johnomadic

More Small Things

Festival de la Luz

Festival de la Luz (The Festival of Lights) is a big deal around here... three nights in early December, to kick off the holiday season and it's also the beginning of the dry season.  It hasn't rained in three days here which is new to me... from what I've seen it rains two or three times a day.  I've been getting good at sensing when it's coming with so much practice.

The first night of the festival was some big band jazz in front of the cathedral, by what was rumored to be the best big band in Costa Rica.  I wonder how many there are... maybe that's like saying you're my favorite mother, as in, there's only one.  The flap was with me that night, he had come into town for the market and missed his ride back.

The next night, Friday, was a tope... which is a traditional horse parade.  I brought my camera with me, but the memory card was still in the card reader and not in the camera, so no pictures.  Epic fail.  Maybe just imagine some of the pics below with less people and a couple hundred horses?  Oh, and lots of women in high heel boots and tiny denim skirts, with caballero hats.

The big deal is Saturday night.  The big band... whatever.  Horses?  Take them or leave them.  But everyone I talked to was really excited about Saturday, which is the parade.  Last night, I went in a bar, had a couple few rum and cokes, and then went walking with my camera... fully charged and double checked for a memory card.  Here is some of what I saw:

This is the first float of the parade... note the guys with the poles, who had to hold up power lines so the float could make it through.  I think they must have screwed up though, because soon the whole town lost electricity.

The effigies didn't know where to go.

Yet the band played on.

Cheers!  Electricity is back!

One of about six Santas in the parade.

Stilt walkers posing.

I stepped away for a bit, seduced by the scent of kabobs of meat grilling.

My favorite of the Santas.

Anywhere you can get a view from, grab it.

Is this legal?

Who cares?  Shake that thing!

¡Que Linda!  This little girl was next to me at one point, on her dad's shoulders.  Too adorable not to take a picture.

Corsets and fishnets?  Sweet.

Here I moved from the beginning area of the parade to just past where the main review area was.

Seeing the corset crew had nothing to do with my finding a new spot.  No, really, it's true!

These guys were fantastic.

A little bit of carnival.

And then the cops come through on horseback, parade over.

Crap, I didn't know about the fireworks.  Still, I probably would have chosen to watch from my apartment... not a bad view.

Just below the left side of the lower fireworks, you can see the left tower of the cathedral, just to give an idea of where I am.  Takes just a few minutes to walk down there.

Nicaragua, or bust.

On the day that flap showed up at my place, the plan was to take a bus to San Jose that afternoon and catch an early bus to Nicaragua.  It didn't quite work out that way.

Mudflap chillin' on my balcony.

Instead, we hung out on my balcony for a while, watching the women walk by and commenting on each.

'Hey, check her out, she's only got one kid.'
'Sweet!  I'll run down and get her number.  Oh wait, I don't have a telephone.'

Yeah, I know, horrible.  But the women down here are something to behold, especially for a guy like me who was never a fan of blonde hair and blue eyes.  When I'm at the apartment, there's a little parade that walks by below my balcony, and it's nice to look.

It was a woman that kept us in San Isidro that night.  The flap is interested in a Tica who works just down the street from my place.  She sounds right for him-- she's going to school for zoology and she's got a little hippie chick in her.  She spent a night out at the garden recently, she's actually interested in what he does there, and has suggested she wants to go for a long weekend.  She even wants him to meet her parents, and this is a good thing because I think the flap wants to settle down.

I insisted that we stay the night in San Isidro, so that he could take her out.  I'm like his wingman with roots.  Even if he has to sleep on a blanket on the floor, it's still a place to crash.  Hospitality ain't so easy when you have next to nothing.

We made it up to San Jose early the next afternoon, though too late for any of the buses to Nicaragua.  We spent the night where the flap usually stays, the Capitol Hotel... nice enough place, near the center of everything, cable, and the hottest shower I've had in a month.  At twenty bucks a night, it's now my spot in San Jose too.

While sitting at the station waiting to get on the bus the next day, the flap decided he was hungry and was going to find something to eat.  I slid him a rojo, slang for the red one-thousand colones note.  If you come across some cigarettes...

I took my spot in the back of the station with the bags.  Across the aisle, a guy asked what time it was, pointing to his wrist.

'Once y cuarenta y cinco', I said slowly, to make sure I got it right.  There were two girls sitting up one row, one across the aisle and one to my right... they looked at each other and laughed at my slow Spanish.

'¿Si?´ I asked, my hands out in a shrug.  '¿Si?'

They both nodded.  Yeah, I know what time it is.  The one up to my right turned in her seat towards me, not looking at anything in particular, yet still with smiling eyes... an invitation if I ever saw one.  I learned that she was on her way back home to Nicaragua, and that she lived just outside of Managua.  Sorry girl, that's all the Spanish I've got and it's time to get on the bus.

The flap made it back and we got on, two rows behind what I assumed to be a couple.  The guy had some baby dreadlocks going, and the girl had her head shaven to a stubble.  When she wasn't wearing headphones, she rubbed her head like I used to when I first buzzed mine.

'Hey dread', flap said.  There's an identity among the dread kids, one that I was never a part of, so it's interesting to watch when I hang out with the flap.  When we walk together in San Jose, it's not uncommon to hear calls of Rasta.  Or it might be a nod from another dread kid walking by.  In this case, flap wanted to borrow their iPod to listen to, since he's had the same two gigs of music for three years.

He got the iPod for a bit and he was happy.  Meanwhile I overheard Jimi Hendrix, Yes and some Led Zeppelin.  Later when he returned the iPod, they all introduced themselves.

'I'm Mudflap.'
'Sorry, what?'
'Call me Mudflap.'

From what I've seen, this always earns a similar response from the gringos.  They pause for a moment, the look on their faces says ooooo-kay, and then they seem to make some flash decision and everything is cool.  As for me, when I'm with him, I call him by his given name.  Sorry, just can't do Mudflap.  Though, when he introduces himself as such, I have so far resisted the temptation to introduce myself as Ashtray.  Call me Ashtray.  That's cenizero in Spanish.  Or just call me Ceni, or even Zero if you like.  Spare a cigarette?

We eventually hit the border at Peñas Blancas, and the flap was already off the bus before I even realized we were there.  I stood in line at the Costa Rican post to get my exit stamp with everyone else, as men with large wads of cash were walking around changing money for a small cut.  Flap came out with his stamp, and went off into the dark to the Nicaraguan post.  I decided that I was going to play it safe and see how it all officially worked, so I got back on the bus for the short trip up to the next post.  One of the bus guys collected everyone's passports, so they could be checked and stamped more efficiently in the immigration office.

When we were filing off the bus with our bags to go through Nicaraguan customs, an Italian girl that I had been talking to in line grabbed my arm and pointed outside.  There was flap, motioning for me to grab his bag.

I got it and got off, and I was about to propose to the girl with the shaved head that we start our own club like the dread kids, and we could rub each others heads in greeting.  But then I heard flap.

'Nicaragua didn't let me in.'
'What?', I asked, starting to laugh.
'Nicaragua, no entrada.  They want you to have at least six months before your passport expires and I've only got four on mine.'

That was a tough call.  Granada is supposed to have some nice colonial architecture, and I've heard it's beautiful.  Also, Costa Rica is very mixed and I wanted to be somewhere that has more of an indigenous flavor.  I'm sure I would have been just fine had I continued on, yet I couldn't leave my man hanging.  For one, I was a walking excuse to let him back into Costa Rica -- he could be my tour guide and I could play helpless gringo.  And if anything stupid was to happen, two are better than one.

Nov 22 in, Nov 22 out.

So we walked across the parking lot in the dark, with semi trucks going by kicking up dust, to the immigration office so I could get my passport back.  I got it, and we got back into Costa Rica, and now the challenge was to get back to San Jose.  The first objective was to get away from the border and to Liberia, about an hour south.  It would be safer there and our chances of getting a lift to San Jose would be far greater.

Flap, after failing to bribe a charter bus driver for a ride, went from one random passing car to the next, begging for a lift.  He got a bite, and we hitched a ride to Liberia from a guy and his mother in a new Hyundai.

When speaking in Spanish, the flap's got a way about him that he doesn't have in English.  I think he struggles a little to connect with people in English, like the kid in high school who was never quite cool.  In Spanish, he's a different man, smooth and laying out the charm.  I don't understand most of what he says, but I can see it in the faces of whoever he's talking to.  He'll have them laughing, shaking his hand or clapping him on the back.

It was no different with our ride to Liberia.  While I looked out the window and saw men on horses going to the bars (as long as you're not so drunk that you fall out of the saddle, you'll make it home), the rest of the people in the car were having an animated conversation.  I was able to follow it for the most part, but by the time I could form up a sentence to add something, the subject had already changed.  The driver had spent a few years in the states and had some English, but out of deference to the mother, I let the Spanish flow.

After many thanks and handshakes they dropped us in the intersection that defines Liberia.  There was an ATM there, and while I went to get some cash, the flap stood out by the highway and stuck out his thumb.  Who pulls up again but the guy and his mom.  They were going to San Jose anyway and they had decided to turn around and come get us.  Talk about some good luck, that's like hitching a ride from Niagra Falls to NYC.

When they let us out in San Jose after midnight, by way of thanks I said, 'When I get back to the United States, my friends will ask me what the people in Costa Rica are like.  When they do, I will tell them about you.'

So yeah, Nicaragua or bust.  I think I'd call this one a bust.  I was in Nicaragua for all of about twenty minutes.  Still, it was fun... and I now know how a border crossing works, I've got some stamps in my passport, and I've got a story to tell.

In Transit

The fountain in San Jose where two of the walking streets meet.

The flap and I made it to San Jose yesterday, but not in time to catch a bus to Grenada.  The plan is to head up to Grenada and spend the night there.  There are elections in contention in Nicaragua, and in the capital, Managua, there have been some violent clashes between supporters of the incumbent president and the possible new one.  So we'll head up to Granada, which is not so far north as Managua, get a feel there for how things might be farther north... then decide whether to steer towards the beach or check out Managua.  As for me, I really want to go to Managua.

I like travelling with the flap... we maybe have a meal or something, then break off and do our own thing, or whatever.  Last night he went out on his own... whoever the Costa Rican equivalent of Montezuma is has been having his revenge on me, so I stayed in and I think slept it off.  Good thing, because I'm about to be on a bus for seven hours.

Alajuela

That's where I really ended up these past few days, in Alajuela, just outside of San Jose.  I like to say it out loud:  Alajuela, Alajuela, Alajuela.

I took a bus from San Isidro to San Jose.  I would have taken another bus from San Jose to Alajuela, but the bus terminals were far apart and I didn't feel much like walking.  A taxi it was... and though I should have taken a taxi from one bus terminal to the next, I took it all the way to Alajuela... too expensive, I should know better.

Still, somehow I managed to have a conversation in Spanish with the driver.  I understood about eighty percent of what he said, which was quite strange.  I was sitting there thinking, why is it that I can understand him so well?  Maybe he was being easy on me, with simple words.

Volcanic rock is cut and used as pavers here.  In this shot, the steps on the right are volcanic rock.

I was to meet Kristen and Mary there, but arrived a few hours before them.  So I dropped my stuff at the hotel, and went off to wander.  I like the town... the streets are more narrow than in San Isidro, and it gives it a nice intimate feel.  The main park in town has no traffic, when strolling by at night you mostly hear conversations.

Heavy rain fell not long after I started wandering, and I took refuge in a church for a couple hours.  I had plenty of time to take multiple pictures so that, I dunno, maybe I would get one that wasn't blurry... but I didn't, so this is what you get!  When I think of folks coming into Catholic churches and signing the cross and all, I think of older people doing so.  But not here, mostly it was people younger than me coming to pray.

The next day was coffee plantation tour day...

First, you pick the beans off of the bush...

Soak them for a bit in water, which makes the outer shell a little weaker and helps to sort out the bad ones.  Then run the beans through a machine that removes the outer shell...

While the beans dry in the sun before roasting (the different strengths of coffee, from a mild morning blend to a dark roast, is determined purely by the amount of time you roast the beans), you might look at some flowers:

or some interesting tree bark:

or maybe have a look at trees from two sides of the earth at once:

The next day we went to Poas National Park, where there is a volcano crater, and it was essentially a bust.  Cold blowing rain, not much to do but drink coffee at the snack bar and watch the instructional video a couple times.  We did try though, and were there not clouds in the background in this shot, you would see a very impressive volcano crater filled by an acidic lake behind the girls:

I did get some earth activity in though... I was awake for and felt this:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7736933.stm
My first earthquake!

Looks like I'll be with the flap in Nicaragua tomorrow, after a brief consideration of Panama.  Maybe a night in Granada, and it sounds like there's going to be some beach involved.  I have no idea what kind of internet access I'm going to see over the next few days, but I'll try.  Until then...

Small Things

One of the days that I was out in the garden, I followed one of the trails on the property to where two little streams meet in a grotto.  I just sat there on a rock for a while, watching everything around me.  Here are a few things that I saw:

Lichen on a tree near a waterfall.

Flowers.

Some tiny mushrooms.

This little guy could fit comfortable on my pinky fingernail.

Ferocious Beasts

I am really impressed with the pets out in the garden.  They are never tied up, caged or restricted in any way... they roam around the valley as they please.  Yet they will come with you on a hike, or stop by at the volunteer house for some lovin'.  They are alert to the cloud forest... always listening, sniffing, watching.

This is Chacho, still wet from the rain.  I love this dog... smart, bouncy and playful, knows how to shift from rough-housing to being pet.  He belongs to Andy and Michelle, who have a place just up the road, and who had their first baby on Tuesday.

This is Wu Li, sitting on top of her food crate.  FEED ME!  She is very much like Max, a cat I used to have, because she acts like a dog.  On my tour of the property that first day, Wu Li tagged along the whole time, through the rain and all.

Mana...

...and Sadie. These dogs belong to Drennan and Pamela... they also will follow along wherever you go. They show up at the volunteer house sometimes, friendly dogs.

Some scenes from San Isidro

This is the cathedral in the middle of town, facing the central park.  The parked is usually crowded in the evening, with people sitting on the concrete benches.  There is a small carnival set up in front of the cathedral... at night, from my little balcony, I can hear the kids screaming on the Kamikaze.

The farmer's market is every Thursday on the south side of town.  I think I'm going to be looking forward to every Thursday as if it were the weekend.  All the gringos come in from wherever they are tucked away around the valley to stock up on food for the week, and if I hang out there long enough, I'm bound to bump into someone that I've met.  It's just nice to talk to someone every now and then, without having to struggle for language.

This past Thursday, I saw Mudflap there.  His visa is about to run out, so he's going to make a border run next week to Nicaragua.  He has invited me to go.  Hmm, let's see... a nice cheap run to Nicaragua with a guy who's fluent in Spanish... sweet, I'm going!

Sunrise from my apartment this morning, pay no mind to the power lines.  Most of San Isidro is outside of this picture, down a little to the right.  The sun comes up just before six in the morning, and sets at about six in the evening.  I'm still getting used to the rhythyms around here, Ticos get up early to get some work in before the rains come in the early afternoon.

This is where I had breakfast this morning (as well as spilling coffee in my lap, brilliant), and where I've had a meal for the previous three days as well... Soda Popeye, in the central market.  I was just wandering around in the market the first time I ate there, daydreaming a little, when I heard someone say hello.  Buenas.  I looked over to see the four people who were working in the soda all smiling at me, so I figured that was the place to be.  This morning the cook gave me a large thin patacon, just so I could try it.  This is why I want to stick in one place for a while, so I can get to know people and nice little things like that happen.  That's Hilda on the right, reading the newspaper... she's the boss.

An average street downtown.  Go up the hill there a little, make a right and go a block, and there's my apartment.

I'm off to San Jose this afternoon for a couple days.  I've got two more little posts I'm about set up to publish on Sunday and Monday.  In the meantime, send me an email, hmm?  Let me know what's going on in your life.  How are you liking the posts?  Any favorites?  Any that put you to sleep?

The email is johnomadic -at- yahoo -dot- com

The Cloud Forest

That's how I'm going to refer to it from now on: the cloud forest.  The word jungle implies oppressive heat to me, but it's much cooler here than I would have guessed.  And while the word rainforest most certainly applies, it's the clouds that dominate.

They are the gatekeepers of the sun, sometimes allowing it full reign over the forest in the morning, other times restricting it's rays to only a brief glimpse of the land below.  The clouds can form in a ceiling above, making the earth seem closer, or they can mingle with the trees, creating a heavy mist.  The can also flow in the valleys between the mountains, and from above the sound of the rains that they bring can be mistaken for a rushing river.

Nestled in the midst of this, near the end of a dirt road where electricity arrived within the past few years, and where going to the little store in San Salvador is referred to as going to the pavement, is Pura Suerte.

The water that the clouds bear and release is a constant presence here.  Wet clothes hung over a railing may take days to approach being dry.  Matresses smell musty.  Cigarettes are kept in the freezer else they come too saturated to smoke.  Pages of books from the little library must be turned delicately, their fibers weakened by moisture.  The greatest luxury here is not a hammock of a hunk of chocolate... but clean, dry clothes to change into after a day's hike in the rain.

This plot of land belongs to Drennan, who bought it several years ago, while in his early twenties.  Then, it was just the building that was once used for processing sugarcane.  Since, he has added a woodshed, a handful of guest houses, a restaurant, a home for himself and his girlfriend Pamela, and last year a dorm for the student groups that come from the states in the high season.  He was pivotal in bringing electricity to the valley, and the locals respect him for improving the quality of life here.

I met Drennan the afternoon that I arrived.  The taxi driver dropped me off at his house, after an hour's drive from San Isidro with a few stops for directions, by way of a winding road where the weather could change from one valley to the next.  He gave me a lift down to the volunteer house, where he wanted to see what seeds I had brought from the states.  He was in the middle of something back at his house when I arrived, so he soon left me with this summation:  Treat this place as if it were your own.

The next day Mudflap took me on a tour of the property.  He has been here for nearly a year, long enough that he is now essentially directing the volunteers that show up.  He showed me the trails, and we talked while he used a machete to clear tall grasses from the trees and plants he wanted to promote the growth of.

While I think the ideal of self-sustainablility is still alive here, where you grow everything you need to live, that ideal has been supplanted by other priorities.  There is no grove of bamboo to be harvested, the horses pictured on the website have long since been sold.  Instead of the thriving farm that I imagined, there are a handful of gardens with ongoing experiments to see what grows and what doesn´t.  It seems that the main source of income is the student groups, which means that a considerable amount of effort that could be focused on growing things is instead used for groundskeeping.

That night, Drennan came by to drop off some supplies.  Mudflap, or any other volunteer who stays here, has to rely heavily on Drennan to bring food.  The gardens just don't produce enough.  He sat on the bench outside the front door and I stood nearby.

"How are you settling in?"

I shrugged.  He watched me intently with a wry smile while I searched for words for everything I had seen and thought that day.  But before I found them, he asked, "Need some space for your old life to unravel in your head?"

I nodded, "Yes, exactly."

We renegotiated the terms under which I was staying.  I wanted time to look at all these new things, and time just to sit and think.  I can only imagine what inner journeys a few years alone in the forest can lead you on, but I think Drennan has travelled them.  When speaking about personal matters, he has an almost business-like demeanor, like an old pro who no longer sees the need to waste words.

For me to live in the cloud forest for several months like I had intended, it would be an act of love and devotion.  There is so much to learn... what you can and cannot eat, all the new sounds to know and the ability to recognize what makes them, how to prepare a meal with new fruits and vegetables.  Then there are also circumstances to deal with... relying on another for basic staples, the moisture, living in isolation with one other person.  I like Mudflap a lot, but there are very few people who I would choose to live like this with.

I can see myself maybe someday offering up that kind of love for this place, it's beautiful and there's much to be done, but for now I just want to flirt.

Settling in

I've slept in the apartment for a few nights now, and it's starting to feel like home.  The last apartment I had, in Ardmore, was also on a somewhat busy street.  But here, instead of car stereos blasting, it's motocross bikes that sometimes set off the neighbor's car alarm.  Instead of the truck that thunders through like a freight train at 4:30 every morning, here it's the occasional ground shaking bus.  But no matter, I'm used to these things, and I already sleep soundly through the night.

However, somewhere in the neighborhood is a small yippy dog who likes to bark.  Sure, there are other dogs around... a doberman across the street and another large dog a few houses over.  They have deep authoritative barks, the kind that a guy can respect.  But not this little yippy dog... sadly, I think I'm going to have to kill it.  Maybe a piece of meat laced with some sort of poison?  Or perhaps throw it under a passing bus and claim a tragic mishap.  ¡Si si, accidente, no hablo español!  Yeah, I could whip up a few tears for that, for sure.

I almost have everything I need for the apartment.  Kristen and Mary, before moving on to Dominical and Quepos, helped me pick up a few things.  As we stood in one store, me with knives, forks, spoons and a cutting board, Kristen held up a kit.  Bundled together were a plastic dish drying rack, cups and I think a few other things.

"You need this", she stated.

Not feeling like I spending spree, I declined.  But I did need that.  And so it begins: Yes dear, you were right.  Damned if I can't find that store again.

Yesterday I picked up a few more things.  I went to a store with pots and pans in the window, and the woman behind the counter asked me if I needed help, I think.

"Para la cocina."  For the kitchen.

She smiled and led me up to the second floor of the store, where I picked out a frying pan, a pot and a spatula.  A row of pillows suitable for a couch was near the wall of cooking things.

I touched one and asked, "¿Tiene para dormir?"

She led me to the pillows, lined up on a shelf like books and held in place with an elastic cord.  I squeezed each and decided on one, pulled it down and held it in front of her.

"¿Y la ropa?"  And the clothes?

She asked if I needed a pillow case or sheets for the whole bed.  By morning, the sheet that Patricia gave me isn´t anywhere close to where it started the night before, so a fitted sheet would be nice.  Yes, let's go for the whole set.  Patricia's sheet now covers a window, offering a little privacy.

All set with my purchases, we headed back downstairs to the register.  The woman who helped me find things started writing up a receipt while another began putting things into a bag.  I looked at the receipt... Olla, 31,500 colones.  I pointed to where she had written Olla.

"¿Que esta?"  What is this?

I'm not sure if it's the proper way to ask, but hey, it worked... she pointed to the pot.  Sixty bucks for a cooking pot?  I think not.  I didn´t even have that much on me, which was my excuse.  I fanned out the cash that I had.

"No tengo dinero.  Hasta luego, olla."  I don´t have money.  See you later, cooking pot.

I waved goodbye to the pot, one of the women giggled.

Another thing I´ve been looking for is a bookstore.  I've crisscrossed all of downtown San Isidro I think, with no luck.  However I did notice a stand the other day, not unlike the newspaper stands in Philly, this one kept by an overweight man in need of a shower and a shave.  I suppose that's not so unlike Philly, either.

"Buenas."
"Buenas."
"¿Tiene usted diccionario de español y ingles?"

He rummaged around inside the stand, and pulled out a beast of a dictionary, hardcover and a good five inches thick.  My intention is to boost my vocabulary by translating the front page of the newspaper every day, preferably while sitting in a soda or some similar place.  No way I was going to lug that thing around, so I waved him off.

"¿Mas pequeño?"

He rummaged around a bit more, and pulled out a paperback dictionary.  Bingo!  I wanted to do a little dictionary dance right there on the sidewalk.  I bargained with him for it, and for about eight dollars I am now in possession of what may very well be the only paperback version of Merriam-Webster's Spanish-English dictionary in all of San Isidro.

Just a few more things now and I´ll be set: a pot that costs less than sixty dollars, a few bowls and plates, a radio.

Getting there!  The table moved to the main room.

My mom asks in an email: Is there a reason you didn't show us the bathroom?. Like maybe there isn't one?  There is one:

The shower... John's john lower left and the sink upper right.

The shower head.  From what I can tell, water heaters are a rarity around here.  This electric heating element heats water on demand... slower waterflow means hotter water.

I need to know about rice and beans... they have never been a part of my regular diet, so I'm pretty much clueless about them.  But they're a staple down here, so I better get on that.  So if any of you can fill me in in the comments, it would be much appreciated.  Is it two parts water, one part rice?  For how long?  I've had some rice that had something tasty added to it, it gave the rice a yellowish color... what was that?  I've seen different brands of rice... are there different types to go along with that?  Do you have to soak the beans overnight or something?  Then what?  Thanks...