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

Irma and Frank Host a Fiesta

The few days I spent in San Isidro provided me with some new snapshots of the expatriate experience and of the dynamics which forge Costa Rican families.
On Saturday, Frank and Irma, a couple whose home is in Brentwood Bay, hosted a fiesta for their local community. To say Frank is a bit of a character is like saying that George Junior may have been off base in a few of his decisions. Frank and Irma own a quinta (hobby farm) about three miles from San Isidro. They have built a home with sweeping views of the surrounding mountains and are in the midst of a new venture, raising cattle. Frank, a former fisher who knotted his nets in the seas off Prince Rupert, gave me a tour of his property. He planted every tree and bush and seemed to have a personal connection with each.
The fiesta was replete with families, frolic and, for me, a growing appreciation of the underpinnings of Costa Rican family life. From the outset, it was clear it was going to a real party; Keith and Carlos, the main man for Frank and Keith, had ventured into the mountains to acquire some contrabando, a lethal alcohol distilled from sugar cane. Keith described the adventure as somehow landing on the set of Dukes of Hazard, always looking over his shoulder for Boss Hawg to appear with handcuffs at the ready. As well, a pig had been slaughtered, its meat on the open flame for hours. Being a good guest, I sampled the coconut/contrabando concoction and finding my lips instantaneously numb, stuck to cerveca for the rest of the evening.
What struck me during the festivities was the natural manner in which children were incorporated into the events. There was no sense that adults did adult things best left to adults. Throughout the evening scores of kids made their own fun, gambolling about. Not once did I hear the sounds of squabble. I watched closely, intrigued by the interplay amongst the older and younger children. I surmise that events such as these play an important role in social initiation; the younger taking their cues from the older; the older keeping a careful watch, but not explicitly adopting a protective stance, preparing for adulthood.
There was music, there were lyrics and there were people. Combined they became something powerful, offering a glimpse into the profound. Sometimes, when we look into each other's eyes, I swear we can see our souls.

Stepping Out

Last Friday, I embarked upon my initial sojourn to another area since I arrived this time in Costa Rica. Keith, a friend of mine from high school, has been planning for several years to build a home near the city of San Isidro del General. The city is about 120 km southeast of San Jose which makes the journey from San Ramon about four hours. After the one hour trip to San Jose, I purchased a $6.00 ticket on the Premier Class bus that featured most comfortable, reserved seating and a snappy electronic sign board that flashed welcome aboard for the three hours of its journey.
Solo bus trips offer a qualitatively different perspective than most other forms of transportation; with no need for one to focus on the road or offer quaint and hardly ever insightful cultural commentary, my focus fixed on the scenes unfolding beyond the windows (except for the few times, I watched with envy, other more bus savvy passengers digging into endless supplies of savoury goods to help them retain their strength for the mountain passes). I did have four sticks of Trident gum; however, being sugarless, it lost its appeal after two chews.
San Jose is worth being driven through (in a bus). From my vantage point, it boasts an incomprehensible system of streets flanked by some lovely examples of Colonial architecture and some not too lovely examples of post-Colonial, post-parodic pastiche. Wealthy Costa Ricans and those from other countries who have to live in or near the city barricade themselves in self-contained, hermetically sealed, well guarded, gated, walled communities, the insides of which are invisible to the voyeuristic bus passenger.
Once out of the city, the highway opened, revealing the diversity of the country. Through the rich agricultural lands leading to Cartago, then the steep climb through mountain passes, endless switchbacks, windows fogged with a perpetual mist. All the while, the Costa Rican driving code in full operation, the horn, a modern transmitter of Morse signals, transmitting, "Pass now, there is a better than 62.5% chance you will avoid a collision from an oncoming truck...."
Once through the mountains, the sky cleared suddenly, San Isidro below, bathed in sunlight, welcoming the successful. Keith met me at the bus station and drove me to the place he is renting while engaged in his ongoing construction project. So much for the journey, later about the adventures encountered and the people met while there