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
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
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
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