some salsa, but more merenge and cumbia than anything else. They threw in a little reggatone and finally even some American Swing, to which they all did Cumbia or the Twist. Cumbia to "the A Train", "One O'clock Jump", and "Rock Around the Clock". Muy interesante!
Dancing gives you a good cardio workout, and by the time lunch was served I had worked up a real appetite. After lunch, at about 2:30 (will I ever get used to Tico-time?) the dancing continued until 6:30. It was dark by then and the songs of the tree frogs blended with the music of the dance floor.
I have to admit, it was a little bit magic.
Everyone else was cold, by the time we left, putting on sweaters and jackets. I was very warm. Being used to the heat of Oklahoma I am amazed when I hear people say "tengo frio" (I'm cold) because the temperature drops to 78 degrees. It feels just fine to me! I guess it's all a matter of perspective.
The trip home in the dark provided glimpses, at every turn, of the lights of the little villages twinkling like fireflies against the dark of the mountains. When we went through Cartago the basillica to which Kelsey and I had walked, was brilliantly illuminated and shone like silver. Que bonita! (How very beautiful).
It was a day I shall not soon forget. I had to promise, before they would let off the bus, that I would return for the next outing, which will be at the famous Castro's bar, which is noted for its raucous clientele and for the salsa which blares from its darkened interior drawing people like moths to a flame.
At this point I certainly plan to be there. Even though I have yet to master Spanish, the language of friendship and welcome has been much easier to understand.
Next weekend I think I will go to Monte Verde, which is located in a cloud forest. I have been in buses or vans as we drove through a cloud forest, but have never actually stayed in one. It should prove to be yet another unforgettable experience.
I promise to report on it later, for any who might be interested.
Mama Nury just handed me a glass of wine and announced that dinner is nearly ready. I never miss one of her meals. The house smells delicious.
So, for now, que les vaya bien (take care of yourselves) mis amigos.
I remain,
Lost in Translation
But now, orphaned, I...
Alone in a world that has become strangely silent amid all the noise.
Don't get me wrong, I love being here. It's just that you don't realize how important easy conversation can be until it is no longer possible.
I know that I will eventually become more comfortable with the language, but it takes time. And it's very difficult for me to be unable to express myself comfortably.
There are new students here. Eight of them. All from Germany. They are all very young and, so far, seem to run together as a pack. I don't see myself being able to break into that circle very easily given my innate shyness, plus the fact that whenever I do find myself in the same room with them, they are all speaking either flawless Spanish or German. So I smile and say 'buenos dias' and head on to my class. I have promised myself that I will try to get to know them.
Sunday was an interesting day.
One of my profesoras mentioned, on Friday, that she belonged to a group who met on a regular basis to eat together and dance. At the word 'dance' my ears perked up and I questioned her about the details.
It is a group of singles, who range in age from mid-thirties to much older, and who meet about every other week in different locations to eat together, drink various beverages, and dance. The cost for the day, including transportation by tour bus, lunch and snacks, and all the dancing you could take, was about $20. It sounded like a good deal to me and I called her later to tell her I was 'in'.
Mariello gave me typical Tico directions. I was to meet her one hundred twenty-five meters from the Cafe Maravilloso headquarters, somewhere around the Princesa de la Marina restaurant. There the bus tour-bus, already filled with the others, would pick us up on their way from San Jose to Cartago, at about 9:00 a.m. on Sunday morning.
Forgetting that I am on 'Tico time', I showed up at 8:55.
At 9:20 I heard Mariello yelling to me from across the street that she would be there in 'un poco minuto'. Her house was right there! Ten minutes later she joined me at the spot only to announce that the bus driver had only thought he knew where the Princesa de la Marina was located, and now we had to hoof it about 10 blocks north to the Pops (ice cream joint) just north of the school. We made it in plenty of time, by the way.
The bus stopped and we were welcomed aboard by a chorus of welcoming voices, all of whom seemed to know Mariello. She announced to the bus that I was a student from the United States and that I 'needed to practice my Spanish', which announcement warranted a round of applause. And I was quickly dubbed 'Rickie'.
I wish I had the words to describe the countryside through which we traveled to Cartago. Kelsey and I had walked the route to the fiesta the week previous, and I had taken several pictures, but looking at them later I was struck by the fact that none of them did justice to the depth and breadth of the beauty of the scenery.
The mountains, which would be more like the hills of Appalachia or Arkansas -- not mountains like those in Colorado or New Mexico -- rose from the valley, sometimes nearly straight up. They are the deepest shades of green you can imagine, and the trees which cover them are huge, with wide expanses of branches. Among the trees are palms of a variety of shapes and sizes, and where there are flowers, the colors pop like neon signs backed by the lush green of the hills. You can only imagine the purples and reds and oranges and yellows and colors like those I have never seen anywhere. Often the crests of the hills are blanketed by clouds and the leaves of the palms and trees constantly drip with water.
We passed through Cartago and over the mountain to the other side, where there were small villages nestled in among the crevases of the mountains. Tiny little fincas (farms) which were sometimes located on a pitch so steep that it seemed impossible to walk there, let alone grow anything. Coffee plants, pineapple, coconut palms, potatoes, chayote, fruit trees of every variety. It was beautiful and quaint at the same time. So picturesque.
To get to the little farm/bed and breakfast where we were going the bus had to negotiate the narrowest of paths up and up and up and then down and down, and then back up again. Finally the bus could go no further and we had to walk up a steep incline to the little farm. I have yet to understand how they got those two buses turned around and headed back down. Those drivers must be 'los expertos buenos!
The rest of the morning and afternoon was spent eating, drinking, and dancing in the dining area which, like most in Costa Rica, was open to the air. Especially dancing!! I guess you could say I was a hit. An american male who knew how to dance and didn't know enough of the language to be any trouble! I don't think I sat down for more than ten minutes at a time. The only way I could get off the dance floor was to go to the 'bano' or take a walk down the path away from the floor. Otherwise, as soon as a song would end, another mujer (woman) would be there with her hand out and an invitation to the dance.
Don't get me wrong -- I loved it. I met a lot of people and was exposed to a lot of Spanish, and I learned a few new dances and a lot of new steps to some with which I am already familiar. Their 'favorito' was Cumbia, which has never been one of my favorites, but they attack it with such joy and gusto that one can't help but get in the spirit. Bolero, on the other hand, is a nice, slow, 'romantica' dance, much like the rumba, but with more spirit. We did some salsa, but more merenge and cumbia than anything else. They threw in a little reggatone and finally even some American Swing, to which they all did Cumbia or the Twist. Cumbia to "the A Train", "One O'clock Jump", and "Rock Around the Clock". Muy interesante!
Dancing gives you a good cardio workout, and by the time lunch was served I had worked up a real appetite. After lunch, at about 2:30 (will I ever get used to Tico-time?) the dancing continued until 6:30. It was dark by then and the songs of the tree frogs blended with the music of the dance floor.
I have to admit, it was a little bit magic.
Everyone else was cold, by the time we left, putting on sweaters and jackets. I was very warm. Being used to the heat of Oklahoma I am amazed when I hear people say "tengo frio" (I'm cold) because the temperature drops to 78 degrees. It feels just fine to me! I guess it's all a matter of perspective.
The trip home in the dark provided glimpses, at every turn, of the lights of the little villages twinkling like fireflies against the dark of the mountains. When we went through Cartago the basillica to which Kelsey and I had walked, was brilliantly illuminated and shone like silver. Que bonita! (How very beautiful).
It was a day I shall not soon forget. I had to promise, before they would let off the bus, that I would return for the next outing, which will be at the famous Castro's bar, which is noted for its raucous clientele and for the salsa which blares from its darkened interior drawing people like moths to a flame.
At this point I certainly plan to be there. Even though I have yet to master Spanish, the language of friendship and welcome has been much easier to understand.
Next weekend I think I will go to Monte Verde, which is located in a cloud forest. I have been in buses or vans as we drove through a cloud forest, but have never actually stayed in one. It should prove to be yet another unforgettable experience.
I promise to report on it later, for any who might be interested.
Mama Nury just handed me a glass of wine and announced that dinner is nearly ready. I never miss one of her meals. The house smells delicious.
So, for now, que les vaya bien (take care of yourselves) mis amigos.
I remain,
Lost in Translation
Monday, August 2, 2010
...thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages...
When Kelsey and I entered the que of people heading for Cartago, I couldn't help but think about those opening lines from the Canterbury Tales.
Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote...
We joined an immense crowd of people, walking from as far away as Nicaragua to the little town of Cartago, where there is a basillica built around a small black statue of the Virgin Mary.
Here's the story:
In 1635, in the area around what is now Cartago, the mestizo population was segregated from the rest of society, and by law, were not allowed to live outside their tiny ghetto, and were not allowed to marry outside of their own race. Mestizo's, of course, were the mixed-blood result of the Spanish conquistadors joining with the native indian population.
It happened one day that a young mestizo woman went outside the barrio in order to gather wood in the forest. Nearing a spring-fed stream, she saw a little black stone madonna, baby Jesus in arm, sitting atop a rock.
The young woman thought it too precious an object to be left in the forest and so took it home and put it in a chest for safe keeping. The next day, since she had been so preoccupied with the statue that she had forgotten the wood, she returned to the forest, and there, on the same rock, was another black stone madonna. Well, she couldn't just leave it there, so she took it home to place in the chest with the other madonna, but when she opened the chest, there was no other madonna.
She figured someone was playing a trick on her. She locked the chest.
The next day she went back to the forest, and there was the madonna, on the same rock.
Now she was a bit frighened. She took the madonna to her home and opened the chest, and found no madonna there.
The monsignor of the big church seemed her only hope. She ran with the madonna to him and told him what had happened. The monsignor humored her, thinking that she was telling a tale. He took the madonna and locked it safely within the sacristy of the church.
But when the young woman returned to the forest, there was the little black madonna. And when she returned with it to the church, the monsignor realized that a miracle had occured. The madonna had disappeared from the sacristy.
Instead of moving the madonna again, he ordered that a church be erected around it, and that is where it sits today, beneath a portico of the church, and the water that comes from beneath the rock is said to have healing powers. Pilgrims come to the basillica regularly.
But on August 2, the little town is overrun by pilgrims who come to celebrate the La Virgin de Angeles de Costa Rica, and this is, other than Christmas and the Day of the Children, the most sacred celebration for the country of Costa Rica.
And we were part of it!
We began our walk just north of the school on the main road between Curridabat and Cartago. We were not alone. Thousands flooded the left-hand side of the road which had been cordoned off to allow for the foot traffic.
Cartago sits in the valley on the other side of the mountain, which meant that our entire trek was uphill. We are not quite sure of the distance, but it is 14-15kilometers. So about 10 miles. We did the distance in just over 3 1/2 hours.
We were certainly tired, but so gratified to have been able to be a part of this great festival.
The basillica itself is beautiful. Not huge, but so beautifully made. The interior looks to me like a Russian Orthodox church and is all of polished woods of different kinds.
Once inside, the pilgrims fall to their knees and go the length of the church, many with tears streaming down their faces. Some dragging crutches, or helping others who cannot move themselves. It was truly a moving experience to be a part of it.
I know that it is easy to take the whole thing with a grain of salt, but it still amazes me the direction and depth and variety of spiritual journeys upon which people may embark. Whether or not you or I believe the story is of no consequence. What counts here (as in the pilgimages to Mecca or the wailing wall in Jerusalem, etc.) is the depth of faith for those who make the pilgimage and for whom it is truly a sacred moment - one of those 'thin places' where the eternal and the temporal seem to almost meet.
For Kelsey and I it was a wonderful moment to share, and I was so glad to be a part of it.
We took the bus home!
We were not alone in that enterprise either. When we got to the bus station I asked one of the transportation officials there if this was the bus right bus to take to Curridabat. He said yes, and that we just needed to get in the line. We followed the line all the way around the blcok til we were almost at the place I had asked the questions. There we joined the line. It was like queing up for a rock concert. The time passed quickly, however, as it always does when you have good company and enlivened coversation. Before long we were seated and headed home, going past the throngs still crowding the road on their way to the little town.
Today, I'm sure, it will be crowded beyond all comprehension, because this is THE national holiday and everyone who couldn't make it because of work or other obligations will make the trek today, where the cardinal will do several misas and the faithful will be part of something much larger than themselves.
On Sunday Kelsey wanted to go to church, so I persuaded Nury to take us to the Catholic Church of San Bosco, located on a high school campus. I had been there before and loved the atmosphere. The padre, Guido Marucio, is younger (mid to late 40's) and service itself filled with praise songs and children - lots and lots of children. The padre engages the congregation in dialogue during his sermon, which always has a lot of funny moments. Nury doesn't particularly like the service. It's a little 'non-traditional' for her, but she accomodated us and we both loved it. It was Kelsey's first time to attend a Catholic service, so it was doubly interesting.
Different people read the scriptures for the day. A young girl read the epistle portion. She looked straight at the audience the whole time. It was when they helped her off-stage that we realized she was blind, and had been reading from a braille bible. She read with such passion and conviction. Truly moving.
After the service, on the taxi-ride home, Nury said, "Rick, would you like to go to lunch with me at Orietta's house." "Sure, why not," I answered, having nothing else planned for the afternoon. And off we went, Kelsey in tow, as though she had agreed as well. I asked Kelsey if she was OK with this, and she thought it would be fun.
Remember when I told you about the biddies of Costa Rica?
Sunday was a replay in I-max!
This time there were a couple of other friends, and the conversation was loud, and long, and extremely funny. After a while the cranked up some music on the computer and, oh yes, there was dancing. I'm surprised any of us can walk today. I have not laughed so hard in a long time. And they spoke very little English. So I must be getting a lot better because I understood most of what when on, though some of it was said specifically to keep me in the dark, I suspect.
I have said before that hospitality is just a way of life here. We got there at a little before 1:00 and finally at 6:30 Kelsey said she probably ought be let her host family know she was alive and well. Nury said, "Just one more beer and we'll go." This time she was good for her word.
On the way home she asked Kelsey if she and her host mom would like to join us for dinner on Wednesay. It should be fun. But it won't just us. Today she told me she thought Elbe (her sister) and Grace (a friend) will join us. Maybe Vicky and Orietta as well. Who know who else!
They make you feel so comfortable. Treat you as one of the family. What a gracious and loving people. They may not have a lot, but whatever they have is meant to be shared. And they do it with such gusto and joy.
What a great weekend so far.
And today we have no class because of the holiday, and no plans. That will change.
I have a good feeling about today.
Hasta luego, mis amigos. Vaya con Dios.
Your Pilgrim in Process
Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote...
We joined an immense crowd of people, walking from as far away as Nicaragua to the little town of Cartago, where there is a basillica built around a small black statue of the Virgin Mary.
Here's the story:
In 1635, in the area around what is now Cartago, the mestizo population was segregated from the rest of society, and by law, were not allowed to live outside their tiny ghetto, and were not allowed to marry outside of their own race. Mestizo's, of course, were the mixed-blood result of the Spanish conquistadors joining with the native indian population.
It happened one day that a young mestizo woman went outside the barrio in order to gather wood in the forest. Nearing a spring-fed stream, she saw a little black stone madonna, baby Jesus in arm, sitting atop a rock.
The young woman thought it too precious an object to be left in the forest and so took it home and put it in a chest for safe keeping. The next day, since she had been so preoccupied with the statue that she had forgotten the wood, she returned to the forest, and there, on the same rock, was another black stone madonna. Well, she couldn't just leave it there, so she took it home to place in the chest with the other madonna, but when she opened the chest, there was no other madonna.
She figured someone was playing a trick on her. She locked the chest.
The next day she went back to the forest, and there was the madonna, on the same rock.
Now she was a bit frighened. She took the madonna to her home and opened the chest, and found no madonna there.
The monsignor of the big church seemed her only hope. She ran with the madonna to him and told him what had happened. The monsignor humored her, thinking that she was telling a tale. He took the madonna and locked it safely within the sacristy of the church.
But when the young woman returned to the forest, there was the little black madonna. And when she returned with it to the church, the monsignor realized that a miracle had occured. The madonna had disappeared from the sacristy.
Instead of moving the madonna again, he ordered that a church be erected around it, and that is where it sits today, beneath a portico of the church, and the water that comes from beneath the rock is said to have healing powers. Pilgrims come to the basillica regularly.
But on August 2, the little town is overrun by pilgrims who come to celebrate the La Virgin de Angeles de Costa Rica, and this is, other than Christmas and the Day of the Children, the most sacred celebration for the country of Costa Rica.
And we were part of it!
We began our walk just north of the school on the main road between Curridabat and Cartago. We were not alone. Thousands flooded the left-hand side of the road which had been cordoned off to allow for the foot traffic.
Cartago sits in the valley on the other side of the mountain, which meant that our entire trek was uphill. We are not quite sure of the distance, but it is 14-15kilometers. So about 10 miles. We did the distance in just over 3 1/2 hours.
We were certainly tired, but so gratified to have been able to be a part of this great festival.
The basillica itself is beautiful. Not huge, but so beautifully made. The interior looks to me like a Russian Orthodox church and is all of polished woods of different kinds.
Once inside, the pilgrims fall to their knees and go the length of the church, many with tears streaming down their faces. Some dragging crutches, or helping others who cannot move themselves. It was truly a moving experience to be a part of it.
I know that it is easy to take the whole thing with a grain of salt, but it still amazes me the direction and depth and variety of spiritual journeys upon which people may embark. Whether or not you or I believe the story is of no consequence. What counts here (as in the pilgimages to Mecca or the wailing wall in Jerusalem, etc.) is the depth of faith for those who make the pilgimage and for whom it is truly a sacred moment - one of those 'thin places' where the eternal and the temporal seem to almost meet.
For Kelsey and I it was a wonderful moment to share, and I was so glad to be a part of it.
We took the bus home!
We were not alone in that enterprise either. When we got to the bus station I asked one of the transportation officials there if this was the bus right bus to take to Curridabat. He said yes, and that we just needed to get in the line. We followed the line all the way around the blcok til we were almost at the place I had asked the questions. There we joined the line. It was like queing up for a rock concert. The time passed quickly, however, as it always does when you have good company and enlivened coversation. Before long we were seated and headed home, going past the throngs still crowding the road on their way to the little town.
Today, I'm sure, it will be crowded beyond all comprehension, because this is THE national holiday and everyone who couldn't make it because of work or other obligations will make the trek today, where the cardinal will do several misas and the faithful will be part of something much larger than themselves.
On Sunday Kelsey wanted to go to church, so I persuaded Nury to take us to the Catholic Church of San Bosco, located on a high school campus. I had been there before and loved the atmosphere. The padre, Guido Marucio, is younger (mid to late 40's) and service itself filled with praise songs and children - lots and lots of children. The padre engages the congregation in dialogue during his sermon, which always has a lot of funny moments. Nury doesn't particularly like the service. It's a little 'non-traditional' for her, but she accomodated us and we both loved it. It was Kelsey's first time to attend a Catholic service, so it was doubly interesting.
Different people read the scriptures for the day. A young girl read the epistle portion. She looked straight at the audience the whole time. It was when they helped her off-stage that we realized she was blind, and had been reading from a braille bible. She read with such passion and conviction. Truly moving.
After the service, on the taxi-ride home, Nury said, "Rick, would you like to go to lunch with me at Orietta's house." "Sure, why not," I answered, having nothing else planned for the afternoon. And off we went, Kelsey in tow, as though she had agreed as well. I asked Kelsey if she was OK with this, and she thought it would be fun.
Remember when I told you about the biddies of Costa Rica?
Sunday was a replay in I-max!
This time there were a couple of other friends, and the conversation was loud, and long, and extremely funny. After a while the cranked up some music on the computer and, oh yes, there was dancing. I'm surprised any of us can walk today. I have not laughed so hard in a long time. And they spoke very little English. So I must be getting a lot better because I understood most of what when on, though some of it was said specifically to keep me in the dark, I suspect.
I have said before that hospitality is just a way of life here. We got there at a little before 1:00 and finally at 6:30 Kelsey said she probably ought be let her host family know she was alive and well. Nury said, "Just one more beer and we'll go." This time she was good for her word.
On the way home she asked Kelsey if she and her host mom would like to join us for dinner on Wednesay. It should be fun. But it won't just us. Today she told me she thought Elbe (her sister) and Grace (a friend) will join us. Maybe Vicky and Orietta as well. Who know who else!
They make you feel so comfortable. Treat you as one of the family. What a gracious and loving people. They may not have a lot, but whatever they have is meant to be shared. And they do it with such gusto and joy.
What a great weekend so far.
And today we have no class because of the holiday, and no plans. That will change.
I have a good feeling about today.
Hasta luego, mis amigos. Vaya con Dios.
Your Pilgrim in Process
Monday, July 26, 2010
What's for Supper? Maybe me!
Sharks look disarmingly languid as they move through the water. At least until they see something they want, or are made curious by some movement that is nearby.
In New York, when they talk about someone swimming with the fishes, its a rather permanent state of being, you know.
Playa del Coco sits on nearly the northern most point of the northern penninsula. It is far less developed than many of the beaches to it's south, Tamarindo having become one of the more developed enclaves of monied foreign nationals with it's white sands and gleaming high-rises.
Coco's sand is, well, coco-colored - making the place look a little dirty, like someone forgot to wash the beach. There is, of course, commercialization, (you can't have a beach without people figuring out how to cash in on it), but not nearly as much as some of the less-accessable and more highly-developed beaches on the penninsula. Coco is quickly becoming a haven for divers and sport's fisher-folk due to the wide variety of marine life so easily accessible around the spectacular islands that rise from the sea-bed. One of them, when seen from the shore, looks like a giant turtle, and is aptly named, Tortuga Island.
We boarded the public bus in San Jose. The price for a trip almost across the country was about $6.50. A nice big bus with fairly comfortable seats and an air-conditioning system that was operated manually -- by opening the windows. When we boarded the bus was about half full. But along the way more and more people kept getting on, until there was a cue of bodies down the entire center aisle of the bus. Finally, I could not help myself and offered a seat to one of the young women, who, taking me up on the offer, sat down, and immediately went to sleep. As it happened, I only had to stand for about thirty or forty minutes before a seat was made available by someone getting off the bus, and I was able to ride the rest of the way with my friends, Kelsey and Aaron.
Kelsey is a junior at Baylor University, studying to be a teacher. An remarkable young woman who has, at one time, spent six weeks in Morocco on a mission trip. Her goal in teaching is to work with inner-city or other youth who might otherwise be shunted aside due to the many wounds that poverty inflicts. She's here immersing herself in spanish so she can be more effective at her job. Quite a bright light.
Aaron is fifteen and a sophomore in Boise, Idaho. His mother was with him for a week of spanish classes, until she felt safe leaving him alone in a foreign country to do two more weeks of immersion. Little did she know we would whisk him half-way across the country for a weekend at the beach. I think he cleared it with her by email before we left. At least he said he had.
When I told them what I was planning to do for the weekend, both decided that it might be fun to spend the weekend on the beach, and so we booked some rooms, bought our tickets, and began our adventure.
The place we found to stay is called Laura's House. It is an eight-room bed and breakfast (cost: $40 per night for a double) with a staff that is very accomodating. As a matter-of-fact, when they discovered that we were studying spanish, they went out of their way to keep us in practice, even though the proprieter could speak English very well. When I would start to say something, she would say, "In espanol, por favor."
The place had a nice pool, real air-condtioning, breakfast and wi-fi included, and perhaps the best shower I have experienced in two times in Costa Rica. And you needed the showers because the fine, brown sand coats everything it touches and you can't walk three feet in the dense air without prespiring through everything in which you are dressed.
Aaron and Kelsey were there just to hang out and breathe in the local air. My main goal, however, was, perhaps, a little more ambitious.
I booked a three-tank boat dive for Saturday, beginning at 7:30 a.m. I got up as quietly as I could so as not to disturb Aaron, who was so sound asleep that I could probably been a brass band in full throat and not have disturbed him, and headed for the dive shop.
There I met a young man from Canada who is working on his instructors credentials and so has committed to working at the shop for free for three months, getting his dives in and helping with the dives for the those just doing exploration dives (no certification necessary and just brief instruction landward before being taken out by a master diver and assistant). Another young man, Owen, was from Boston. The owner, whom I met later, was a tall woman from Germany. I think most of the businesses in Coco seem to be owned by foreign nationals, and operated by a conglomeration of Ticos and others who may or may not be there for very long.
I was told before the dive that the waters would not be clear and blue like those I had experienced in Cozumel or Boca Chica, but that we were likely to see a large variety of marine life, including star fish, eagle wrays, barracuda, shark, lobster, tortuga (turtles), etc.
I was not disappointed.
The beginning of the dive was a little rough given the fact that I hadn't done it for more than a year, and was a bit rusty on the procedures, coupled with being very excited. So it took me a little while to settle my breathing and relax. But once down around 25 meters, it all came back to me, and Miguel, my dive-master, and I, just explored the waters of Coco. There was another group with us on the boat, but they were taken separately on their dive because none were certified and were, therefore, much more limited in where they could go.
Almost immediately Miguel began pointing to our left, and when I turned was greeted by the sleekly-moving form of a white-tipped shark, amblling along paying us no attention whatsoever. It made me a little nervous to turn my back on it as it slid past. Within seconds it had circled round and was having another pass, this time about five yards closer. Miquel, in the meantime, was trying to show me a rockfish that had half-buried itself in the sand. I decided if he wasn't worried, I needn't be. I guess we must not have looked as appetizing as I thought I did, and the toothy preditor ambled up a slope in search of more succulent 'comida' (food).
We saw so many different kinds of fish, and other marine life. The colorful coral was not as prominent, nor the different kinds of coral I had experienced on Planchar Reef, but it was none-the-less spectacular. Before long I checked my meter and noticed that it was time to head for the boat. We did, and took an hour, eating fresh pinapple and drinking lots of water, before motoring to another island and heading down for the second dive.
This time we saw a small eagle wray gliding along with a trumpet fish sitting like a second spine along it's back, lots more rock fish, starfish, sea horses, etc. and then, coming up over a mound of coral, three rather large white tips lounging on the bottom. By the time we saw them we were less than five feet from them. We just kept still and watched them as one and then another foraged out for a little ways and then swam back. Again, they paid no more attention to us than as if we were rocks or some very uninteresting form of sea life. It was amazing to be that close. One was small, about two meters. The others were about three to five meters each.
At one point, later in the dive, we came upon what appeared to be a wall of stone about three meters in front of us, and stretching to about four meters up from the sea-bed. It wasn't a wall at all, but a school of fish - hundreds of them, who never even moved until I reached out to touch one, and then, as one, sailed like a flock of birds around us and out of reach. I thought of that scene in 'Finding Nemo' when the school of fish, who were like Dora, formed an arrow pointing them toward Austrailia.
The third dive produced for us a very fat, very slow-swimming tortuga with whom we wandered for several minutes, and, again, two or three white-tips. Since we did each dive in a different location, several miles apart from each other, the scenery was always different. For instance, this one sported a wreck and when we floated over the open holds, we could see hundreds of fish, a different type in each of the six holds. I wanted to swim down in, but that would have to wait for another time.
The dives have only served to whet my appetite for more. Before I leave here I hope to do some in the clearer waters to the south, or at the spectacular reefs to the far north. Whether or not I get the chance, I have at least experienced what I had hoped, but still will probably not be satisfied until I can do more.
Havng Kelsey and Aaron share the weekend was a real blessing. I never mind being by myself, but it's always more fun when you have others with whom to share. Some of my best times when I was here before were those shared with Steven Battle and his family, and with Ancilla and Pablo and Alex at Tortugero.
Kelsey and I plan to do a few more trips before Kelsey leaves, including perhaps, a twenty mile hike to the festival of Santa Maria in Cartago. This festival will have more than a million people crammed into this tiny village around the spectacular little basillica, to celebrate the Miracle of the Virgin. The roads between Nicaraqua and Cartago will be closed to traffic to accomodate the pilgrims WALKING all the way from Nicaragua to Cartago. We figure if they can do that, we can make the twenty miles on foot.
We will see!
That's enough for now.
The rain has stopped and I really should get to the homework for tomorrow.
Via con Dios, mis amigos. Go with God.
One who 'swam with the fishes' and lived to tell about it.
In New York, when they talk about someone swimming with the fishes, its a rather permanent state of being, you know.
Playa del Coco sits on nearly the northern most point of the northern penninsula. It is far less developed than many of the beaches to it's south, Tamarindo having become one of the more developed enclaves of monied foreign nationals with it's white sands and gleaming high-rises.
Coco's sand is, well, coco-colored - making the place look a little dirty, like someone forgot to wash the beach. There is, of course, commercialization, (you can't have a beach without people figuring out how to cash in on it), but not nearly as much as some of the less-accessable and more highly-developed beaches on the penninsula. Coco is quickly becoming a haven for divers and sport's fisher-folk due to the wide variety of marine life so easily accessible around the spectacular islands that rise from the sea-bed. One of them, when seen from the shore, looks like a giant turtle, and is aptly named, Tortuga Island.
We boarded the public bus in San Jose. The price for a trip almost across the country was about $6.50. A nice big bus with fairly comfortable seats and an air-conditioning system that was operated manually -- by opening the windows. When we boarded the bus was about half full. But along the way more and more people kept getting on, until there was a cue of bodies down the entire center aisle of the bus. Finally, I could not help myself and offered a seat to one of the young women, who, taking me up on the offer, sat down, and immediately went to sleep. As it happened, I only had to stand for about thirty or forty minutes before a seat was made available by someone getting off the bus, and I was able to ride the rest of the way with my friends, Kelsey and Aaron.
Kelsey is a junior at Baylor University, studying to be a teacher. An remarkable young woman who has, at one time, spent six weeks in Morocco on a mission trip. Her goal in teaching is to work with inner-city or other youth who might otherwise be shunted aside due to the many wounds that poverty inflicts. She's here immersing herself in spanish so she can be more effective at her job. Quite a bright light.
Aaron is fifteen and a sophomore in Boise, Idaho. His mother was with him for a week of spanish classes, until she felt safe leaving him alone in a foreign country to do two more weeks of immersion. Little did she know we would whisk him half-way across the country for a weekend at the beach. I think he cleared it with her by email before we left. At least he said he had.
When I told them what I was planning to do for the weekend, both decided that it might be fun to spend the weekend on the beach, and so we booked some rooms, bought our tickets, and began our adventure.
The place we found to stay is called Laura's House. It is an eight-room bed and breakfast (cost: $40 per night for a double) with a staff that is very accomodating. As a matter-of-fact, when they discovered that we were studying spanish, they went out of their way to keep us in practice, even though the proprieter could speak English very well. When I would start to say something, she would say, "In espanol, por favor."
The place had a nice pool, real air-condtioning, breakfast and wi-fi included, and perhaps the best shower I have experienced in two times in Costa Rica. And you needed the showers because the fine, brown sand coats everything it touches and you can't walk three feet in the dense air without prespiring through everything in which you are dressed.
Aaron and Kelsey were there just to hang out and breathe in the local air. My main goal, however, was, perhaps, a little more ambitious.
I booked a three-tank boat dive for Saturday, beginning at 7:30 a.m. I got up as quietly as I could so as not to disturb Aaron, who was so sound asleep that I could probably been a brass band in full throat and not have disturbed him, and headed for the dive shop.
There I met a young man from Canada who is working on his instructors credentials and so has committed to working at the shop for free for three months, getting his dives in and helping with the dives for the those just doing exploration dives (no certification necessary and just brief instruction landward before being taken out by a master diver and assistant). Another young man, Owen, was from Boston. The owner, whom I met later, was a tall woman from Germany. I think most of the businesses in Coco seem to be owned by foreign nationals, and operated by a conglomeration of Ticos and others who may or may not be there for very long.
I was told before the dive that the waters would not be clear and blue like those I had experienced in Cozumel or Boca Chica, but that we were likely to see a large variety of marine life, including star fish, eagle wrays, barracuda, shark, lobster, tortuga (turtles), etc.
I was not disappointed.
The beginning of the dive was a little rough given the fact that I hadn't done it for more than a year, and was a bit rusty on the procedures, coupled with being very excited. So it took me a little while to settle my breathing and relax. But once down around 25 meters, it all came back to me, and Miguel, my dive-master, and I, just explored the waters of Coco. There was another group with us on the boat, but they were taken separately on their dive because none were certified and were, therefore, much more limited in where they could go.
Almost immediately Miguel began pointing to our left, and when I turned was greeted by the sleekly-moving form of a white-tipped shark, amblling along paying us no attention whatsoever. It made me a little nervous to turn my back on it as it slid past. Within seconds it had circled round and was having another pass, this time about five yards closer. Miquel, in the meantime, was trying to show me a rockfish that had half-buried itself in the sand. I decided if he wasn't worried, I needn't be. I guess we must not have looked as appetizing as I thought I did, and the toothy preditor ambled up a slope in search of more succulent 'comida' (food).
We saw so many different kinds of fish, and other marine life. The colorful coral was not as prominent, nor the different kinds of coral I had experienced on Planchar Reef, but it was none-the-less spectacular. Before long I checked my meter and noticed that it was time to head for the boat. We did, and took an hour, eating fresh pinapple and drinking lots of water, before motoring to another island and heading down for the second dive.
This time we saw a small eagle wray gliding along with a trumpet fish sitting like a second spine along it's back, lots more rock fish, starfish, sea horses, etc. and then, coming up over a mound of coral, three rather large white tips lounging on the bottom. By the time we saw them we were less than five feet from them. We just kept still and watched them as one and then another foraged out for a little ways and then swam back. Again, they paid no more attention to us than as if we were rocks or some very uninteresting form of sea life. It was amazing to be that close. One was small, about two meters. The others were about three to five meters each.
At one point, later in the dive, we came upon what appeared to be a wall of stone about three meters in front of us, and stretching to about four meters up from the sea-bed. It wasn't a wall at all, but a school of fish - hundreds of them, who never even moved until I reached out to touch one, and then, as one, sailed like a flock of birds around us and out of reach. I thought of that scene in 'Finding Nemo' when the school of fish, who were like Dora, formed an arrow pointing them toward Austrailia.
The third dive produced for us a very fat, very slow-swimming tortuga with whom we wandered for several minutes, and, again, two or three white-tips. Since we did each dive in a different location, several miles apart from each other, the scenery was always different. For instance, this one sported a wreck and when we floated over the open holds, we could see hundreds of fish, a different type in each of the six holds. I wanted to swim down in, but that would have to wait for another time.
The dives have only served to whet my appetite for more. Before I leave here I hope to do some in the clearer waters to the south, or at the spectacular reefs to the far north. Whether or not I get the chance, I have at least experienced what I had hoped, but still will probably not be satisfied until I can do more.
Havng Kelsey and Aaron share the weekend was a real blessing. I never mind being by myself, but it's always more fun when you have others with whom to share. Some of my best times when I was here before were those shared with Steven Battle and his family, and with Ancilla and Pablo and Alex at Tortugero.
Kelsey and I plan to do a few more trips before Kelsey leaves, including perhaps, a twenty mile hike to the festival of Santa Maria in Cartago. This festival will have more than a million people crammed into this tiny village around the spectacular little basillica, to celebrate the Miracle of the Virgin. The roads between Nicaraqua and Cartago will be closed to traffic to accomodate the pilgrims WALKING all the way from Nicaragua to Cartago. We figure if they can do that, we can make the twenty miles on foot.
We will see!
That's enough for now.
The rain has stopped and I really should get to the homework for tomorrow.
Via con Dios, mis amigos. Go with God.
One who 'swam with the fishes' and lived to tell about it.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Hospitality is not a lost art
Buenas noches, mis amigos.
Que pasa! Para mi, esta bien.
It's been a little while since I posted last. Haven't been doing much except studying and hanging out with some of the other students. They are, of course, tons younger than me, but seem to put up with the geeezer hanging around. We've been to San Jose several times, viewed a few museums and eaten at several interesting little places. This weekend I plan to take off on my own across country to Guanacaste, to Playa de Coco to do some scuba diving. It's been more than a year since I've dived, so I'll have to do some reading and boning up on the rules and signs, although I'll be doing dives with a dive master so they'll go over everything with me. Looking forward to it. The place I'm headed has sharks, eagle wrays, dolphin, and even whales this time of year. Should be spectacular.
Yesterday I had a wonderful experience.
Back in Stillwater there is a group of women who have been friends for a long time. They get together periodically to hang out and just talk, eat, drink a little wine. As far as I have been able to ascertain, their main purpose in being together is indeed a noble one: it is to remind themselves that one of the most precious gifts in the world is to have good friends, and one of the most necessary roles a person can have is to be a good friend. If anything else comes out of their association (and plenty does) well that's just gravy. They fondly call themselves "the biddies" and have allowed a few others of us to benefit from what happens when they are together. I will not divulge names, except to say that I count all of them among my most cherished of friends, which means that their main objective noted above, is indeed fully functional.
Yesterday I met 'the biddies' of San Jose, Costa Rica.
Sunday afternoon Nury's sister was by the house and she and Nury invited me to go with them to take a leisurely afternoon drive to see someplacae whose name I never did quite catch, but which was advertised by both of them to be "muy lindo" (very precious and beautiful). They had to stop at one of their friends houses first, "but just for un poco minutos".
We got to the friends house, were offered libation (beer for Nury, wine for her sister and I, beer for our hostess. They started talking (spanish of course). They touched on lots of things. We were then offered some prochuto (probably spelled wrong) wrapped around some cheese chunks, some olives, and a "little more (wine, beer). They continued to talk. Got into some political discussion in which it was clear even to the casual observer, that they were on opposite sides. A little more wine. A little more beer. A little more food.
Well, we had arrived at two. At six-thirty we finally left, with the little bag of something they had stopped to retrieve, and never did get to the 'muy lindo' place we were supposed to have visited. It was great!
So, then, yesterday, Nury said her sister had invited she an I to the little hotel she owns and operates, for a homemade meal, after which we might take in a concert at the Teatro Nationale.
In a pouring rain we caught a cab right after I got home from class (about 1:00 p.m.) We arrive at the little hotel (seventeen rooms, with free wi-fi, free breakfast, hot showers, etc. about 10 blocks from the center of town, all for the whopping price of $14 per day.) and another of Nury's sisters was there, along with the friend whose home we had visited on Sunday. We all greeted each other with the typical latin kiss to both cheeks. In a few minutes we were joined by another friend, whom they affectionately call 'the China' (because she is part asian). Everyone had brought something to add to the meal.
Within moments it dawned on me that I had been invited to one of the meetings of 'the biddies'. We had wine. We had beer (my could those ladies drink beer) and we had a wonderful meal, the center piece of which was hand-made gnoche (potatoes grated and rolled with three kinds of cheese and a little garlic and lots of butter, then rolled out into a long tubular shape and cut into finger-sized pieces and boiled like dumplings, upon which was poured a simple sauce of crushed tomato, garlic, bacon, and olive oil). The information in parentheses are for a couple of my friends who love to cook.
But the main ingredient of the day was the conversation, delivered in spanish(of course) and a breakneck speed, usually involving three to five of them talking at the same time. The level of the conversation rose or fell depending on the subject and the passion with which each individual was invested in the subject. I understood that they were talking about: husbands/lovers/boyfriends, shoes, manicuring tips, politics. sex, rememberances of times past, recycling, fashion, children, grandchildren,jewelry and accessorizing, and a range of other topics that kept them all laughing, drinking, eating, and generally enjoying the company of one another.
They told stories on each other, some of which they translated so I could get in on the fun. One was of a time the five of them took a vacation weekend together to the home of another friend, who own a particulary annoying duck, kept in the house as a pet. Finally la China had had enough of its quacking and began to feed the feathered annoyance part of her beer. The duck got reeling drunk, and when the owner saw it falling down and asked what might be wrong with it, all of them denied any knowledge. I don't know if they ever told the truth.
It was a marvelous experience and I felt privileged to have been invited to be part of it.
Hospitality is a way of life here, not just something you do for points or to insure a return. Nury is a prime example. She opens her home, and her heart, to those of us who come here seeking to add something to our lives and are far from home. She makes us a haven and invites us to share her life. I am truly grateful.
That's enough for now.
Next time I hope to be able to tell you about swimming with the fishes.
Until then,
cherish your friends. And the best way to do that is to be one.
That's my sermon for the day.
Adios, amigos
Que le vaya bien (take care of yourselves)
The wandering Aramean
Que pasa! Para mi, esta bien.
It's been a little while since I posted last. Haven't been doing much except studying and hanging out with some of the other students. They are, of course, tons younger than me, but seem to put up with the geeezer hanging around. We've been to San Jose several times, viewed a few museums and eaten at several interesting little places. This weekend I plan to take off on my own across country to Guanacaste, to Playa de Coco to do some scuba diving. It's been more than a year since I've dived, so I'll have to do some reading and boning up on the rules and signs, although I'll be doing dives with a dive master so they'll go over everything with me. Looking forward to it. The place I'm headed has sharks, eagle wrays, dolphin, and even whales this time of year. Should be spectacular.
Yesterday I had a wonderful experience.
Back in Stillwater there is a group of women who have been friends for a long time. They get together periodically to hang out and just talk, eat, drink a little wine. As far as I have been able to ascertain, their main purpose in being together is indeed a noble one: it is to remind themselves that one of the most precious gifts in the world is to have good friends, and one of the most necessary roles a person can have is to be a good friend. If anything else comes out of their association (and plenty does) well that's just gravy. They fondly call themselves "the biddies" and have allowed a few others of us to benefit from what happens when they are together. I will not divulge names, except to say that I count all of them among my most cherished of friends, which means that their main objective noted above, is indeed fully functional.
Yesterday I met 'the biddies' of San Jose, Costa Rica.
Sunday afternoon Nury's sister was by the house and she and Nury invited me to go with them to take a leisurely afternoon drive to see someplacae whose name I never did quite catch, but which was advertised by both of them to be "muy lindo" (very precious and beautiful). They had to stop at one of their friends houses first, "but just for un poco minutos".
We got to the friends house, were offered libation (beer for Nury, wine for her sister and I, beer for our hostess. They started talking (spanish of course). They touched on lots of things. We were then offered some prochuto (probably spelled wrong) wrapped around some cheese chunks, some olives, and a "little more (wine, beer). They continued to talk. Got into some political discussion in which it was clear even to the casual observer, that they were on opposite sides. A little more wine. A little more beer. A little more food.
Well, we had arrived at two. At six-thirty we finally left, with the little bag of something they had stopped to retrieve, and never did get to the 'muy lindo' place we were supposed to have visited. It was great!
So, then, yesterday, Nury said her sister had invited she an I to the little hotel she owns and operates, for a homemade meal, after which we might take in a concert at the Teatro Nationale.
In a pouring rain we caught a cab right after I got home from class (about 1:00 p.m.) We arrive at the little hotel (seventeen rooms, with free wi-fi, free breakfast, hot showers, etc. about 10 blocks from the center of town, all for the whopping price of $14 per day.) and another of Nury's sisters was there, along with the friend whose home we had visited on Sunday. We all greeted each other with the typical latin kiss to both cheeks. In a few minutes we were joined by another friend, whom they affectionately call 'the China' (because she is part asian). Everyone had brought something to add to the meal.
Within moments it dawned on me that I had been invited to one of the meetings of 'the biddies'. We had wine. We had beer (my could those ladies drink beer) and we had a wonderful meal, the center piece of which was hand-made gnoche (potatoes grated and rolled with three kinds of cheese and a little garlic and lots of butter, then rolled out into a long tubular shape and cut into finger-sized pieces and boiled like dumplings, upon which was poured a simple sauce of crushed tomato, garlic, bacon, and olive oil). The information in parentheses are for a couple of my friends who love to cook.
But the main ingredient of the day was the conversation, delivered in spanish(of course) and a breakneck speed, usually involving three to five of them talking at the same time. The level of the conversation rose or fell depending on the subject and the passion with which each individual was invested in the subject. I understood that they were talking about: husbands/lovers/boyfriends, shoes, manicuring tips, politics. sex, rememberances of times past, recycling, fashion, children, grandchildren,jewelry and accessorizing, and a range of other topics that kept them all laughing, drinking, eating, and generally enjoying the company of one another.
They told stories on each other, some of which they translated so I could get in on the fun. One was of a time the five of them took a vacation weekend together to the home of another friend, who own a particulary annoying duck, kept in the house as a pet. Finally la China had had enough of its quacking and began to feed the feathered annoyance part of her beer. The duck got reeling drunk, and when the owner saw it falling down and asked what might be wrong with it, all of them denied any knowledge. I don't know if they ever told the truth.
It was a marvelous experience and I felt privileged to have been invited to be part of it.
Hospitality is a way of life here, not just something you do for points or to insure a return. Nury is a prime example. She opens her home, and her heart, to those of us who come here seeking to add something to our lives and are far from home. She makes us a haven and invites us to share her life. I am truly grateful.
That's enough for now.
Next time I hope to be able to tell you about swimming with the fishes.
Until then,
cherish your friends. And the best way to do that is to be one.
That's my sermon for the day.
Adios, amigos
Que le vaya bien (take care of yourselves)
The wandering Aramean
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Reality Checks and Other Interesting Occurances
I've been in Costa Rica since Friday. I've spent a lot of time just wandering around and reaquainting myself with familiar places, gotten used to using the local currency, and immersed myself in the local cuisine. I always make it a point when I'm out of the country to never, never eat anyplace that I could go to eat in the United States. Much more fun that way.
Today I went into San Jose' to take in one of the museums I had not seen before. I had walked quite a bit, when it started to rain, so I decided to give it up and catch the bus back home before it really got started.
Did I mention that it rains a little here?
San Jose' and it's suburbs sits in a bowl between the mountains on all four sides. Every day the clouds roll in from the coasts, like a peddler whose sacks are absolutely bursting at the seams. At some point during the day you know that he's going to dump it all out.
Sometimes it's like a gentle, steady shower and just tinkles on the ground, but more often, and especially in the rainy season (October/November) it comes down in a deluge which, if you happen to be caught out in it, even with an umbrella, you emerge soaked to the skin.
Today it turned out to be more on the gentle side, so I could have stayed in San Jose, but I need to remind myself that it's really only day two here, and I've got a lot of time to take in the sights, shop, watch the people. Avienda Central is a pedestrian walk that goes for a couple of miles and is a I've found several restaurants where I can sip a glass of wine and watch the parade of Ticos for as long as I want. A lovelly way to spend part of an afternoon.
One year when I was in Lyons, Kansas, a donkey basketball troupe came through town and several in the congregation thought it would be a really neat idea to field a team and donate the proceeds from the gate to charity.
I don't know if you've ever seen a donkey basketball game. It consists of idiots like myself perched atop these critters while trying to move up and down a court carrying or passing the ball until someone is finally able to score. The animals, are, I believe, spawns of the devil, who have been trained to make it as difficult as possible to do anything, so you end up looking stupid and giving everyone in the audience, and the donkeys themselves, a good belly-laugh.
The creature upon which I was mounted was particularly diabolical. It never went when I wanted it to go, then, all of a sudden would take off and bounce my increasingly sore rear-end all over the place. At one point it decided, I suppose, that this particular idiot no longer derserved to be a rider, and bucked me backwards with no apology whatsoever. I landed on my knees, and as I wrenched myself up to attempt to mount the beast again, it gave me a good swift kick in the shins which sent me crashing to the floor again, this time on my nose which proceeded to bleed like a vampire's dream. I lay on the floor for a while and finally stauched the bleeding and crawled to the sidelines where I spent the rest of the game wishing for something stronger than water.
Fortunately nothing was broken. But for days my shins and ankles resembled two black and blue bowling pins turned upside-down, and bore little resemblance to legs at all. Of course everyone in the congregation thought it a real hoot.
Reality checks can be like that, sometimes.
My first day of class certainly was.
The school, of course, had a record of the level to which I had progressed the last time I was here, and so put me in a class the next level up.
Oh, my!!!
I was out of my comfort zone by about ten miles, and gasping for breath within the first two minutes, like a pelican coated with some of BC's best.
For one thing, the class was filled with high school and college students who have all had years of Spanish and who understood everything la maestra said - no sweat. They were busily learning the subjunctive something something case and I was totally lost.
So at the first break I quickly went to the administration and explained that maybe I needed to wratchet back a notch. So, then, instead of Intermediate II I was tossed into Intermediate I where there were more of them (the young, spanish-speaking, comfortable ones) and a maestra asking questions at a pace that left me wondering if I would ever catch up. When she would say something to me, I could get part of it, but not enough to respond in any intellegent way. Instead, I sat there like I was dipped in liquid nitrogen and usually, finally stammered "uhhh, lo siento. No comprendo." (Sorry, I do not understand) After four hours of straining my brain, I just kind of checked out in my mind and began to fret over the price I was paying to be priveleged to endure this humiliation.
After class I started walking to sweat out my frustration. I decided to try some different directions, and for a while was very lost, but finally began to work my way back until things began to look familiar.
In the process I decided that the best tack for me was perhaps to
hold myself back for a couple of grades and backtrack through some of the familiar and move at a slower pace, until I feel comfortable to move on.
Emma agreed, and today I was much more comfortable. I ended up in a class (Beginner II) with the couple that is staying here, in Nury's house, along with me. They are from Washington, near Seattle, and both teachers. Wonderful couple and very easy to get to know. They are here just for two weeks and it was nice being in their class and feeling like I knew what I was doing.
Again, I need to remind myself - IT'S ONLY THE SECOND DAY!!
It's just so hard to waddle like a turkey when you were so sure you were going to soar like an eagle.
Costa Rica is a such beautiful place, and I feel so lucky to be able to spend some time here. There are so many more things I want to do and see this time. I want to take it all in and have the time of my life.
Who knows, this retirement gig could get to be habit-forming.
Hasta luego, mis amigos
El Pavo (the turkey)
Today I went into San Jose' to take in one of the museums I had not seen before. I had walked quite a bit, when it started to rain, so I decided to give it up and catch the bus back home before it really got started.
Did I mention that it rains a little here?
San Jose' and it's suburbs sits in a bowl between the mountains on all four sides. Every day the clouds roll in from the coasts, like a peddler whose sacks are absolutely bursting at the seams. At some point during the day you know that he's going to dump it all out.
Sometimes it's like a gentle, steady shower and just tinkles on the ground, but more often, and especially in the rainy season (October/November) it comes down in a deluge which, if you happen to be caught out in it, even with an umbrella, you emerge soaked to the skin.
Today it turned out to be more on the gentle side, so I could have stayed in San Jose, but I need to remind myself that it's really only day two here, and I've got a lot of time to take in the sights, shop, watch the people. Avienda Central is a pedestrian walk that goes for a couple of miles and is a I've found several restaurants where I can sip a glass of wine and watch the parade of Ticos for as long as I want. A lovelly way to spend part of an afternoon.
One year when I was in Lyons, Kansas, a donkey basketball troupe came through town and several in the congregation thought it would be a really neat idea to field a team and donate the proceeds from the gate to charity.
I don't know if you've ever seen a donkey basketball game. It consists of idiots like myself perched atop these critters while trying to move up and down a court carrying or passing the ball until someone is finally able to score. The animals, are, I believe, spawns of the devil, who have been trained to make it as difficult as possible to do anything, so you end up looking stupid and giving everyone in the audience, and the donkeys themselves, a good belly-laugh.
The creature upon which I was mounted was particularly diabolical. It never went when I wanted it to go, then, all of a sudden would take off and bounce my increasingly sore rear-end all over the place. At one point it decided, I suppose, that this particular idiot no longer derserved to be a rider, and bucked me backwards with no apology whatsoever. I landed on my knees, and as I wrenched myself up to attempt to mount the beast again, it gave me a good swift kick in the shins which sent me crashing to the floor again, this time on my nose which proceeded to bleed like a vampire's dream. I lay on the floor for a while and finally stauched the bleeding and crawled to the sidelines where I spent the rest of the game wishing for something stronger than water.
Fortunately nothing was broken. But for days my shins and ankles resembled two black and blue bowling pins turned upside-down, and bore little resemblance to legs at all. Of course everyone in the congregation thought it a real hoot.
Reality checks can be like that, sometimes.
My first day of class certainly was.
The school, of course, had a record of the level to which I had progressed the last time I was here, and so put me in a class the next level up.
Oh, my!!!
I was out of my comfort zone by about ten miles, and gasping for breath within the first two minutes, like a pelican coated with some of BC's best.
For one thing, the class was filled with high school and college students who have all had years of Spanish and who understood everything la maestra said - no sweat. They were busily learning the subjunctive something something case and I was totally lost.
So at the first break I quickly went to the administration and explained that maybe I needed to wratchet back a notch. So, then, instead of Intermediate II I was tossed into Intermediate I where there were more of them (the young, spanish-speaking, comfortable ones) and a maestra asking questions at a pace that left me wondering if I would ever catch up. When she would say something to me, I could get part of it, but not enough to respond in any intellegent way. Instead, I sat there like I was dipped in liquid nitrogen and usually, finally stammered "uhhh, lo siento. No comprendo." (Sorry, I do not understand) After four hours of straining my brain, I just kind of checked out in my mind and began to fret over the price I was paying to be priveleged to endure this humiliation.
After class I started walking to sweat out my frustration. I decided to try some different directions, and for a while was very lost, but finally began to work my way back until things began to look familiar.
In the process I decided that the best tack for me was perhaps to
hold myself back for a couple of grades and backtrack through some of the familiar and move at a slower pace, until I feel comfortable to move on.
Emma agreed, and today I was much more comfortable. I ended up in a class (Beginner II) with the couple that is staying here, in Nury's house, along with me. They are from Washington, near Seattle, and both teachers. Wonderful couple and very easy to get to know. They are here just for two weeks and it was nice being in their class and feeling like I knew what I was doing.
Again, I need to remind myself - IT'S ONLY THE SECOND DAY!!
It's just so hard to waddle like a turkey when you were so sure you were going to soar like an eagle.
Costa Rica is a such beautiful place, and I feel so lucky to be able to spend some time here. There are so many more things I want to do and see this time. I want to take it all in and have the time of my life.
Who knows, this retirement gig could get to be habit-forming.
Hasta luego, mis amigos
El Pavo (the turkey)
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Well, here we are again, on the brink of new discovery and the beginning of a new chapter in life.
Retirement has yet to set in. I've been moving too fast to get everything wrapped up, boxed up, cleaned up, and moved out, as well as making the last-minute preparations for my second trip to Costa Rica, with the express purpose of getting more comfortable and fluent in Spanish. But to do so I'm first going to have to take a moment to breathe in the new air and relax into the learning opportunity. I have yet to do that. Maybe after tomorrow, when the trip is behind me and I've got a chance to just sit and take in the view of the mountains and breathe the air of San Jose, I'll begin to let go of the tension and open myself to the possibility.
Of course, that's only half of the process. The other half is letting go of myself enough to allow me to make the mistakes and live with the humiliation. I couldn't do that the last time out, so the language remained 'academic study' and never moved into the level of conversation. This time has to be different.
Am I setting myself up for failure? Will the new air give me a new confidence? Will I just let go and let it flow through me? That's the question.
The answer waits for Costa Rica.
I'm going back! And that, my friends, is reason enough for celebration.
I want to see new things, meet new people, express myself in a different language and enjoy the wonderful culture again. Pictures will be posted. Events will receive reflection, and you and I will explore together this new reality.
I look forward to sharing the journey.
And so, to bed.
Rick
7/8/2010
Four Points by Sheridan at Will Rogers World Airport
Retirement has yet to set in. I've been moving too fast to get everything wrapped up, boxed up, cleaned up, and moved out, as well as making the last-minute preparations for my second trip to Costa Rica, with the express purpose of getting more comfortable and fluent in Spanish. But to do so I'm first going to have to take a moment to breathe in the new air and relax into the learning opportunity. I have yet to do that. Maybe after tomorrow, when the trip is behind me and I've got a chance to just sit and take in the view of the mountains and breathe the air of San Jose, I'll begin to let go of the tension and open myself to the possibility.
Of course, that's only half of the process. The other half is letting go of myself enough to allow me to make the mistakes and live with the humiliation. I couldn't do that the last time out, so the language remained 'academic study' and never moved into the level of conversation. This time has to be different.
Am I setting myself up for failure? Will the new air give me a new confidence? Will I just let go and let it flow through me? That's the question.
The answer waits for Costa Rica.
I'm going back! And that, my friends, is reason enough for celebration.
I want to see new things, meet new people, express myself in a different language and enjoy the wonderful culture again. Pictures will be posted. Events will receive reflection, and you and I will explore together this new reality.
I look forward to sharing the journey.
And so, to bed.
Rick
7/8/2010
Four Points by Sheridan at Will Rogers World Airport
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