Finishing Touches

So much has been happening in the home and the neighbourhood. Since Elizabeth's arrival, everyday brings new colours and warmth. Pictures framed and hung, bedrooms coordinated, new furniture purchased and placed, the aromas of meals more complex than my only chicken dish.
In the barrio, tractors, graders, dump trucks and neighbours fill the street with the sounds of the community effort to complete, at long last, the paving of our road. The event has provided me the opportunity to become more integrated with mi vicenos, as my presence at the work parties is a rite of community passage. The dirtier my hands get, the more acceptance I gain. Despite my utter lack of mechanical aptitude, being interested enough to just hang out and get in the way seems to be a good thing. Ochento metros de bicicletta fabrica, Santiaguito, San Ramon is truly our second home.

The Wonder of Water

It is amazing how quickly plants and flowers grow with just a little spray of water.

A House Becomes a Home

Elizabeth's arrival on Saturday marked an expected and much welcome rise in the quality of life in San Ramon (for me). As if by magic, but more by inventiveness and design, our place is in the midst of a transformation-from a place to live to a place of our own. The pictures only illustrate a small part of the metamorphosis: from wall hangings, to decorated bedrooms to a water fountain which all add to the already tranquil environment.

Granada to San Ramon

On our last morning in Granada, we visited a few fascinating cultural sites. Firstly, we went to the Cathedrale de San Francisco, originally constructed in 1589 but rebuilt a few times since then because of damage by fire. We met a young man in training for the priesthood who spoke very good English and was most helpful in providing me tips on how to improve my Spanish (get an interpreter). He was a great tour guide and urged us to be at the Main Cathedral at 12:00 as he would open the stairway to the Bell Tower and allow us to climb up.
We then crossed the street to the San Francisco Convent, now a museum featuring historical artifacts from pre-Columbian times to the early 20th century. The highlights were a long open room replete with statues uncovered on the various islands in the lake and a number of replications of what indigenous life was like before contact with the Spaniards.
Up to the Bell Tower in the neighboring Cathedral where we were treated to amazing views of the city and surrounding area.
The bus trip home was much smoother border-wise as we opted for a 12:30 pm start. Unfortunately, after crossing the border into Costa Rica, we were delayed for forty minutes due to mechanical problems. Luckily, the driver pulled over in front of a bar, so some of the passengers were able to quench their thirst with a few cool Imperials.
On Sunday, Dave's last day here, we attended a premier football match featuring newly promoted San Ramon (the Ramonese) against the big city visitors from Heredia (the Heredianese). The stadium is small (5000) but uncomfortable as all the seats are concrete and backless. None of this dampened the spirit of the loyal home town fans who sang and drummed their way throughout the match, a thrilling 3-1 victory for the home boys in red and white. Language differences are irrelevant during a sporting event as we all high fived, cheered, shouted GOLLLLLLLL and became as one with our fellow fans.

Granada and Masaya

Our three days in Granada, a city of over 120,000, offered some distinct differences to life in San Ramon. As a former Colonial capital, its architecture breathes in Spanish. It was founded in the early 1500's by Cordoba whose name is immortalized by the currency (one US is 20 Cordobas). It lies at the tip of Lake Cocibolca (Lake Nicaragua), the world's twentieth largest lake and only fresh water lake to sustain sharks. The city has withstood countless invasions and a rather nasty imperialistic present from William Walker, the American filibuster, who took up residence and attempted to take control of Central America as a ruling monarch. One of Walker's generals, Charles Frederick Henningsen, set the city ablaze before escaping, destroying much of the ancient city and leaving printed the words "Granada Was Here". We understandably emphasized our Canadianense by accompanying every phrase with an emphatic "eh".
Although Granada is relatively wealthy by Nicaraguan standards as it is a major tourist centre, poverty is much more apparent than in Costa Rica. As compulsory education does not exist, an encounter with a begging child is fairly common. Prices are obviously lower than in CR (a full dinner with two beer each at an excellent restaraunt ran about $18 for the both of us).
The Parque Central, which spans about four square blocks, is constantly abuzz with activity and awash with colour: vendors, chess players, strollers, and tourists. I heard more English spoken in three days than in the previous three months in San Ramon. For twenty-five dollars, one could hire a horse drawn buggy for a city tour. We chose to walk, but I confess, during the afternoon heat, those coaches seemed awfully inviting.
On our second day, we hopped on a bus and took the twenty minute journey to Masaya, a town well known for its Avenue de Artisanes and for Sergio Zepedes, the guitar maker. After missing our stop and heading straight for Managua, we disembarked, crossed the highway and headed back to Masaya. All of this for $1.00. In Masaya, we found the bus office where we wanted to purchase our return ticket through happenstance rather than design as the first taxi driver let us off as soon as he thought he could, rather than at the destination. All taxi rides are $2.00, so I assume he had driven as far as he felt like. We wandered about as aimless tourists are prone to do until a kindly man offered us a ride in the back of his pick up to the ticket agency.
Then, a taxi ride to the maestro maker's house, a modest place with a workshop. Dave was pumped; Sergio agreed to repair his guitar for forty dollars, about one fifth the price it would cost in Vancouver. As well, he is going to construct and ship a custom made instrument, made from wonderful woods and fretted with ebony for Dave.
We then made our way to the craft market where I purchased a hammock for the house as Elizabeth loves to lie and read hanging in the sun (perhaps the result of a latent primordial urge). While there, we were entertained by a stately national dance performed on a stationary bus by several women in costume.
For our return journey, we opted for the chicken bus, the most local form of transportation. The roof of the bus (think of a thirty year old orange school bus) was piled high with sacks of food, bicycles and other personal belongings. The passengers were animated and friendly to the point where the fellow seated beside me counted out the exact fare for me (twenty-five cents) and reassured me that he would tell us when to get off (which he did). A great experience!

Brother, Buses and Borders

Mi hermano, David (Dabid) arrived for a two week visit. We had a great time reconnecting and repairing the many minor annoyances which plague any house. Dave is a fixer; when he sees something which needs mechanical intervention, he finds the solution. I, on the other hand, have a somewhat different approach: I notice, I ponder for a few seconds, file and forget. While here, Dave painted the back cover of the toilet which was unfinished wood, repaired a loose piece of the roof which clattered annoyingly in the wind, replaced the plunger in aforementioned bano, installed a missing window pane, attached the hardware for a hammock and increased my toolbox (which consisted of a decorative hammer and a crescent wrench) by adding two sets of pliers, a multi-purpose screwdriver and an electric drill.
His mission, while here, was to find a guitar maker to repair his trusty forty year old axe and investigate the possibility of having a guitar custom made for him. My imperative was to leave Costa Rica for seventy-two hours to meet the requirements of renewing my ninety day visitor's permit. Fortuitously, our mutual goals were realized by a three day journey to Granada, Nicaragua.
A grand journey it was, beginning with a trip to San Jose to purchase a ticket from the Tica Bus company. A few days later, we were waiting for the six-thirty am bus on the highway across from the mall in San Ramon. A nice bus, much like a Greyhound, a smooth ride to the border, clear sailing (almost). A travel tip: when taking ground transportation to a bordering country, try to avoid the early Monday morning option as it seems everyone who ever wanted to cross the border wants to do so as early as possible on a Monday. The line-ups on both sides were interminable: at least and hour on each side for no discernible reason except to keep customs and immigration officers duly employed. Off the bus on the Costa Rican side, across the ramp to the Nicaraguan side, dodging money changers and food vendors, lining up, arriving at a rather forlorn looking table with a rather bored looking official sitting alone, looking at us, nodding, pressing a button which activated an electric current that switched a light from red to green and waving us past the table. The light (on a table, with no gate, just a lone table) somehow made sense to me-not really a comforting sign.
Off again, through the Nicaraguan countryside, the highway following massive Lake Nicaragua to Granada at its tip.
The bus let us and about a dozen others off on a side street; we got ill advised directions to the Parque Central where our hotel was located, we lugged our packs a few blocks the wrong way and finally made it to the Plaza Colon, a great little hotel across the street (calle) from the main park in the centre of town.

Some Pretty Pictures from the Patio

Everything depends upon


a sky by Turner,








a rainbow,











and a new flower.





Sorry, no wheelbarrow.

Orchid, Rudy and Their Floating Hotel

Last Thursday, Scott and I drove to the city of Puntarenas to meet Orchid and Rudy, whose cruise ship was in port for the day. We triple checked to make sure we were heading for the right place (always learn from mistakes) and met them at 9:00 am. As this is their 38th cruise, they have already explored the sites offered by the day trip companies and expressed a desire to see our place and the city of San Ramon. While waiting for them, Scott and I were approached by the usual entrepeneurs who earn their livings at cruise ship docks by offering tours and souvenirs to the visiting tourists. It actually felt kind of cool to say, "No gracias, yo vivo aqui". Of course, one actually says: "yo bibo aqui", as there is no V sound in Costa Rican Spanish. In fact, one of my more annoying pleasures is trying to get Costa Ricans to pronounce the V sound. They cannot do it but always are bery baliant in their efforts.
We had a great day with our guests. Rudy offered many useful suggestions regarding renovations; I could tell he was itching to actualize some of his plans, but, alas, my lone tool, a crescent wrench left him with few options for action. We strolled the city, visited the local museum and Scott and I were treated to a delicious lunch. A relaxing day with friends.. or so we thought.
We decided to leave for the trip back a bit early as I wanted to make sure the drive home from Puntarenas would be in daylight. The ship was due to leave at 7:00 pm so passengers were told to be on the floating hotel (which accommodates 5000 passengers and crew and looks like the Vancouver Convention Centre afloat). We left at 3:30 all set for a leisurely drive to the coast.
About 1/2 hour into the drive, all road movement ceased. We pieced together from others in the line up that there had been a fatal accident involving a van and a semi about 2 kilometers south in the direction we were heading. Time proceeded (as it usually does) and no signs of progress. Watching the watch.. Five o'clock. Intrepid Scott decided to walk to the front of the traffic to gather information. Time passed. 5:30. Finally, traffic began to flow; we picked Scott up kilometers from where we had been, passed the scene of the accident and managed to drop Orchita and Rudy at the dock at 6:15. No worrys, minutes to spare.
We drove home in the darkness, keenly aware that our inconvenience meant so little compared to the impact on others who lost a loved one who was hurrying home from work to be with his family.

It Must Have Been the Wrong Place but, It Must.....

One of the guilty pleasures about having company in a foreign country, is the opportunity to transform oneself from the reliant to the relative self-reliant. With Scott visiting, this seemed like the perfect time to dazzle with my local knowledge. After all, I knew the walk downtown, could locate the carnicero, panadero y el fabricante de vela. My time to shine. Following our day at Arenal, we chose to travel a greater distance to see Gary Lindquist, a former Richmond teacher who has live in Costa Rica for eleven years. I have never met Gary but have communicated with him on a number of occasions over the internet. He lives with his Costa Rican wife in the beach community of Playa Hermosa where they run a company which provides advice and assistance to those who wish to relocate here. I phoned him the morning prior to the day we left to get detailed instructions. I thought I might have awakened him as the directions seemed a bit odd, but I knew where Playa Hermosa was and teemed with confidence that once there, my ever increasing Spanish vocabulary would stand us in good stead. Off we went, to the Province of Puntarenas on the Pacific Coast, my first visit to a Costa Rican beach town.
The drive was long with many delays as there are major highway improvement projects taking place throughout the country. Like many countries, Costa Rica has decided that infrastucture spending is one key way to boost a sagging economy. Finally, we passed Jaco Beach (party central for visitors wishing to indulge) and turned the corner to see miles of sandy beach with only about a dozen people scattered throughout. Paradise for sun worshippers; however, no sign of the Century 21 office where we were supposed to take a left hand turn. In fact, no sign of anything resembling a town. Finally we found a small real estate office, oddly enough, Remax, not Century 21. I must have been right; Gary had been half asleep.
Describing the directions I had gleaned from Gary, the helpful realtors informed us that indeed, Playa Hermosa is a beach community on the Pacific Coast; however,there are two such places of the same name. Apparently, the one we had in mind is a much larger Playa Hermosa located in Guanacaste only four hours to the North providing the roads are free of delays.
We had a great day, despite the directional problems. We swam, ate lunch in Jaco, where we watched, in our Canadian self-restraint, the antics of American tourists drunk at noon, loud, obnoxious and inappropriate.
So much for my fearless feelings of confidence; better to be humble than humbled!

North to Arenal

Today, we went for a trip about 100 km north of San Ramon to the Arenal Volcano. Prior to 1968, the volcano was draped in dense vegetation and had only one crater with any activity. That all changed on July 29 when it erupted. Between the 29th and 31st, three new craters were formed from the activity that blew rocks upon two nearby towns causing the deaths of 87 persons. It is still active; its force is audible, and in the evening, the red glare emanating from its core is visible.
We climbed to the view point where we could see the steamy evidence of recent flows and the magnificence of Lake Arenal, a man made water body which was created to take advantage of the fact the the volcano area supplies 70% of all water in the Arenal basin.
Despite the fact that, at the beginning of the trail, we came upon a very important looking sign translated into several languages that warned we were entering a possible danger area, we two intrepid explorers,(along with a number of people from tour buses), risked life and limb to navigate the ever so dodgy volcanic rocks. We marveled at our bravery as well as the vistas.
On the drive back, a young Asian woman flagged us down and offered us $10 (US!) if we would drive her and her three friends back to the Tabacon Hotel where the two couples were staying. Apparently, the concierge told them it was a twenty minute walk to the Volcano. We had passed them on the way in about one and half hours earlier. They never made it to the volcano, their feet were blistering and they were exhausted. I suppose time is relative; twenty minutes to one person might translate into two hours to another. I tried in vain to get Scott's attention as I saw this as an easy $20-$25, but he, being the nice person he is, already invited them in free of charge.

Scott Arrives; Road Graded; Coincidence??

Scott arrived late in the evening on Thursday after a few unexpected changes to his travel itinerary. He was originally to fly from Vancouver to Los Angeles to San Jose with Alaskan Air and arrive at 8:45. However, there were mechanical problems with the plane a YVR, so they shifted him to American Airlines through Dallas with arrival at 10:00 pm. All was well, as I picked him up at the airport, and we arrived in San Ramon about 11:30.
Scott's arrival coincided with a big buzz in the barrio. As much as we are fond of Scott, the excitement had little to do with him. The rutted, pot holed gravel road was graded from the bottom of the hill to several houses past mine. What was bumpy is now smooth. I have pieced together that there is a neighbourhood meeting next Wednesday evening to discuss what the next steps are. I am assuming that if we want the road paved, there will be some kind of levy per home. Undoubtedly, a lot of animated discussion and carefully planned positions will emerge, none of which I will comprehend. But, I will nod politely, at times animatedly and smile unabashedly.
Unfortunately, the grading was accompanied by major winds, an outcome of a Caribbean storm which deluged the coast. The combination of grading and gusting resulted in the largest amount of continual dust and dirt deposits in the driveway and the house imaginable. I kept trying to convince Scott that this was not the norm, but I fear, to no avail. More of our travels upcoming!

Idiot Wind

With acknowledgments to Dylan who wrote the song that inspired the title of this entry, even though, I am sure he meant to be more metaphorical than I.
Today is warm, but the wind is gusting ferociously at setanta y cinquo metros de Bicicletos Super Pro, Santiago, San Ramon. This is our legal address as relative proximity to geographical markings delineate individual domiciles. I think I am beginning to understand why I have never seen a letter carrier around here. Having to rely on a meter stick to complete one's route must slow down the mail somewhat. But, I digress.
Given the wild west, or east wind, (it is hard to tell when your bearings are based upon the bicycle fabrication plant), I decided to go for a trek up the hill and take in the views of the city and surrounding countryside. At the crest, it was difficult to keep balance as the air from Bill O'Reilly's lungs had nothing on the force of the Central Valley gales. While turning around into the wind to greet two women walking their dogs, my very cool, (as you can tell by my profile picture) snap on, ultra violet, stain resistant, dengue fever protective sunglasses flew off, never to be found again. My search in the tall grasses was futile, although, I did manage to confuse totally a landscaper who assumed I was an amateur horticulturalist closely examining the local flora. My heart did leap a few times when I spotted dark objects (despite the glare, having no snap on, ultra....), only to be disappointed to discover they were pieces of broken beer bottle glass.
I am trying to blame all my incompetence here on the language barrier. Truth be told, I lack at least as much competence in Vancouver. I do find it comforting to have an excuse, however. Yesterday, a nice young couple from up the street clanged on the gates of my fortress. For some reason, (language difficulties), I did not ask them in but rather spoke to them through the bars as if I were in solitary, pleading for water. After a few minutes, it was clear to me they were advising that next Wednesday, at 6 in the evening, a tractor was going to be working around our houses. I thanked them graciously for their neighbourly news, and as they were leaving, asked if the tractor meant the road was to be paved. They looked at me as people often do at home when I attempt to describe a mechanical problem or try to explain why Disco was the generative motivation for gangster rap. Turns out, they were inviting me to a neighbourhood gathering. I think.
Scott will be arriving tomorrow evening for eleven days, so I will have him go to the soiree before me wearing overalls and carrying a shovel, just make sure the event is tractorless.

Market in San Ramon

Every Friday afternoon and Saturday morning, the market comes to town. It is about a fifteen minute walk from our place. Farmers and merchants from the surrounding area bring their goods and wares, set up their stalls and provide fresh fruit, vegetables, fish, meat, flowers, cheese and other sundries to the inhabitants of the city. Unlike many other public markets I have visited in Latin America, this one primarily focuses on foodstuffs, although, if you are inclined, a number of colourful tropical fish for the aquarium are available. The prices are fixed, and as far as I can tell, bargaining is not part of the process. The fruit and vegetables are fresh, there is great variety and the prices are much better than the supermarkets. Just like it should be in an outdoor market!

Exploring the City

For the first month, I have tended to frequent the main streets in my wanderings. Over the past week, I have extended my walks to other parts of San Ramon and discovered many more neighbourhoods and sites. I have wandered the grounds of the local campus of the University of Costa Rica which is not in session until February 16. At that time, I plan to visit to the Faculty of Education and introduce myself to see if there is any assistance I might be able to provide to students who are hoping to become teachers of English.
On the side streets, away from the main road are a plethora of bakeries, butcher shops and cafes, each luring customers with aromas and ambiance. A loaf of freshly baked pan integrales (multi grain) is $1.50 while a delicious sweet bread loaf bathed in cinnamon is $1.30. No more supermarket bread for me. Tomorrow, I am off to the weekly Farmers' Market (Friday afternoon and Saturday morning) where I will take some photos to give you an idea of Market Time Costa Rica.

Pura Vida

Time now for a few random thoughts based upon interactions and observations of the past week or so. It has been six weeks since I first arrived in San Ramon, and I am becoming more attuned to the rhythms and patterns of life. Initially, my days were consumed with newness, with attempts at familiarization. At the start of this adventure, I assumed my lack of language skills would impose a much larger challenge than has actually turned ou. My intimidation blocked communication as I tried to rehearse conversations which only ended up limiting the extemporaneous nature of dialogue. Gradually, oh so gradually, I am recalling and understanding more important phrases and words. I could almost make sense of a five minute explication by a Spanish speaking salesperson regarding the differences among three types of mattresses. Paying attention to gestures and tones is becoming possible as I begin to lose the feeling of helplessness and start to focus upon those non verbal clues which we use all the time in our language of comfort. Poco a poco, Pura Vida is becoming more than a greeting or conversational ending.
Pura Vida encapsulates the relationships of Costa Ricans to their environment, family and neighbourhood, expressing a philosophy of strong community, perseverance, good spirits, enjoying life slowly and celebrating good fortune, whether small or large.
If we only spend a short time here or are unwilling or unable to adjust to the spirit, we often experience the manifestation of Pura Vida as "laid back" or "don't worry, be happy" and become frustrated by having to wait for, what, at first blush, seems an inordinate amount of time in the checkout line while the clerk and a customer catch up on events in the neighbourhood or share stories about their families. We look impatiently at watches, roll eyes, fidget; anxious to do what? in a hurry to get where? For Costa Ricans the interaction is imbued as richly with the personal as it is the transactional. The connection matters.

Data Driven Assessment

Many of us have a tendency to be over general in our perceptions of those parts of the world in which we have had minimal experiences (none of us, of course). Central America is Central America. If one has been to Mexico and ventured out of the all inclusive, the interactions, the sights, sounds and smells form an inaccurate template of the country. The diversity within the country is breathtaking. Puerto Vallarta is as unlike Queretaro (ref. S. Swenson, 2008, Skype Publications) as Disney World is to Revelstoke.
The same differences apply to countries, of course. Costa Rica is not Mexico, nor Panama, nor Honduras.... It is different and unique. Elizabeth and I prefer it, but that's just us. While understanding that using decontextualized pieces of data to understand the complex is not only impossible but, at times, troublesome (Fraser Institute School Report Cards), I am going to do it anyway to help in your understanding of why we chose to have our second home here.
The sources range from the UN, The Economist, Yale and Doctors without Borders:

Environmental Performance 5/149 countries
Lack of Human Poverty 5/108
Freedom of Press 21/169
Democracy 25/167
Quality of Life 35/111
Perception of Corruption 47/180
Global Peace 34/140

We like it here; we can drink out of any tap; the climate is awesome, and so many diverse ecological zones are just hours from each other. Most of all, the people are an endless generator of positive change for us.

More Pics of the Neighbourhood

A few have been asking for some more photos of the immediate area in which our house is located. I am going to post a few to give a broader notion of the section of the barrio. The pictures are taken from the front of the house: the vacant lot across the street has just been cleared by machetes and monster weed eaters so I anticipate a new home is in the plans. On the corner below and across from us is "Pro Sport", a manufacturing plant that fabricates bicycles. It is a quiet operation and very successful. It imports parts from China, pieces them together and, viola, complete road-riding machines of all sorts, sizes and colours.

Earthquake

A 6.1 magnitude earthquake struck Costa Rica this afternoon, its epicenter about 70 km from San Ramon. I was in the back patio when a powerful tremor shook for about 40m seconds. It took about 15 seconds for me to comprehend the source of the movement as my initial thought was to wonder why a huge truck was speeding down our hill. After the shaking stopped, I went to the street to find all the neighbours in front of their houses. Several of the children from the houses nearby came up to me to express their feelings; although I did not understand their words, a child's sense of amazement is universal. Several of the adults did their best to reassure me that there was nothing to be worried about, and Rosario, the neighbor who looks after our house, phoned to make sure that I was okay. I have only been here for three weeks but each day feel more and more the strong sense of community. There was no damage here, but, sadly, two little girls perished in the Poas Volcano National Park area, a site Elizabeth and I visited in September. It is close by, only about an hour's drive. Things are fine in San Ramon, although, more tectonic movement is predicted.

A Walk to the Town

Today, being a glorious day, seemed a good time to take a walk into the center of San Ramon, conduct a bit of business and take a few pictures to provide a sense of the city. Part of the business was to locate a dentista as I have a tooth which has been bothering me that, undoubtedly, needs extracting. I have an appointment on Monday morning; I promise there will be no photos of the event. The cost $22. One of Costa Rica's major industries is cosmetic procedures. North Americans flock down here to take advantage of doctors and dentists who were trained in Canada or the US and will provide any procedure one can imagine at a fraction of the cost it would be at home.

Dedicated to Steve, the Champion of the Concise