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
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