Caribbean Experience

Early February I decided it was time to get out of town and explore this Costa Rica.  So I headed to Puerto Viejo on the Caribbean coast on a Thursday morning.  Friday morning 5:00 a.m. found me still looking for a bus to the Caribbean, having inadvertently arrived in a Puerto Viejo that was nowhere near a beach.  That afternoon I arrived to a funky little 60’s feeling, ultra creative, hippy kind of place with laid back inhabitants and visitors, surfing, beautiful beaches, interesting and varied restaurants / accommodations and lots of sun. 

As I walked around town, I was continually reminded of the funky 60’s feeling, ultra creative, hippy kind of place with laid back inhabitants (albeit highly rowdy),  interesting and varied restaurants and lots of sun that is South Austin.  This was at the same time delightful and uncomfortable.  

 

But Austin does NOT have miles of beaches, palm trees, kids selling huge deep-fried wheat tortillas with a drizzle of local honey or condensed milk out of a bucket or an improbably old man pulling coconuts out of trees along the main road, throwing them in a wheelbarrow and selling them from a picnic table on the beach as he hulled and topped them with a (probably equally old) machete. 

                          

                          

Puerto Viejo de Talamanca has a handful of Americans with little food and surfing businesses, bicycle and hammock ($7 per night) rentals and many American tourists along with numerous other countries represented.  Notable in the food genre are Bread and Chocolate (breakfasts/French press coffee/killer cookies)and Pan Pay where I had the best chocolate croissants ever.  The previous holder of this title was a charming little south Austin bakery in the 70’s, Sweetish Hill (where my favorite waiter for Sunday breakfast wore lederhosen.  It's since moved and expanded). 

Pan Pay - home of the world's best chocolate croissant

There are several food experiences while travelling that stand out in memory and the Pan Pay chocolate croissant is now in that company.  They were so perfect (flaky, great chocolate, buttery) that eating one made it is impossible to think of anything else but the texture, smell, flavor and pure pleasure of it.  It was a transcendent few moments.  It didn’t hurt that the restaurant is right on the beach.  Needless to say, I had more than one.

Down the road in Manzanillo:  gorgeous long stretches of beach for walking.

A final stroll on a black beach and waiting for the bus home by the beach:

                              

Navigating in Costa Rica

A friend recently had the experience on her boat of knifing into her left thumb, driving from Mexico to Phoenix for surgery to repair a sliced tendon and nerves, looking forward to 6 or 8 weeks in a splint and intensive physical therapy, and in pretty much pain.  So she ended a recent email with “Anyway, there’s lots to do here so hard to complain...”  I beg your pardon?  Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a complaint from her.  Well, except that time she and her husband were locked into a cage coming back into the US from Mexico while their car was being taken apart somewhere else.   I don’t have so much to complain about, nor nearly so much difficulty complaining. 

Though I might ordinarily complain about navigating in Costa Rica, I’m not complaining today, because  (1) I'm taking a leaf from my friend's book (I mean, what do I have to complain about, really?) and (2) I believe this is another opportunity for me to learn something new.  At first getting around here was disconcerting, discombobulating, disorienting.  But I’m finally starting to get my bearings.  (Jet will be smiling soon.) 

Some people navigate by landmarks and directions, some by street names.  Since Costa Rica is a landmark kind of country and I’m a street names kind of gal, we’re colliding. 

Generally speaking, if I know what street I’m on, I can figure out how and where to go.  Otherwise, I’m a bit lost.  I realized early on  that I don’t know where I am most of the time.  Maps are great, N-S-E-W also great.  But I’m directionally challenged.   Someone said recently, after being accused of having a better sense of direction than I do, “Well yes, but that’s not saying much!

Costa Rica is challenging for me, as there are almost never street signs.  When I was newly arrived and in Heredia’s El Parque Central, I noticed with satisfaction as I walked around that the streets were named either Avenida or Calle, with a corresponding number.  So all north to south roads are named Calle, and all east to west roads are Avenida. 


The park is the center of town, so fanning out from there [Avenida 0 and Calle 0], were Ave. and Calle 1, 2, 3, 4.  So far so good.  Then I realized that the numbers going south or west were marked exactly the same as those going north or east, with no indication of where they were in relation to the park.  Ok, so that’s weird.  I’m at the corner of Avenida 3 and Calle 3, but am I north and west of the park or south and east?  No way to tell.  Not that it matters much, since after several blocks, all streets cease to be marked at all.  So far, those are the last street names I've found.

No one here seems to know what street they’re on anyway.  I know this because I have stopped numerous people to ask the name of the street, and not a single one has been able to answer me.  They look blank and then ask, “Where are you going?”  Then they proceed to tell me how to get there based on the Post Office, or Rosabal store, or Espigas restaurant.  All of which would be lovely if one knew where any of these things were!  Today I asked my taxi driver the name of the street we were on.  He shook his head and said it doesn’t have a name.  I asked about another street, and he shook his head, and looked a little worried about me.

Even business cards have no addresses – but say e.g. “from KFC 150 meters to the east and 50 meters south.”  But meters don’t actually mean meters.  100 meters correspond roughly to one city block, but because they differ in length, it might really be 110 meters, or 80 meters. 

  

When on the way to my new house, after determining which street I should turn up, I asked the owner if there was a number at the gate.  She said “no, but I should get one.”  I asked what the number of the house was and she said “Oh I don’t have a number, but I think I can get one.”   She tells me that locally, this street has nicknames based on the tiny development at the end of the street (Calle Malaga), and the little school next door (Calle de Kinder), and after someone's first name (Calle Venero).  But outside those who live in this immediate area, those names are not know.  

So if you want to write or send something to me here, you might try: Sofia’s place, 100 meters north of MasxMenos, 200 meters east, on the right, San Pablo de Heredia, Costa Rica.  It might just work.

60's Rock

I haven’t heard much American music in Costa Rica – well, none actually.  But tonight that changed.  A neighbor, Miguel, father of my house mate, invited me to join him and old friends in an evening of 60’s rock – in the back yard.  One of the friends is the top DJ in Costa Rica who had brought sound equipment and recordings.  His friends also included the lead guitarist from the Thunder Boys, the premier rock band here in the 60’s, who sang along with some of the songs his band performed.

We heard:  Put your head on my shoulder– Come go with me – Let’s do the twist – Stand by me – You make me want to shout – 16 candles – Duke of Earl – Are you lonesome tonight– That loving feeling – Johnny B. Goode-  Sherry - You don’t own me … about 5 hours of music from my teen years. 

I wasn’t there long, but am still enjoying it from the patio at my house. The last few songs:  Hit the road Jack, Don’t be cruel, My Little Runaway.  Now playing is an instrumental from “It’s cherry pink and apple blossom white” which I’m pretty sure is 40’s or early 50’s, now “California Dreaming.”  It makes me feel nostalgic and homesick for the backyard bbq with family and friends.  

Looking forward to August!

Friday evening, January 18

What $10.60 gets you in Costa Rica at a local market:  (the missing $1 was for ice cream!)

Home in a Strange Land

I have found a place to live!  I move in tomorrow, but today I shopped for food.

First of all, my new house is three blocks from where I am currently staying, which is delightful.  The house owner (Sofia) works elsewhere, so is only home weekends, and is renting two rooms, one downstairs and one up.  It is a relatively new house which means things work.  I have taken the downstairs which will be cooler, I think, and has its own 3/4 bath and TV.  I'm not normally that excited about TV, but I've decided that a perfect way for me to become fluent in Spanish is to watch shows with English subtitles.  I will work hard at this nightly.

Sofia's Mami and Papi live behind the house with an adjoining iron gate, and they keep an eye on the place when no one is around.  Which is an excellent idea here in Costa Rica, as burglary is a common occurrence.  The local answer to Mexican barbwire (broken glass atop walls) is actual barbed wired in two tiers of ~14 inch rolls atop walls.  These don't look very nice, of course, so they then plant flowering vines to cover them up.  In better neighborhoods there's not so much walking up to houses as there is ringing a bell at the front gate, as houses are rung round by iron or concrete walls.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, the house.  Lovely back yard with lemon and other fruit trees which I do not recognize but might be related to a peach, a covered patio with built-in barbeque, clothes lines. Upstairs has a central lounging area with two balconies, one with a view all the way to downtown San Jose!  Possible sun bathing territory in anticipation of long unseen body parts being in proximity to a beach.  Downstairs a living room, separate dining room and kitchen.  Oh, there's a woman who cleans the shared spaces once a week and another person who cuts the grass.

To market to market....  The tiny local mercado is ~15 blocks from me and open on Saturdays until noon.  For $11.60 I got:  8 eggs -one broke in my backpack on the way home :(  , 3 onions, 3 sweet red peppers, 2 cucumbers, 1 large avocado, small pineapple, papaya, 3 tomatoes, 1 kilo beans, 3 heads garlic, 5 small potatoes, 5 large carrots, 2 gala apples, small bunch cilantro.

Costa Rican food mainly consists of beans, rice, vegetables (avocados, tomatoes, onions,  carrots, cucumbers, sweet peppers, maybe broccoli,)  and fruit (pineapple, watermelon, papaya, mango, granadilla / passion fruit, cooked plantain).  Some meat or seafood thrown in for good measure: so far I've had pork, chicken, canned tuna.  Beer is widely drunk as are refrescos, a  (possibly sweetened and) strained fruit juice, and of course coffee.  A popular salad is marinated tomato, onion, cucumber, carrot.  A common breakfast is fruit, beans/rice/vegetables mixture, fried egg, coffee.  Shawn and Laura, I think I'm getting fond of crispy fried eggs!  Other meals are often accompanied by deep fried plantain.  All very tasty.  Though I've heard more than one person complain they were sick of beans and rice and the many ways that creative Ticos have found to combine the two.   I purchased a small cookbook from my B&B, so will be trying some of these same recipes.  It might take me more than seven months to tire of bean and rice combos.

Saturday, Jan 12

The Mystery of Traffic in Costa Rica

I am sitting in a walled-in tropical garden eating breakfast to classical piano.  The B&B owner is playing Rachmaninoff, Beethoven,  ... the garden is filled with palms, bougainvillea, lemon trees, verbena ...  sun is filtering through the palm tree.  A perfect day in a sheltered and safe place.

But that is not what I came to discuss, because soon I will be walking to a bus and trying my luck at being a pedestrian here.  Pedestrians do NOT have the right of way in Costa Rica.

It's very tricky, and quite dangerous to the uninitiated, to survive traffic.  In getting my traffic legs, I've discovered a few things of import.  Evidently, traffic signals and  signs are considered mere suggestions for possible comportment.  Whether a particular driver will comply with these suggestions is completely unpredictable, and only the foolish (and possibly now dead) think otherwise.

Many sections of roads have no sidewalk and no shoulder, and might also border a deep ditch.  So one might be breezily walking along a sidewalk on a heavily trafficked, high-speed road, concentrating on how far and on which side of the road one might find his or her next bus, when suddenly(she) is faced with the end of said sidewalk.  There is no turning back if one wants to continue to conduct her business, so one forges ahead with great trepidation onto the edge of the road, and if she were a religious person, praying mightily, and trying not to close her eyes until she reaches the next stretch of sidewalk.

Another unsettling thing at first is that drivers here honk their horns a lot.  As a pedestrian, this is a little crazy making, since a honking horn could mean "Hey,"  "Get out of my way!" "You idiot"  "Could you please move over just a little bit?" or "How you doin'."  Perhaps even "Call me."  Of course the context is the clue, but as a pedestrian one often doesn't have a clue, from not having the vantage point of the honkee to determine what the hell is going on.

The mystery, of course, is that there are not more foreigners lifeless on the roadsides.

So far, so good.

Bouts of Travel

Recently a friend said her husband had had two bouts of traveling in his youth.  I was so fascinated by this turn of phrase that I dug into it.  My first impression was that perhaps a desire to travel comes on like the flu.  Fierce, something to be survived.  

Here's what I found:
- a contest or trial of strength,:   a contest between antagonists:   a spell: a bout of illness:    a period of time spent: often something considered distasteful "His tremendous bouts of drinking:"   attack of illness: 

Attack of traveling, bouts of melancholy, contest of strength, .  All these seem to fit traveling into a strange land.  Nature and culture as antagonists.  Something to revel in and triumph over.  (oh there's that pesky preposition!.)   

Another friend, in response to my saying I felt unsettled, said "Well that's sort of the point of traveling alone."  Friends are so good.

I also suspect that traveling is sometimes responsible for tarentellas.  An uncontrollable urge to wild and swirling dancing (often in the streets).  Although in southern Italy in the 15th to 17th centuries, such behavior was attributed by tarantism, believed to be caused by a tarantula bite.

Travel is good.