Jose Jorge (aka JJ by his friends, which now includes myself) and his wife Marriella love Costa Rica. They were born here, in a small town an hour off of San Jose. Marilella is a redhead and everybody thinks she is a Gringa. She likes it, but not when she goes to the market. Starbucks loves this place, they get thec ir coffee there. Their best coffee, anyway. “there is elections now, and we are depressed”, he explains. We have ten candidates, but I don’t like anyone. They are all going to make a deal with America. Again”, he closes his eyes, “the president is not elected by Costa Ricans”. Apparently there is a thing called CAFTA, Central American Free Trade Agreement, and he is not very happy about it. “The first thing on the CAFTA agreement is sugar. And guess who owns the biggest sugar factory in Costa Rica”. “Your president?”. “exactly. You see, there is a lot of corruption here”. His wife is a lawyer and he works in Fedex. “it’s a very good job, I am making 600 dollars every month”. With a minimum salary of $200 (or something like that), I agree. He went on telling me about education, politics, economy, and his life. That is a very Costa Rican thing, They just don’t mind talking to you, about whatever, if you just ask. They are friendly, talkative, smiling, and polite. My impression, anyways. I probably would be too, if I lived in this little piece of heaven.
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Justine is for but can already tie his shoes. He is blonde, and his mom is a mulato. I didn’t ask any questions. He is teaching me Spanish on the way to Santa Teresa, and it’s working. “Look, I have no eyebrows”, he tells me in Spanish. I run my thumb where his eyebrows are supposed to be, thinking that they are just blonde and that’s why I cant see them. He was right, no eyebrows.
“ you are special”, I explain, and he likes my explanation. “you are special, too”, he says, with his mom and grandmother going through a long “ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”. He is a lucky kid. He has a mom that takes care of him, and three uncles that will kick the crap out of you if you mess with him. He is pretty bright, too. “Where is your home?”, he asks me, and I say that my home is in Israel, but I live in texas. He looks at me for a few seconds, processing the information, and the difference between “home” and “living”, and eventually smiles – “my home is in my house”. I know. I say goodbye as I get off the bus in Cobano, catching another bus. I wonder what it’s like to raise a kid in this place. I actually don’t think it’s that bad, if you have your priorities right.
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Tabacon is a freak of nature. It pours hot waters coming of of the middle of the ground, heated by a volcano, and flushing lava rocks on it’s way. The streams there can drop you on your feet if you’re not careful, which is why you have to hold on to some lava rocks as your back is washed with this marvelously warm stream of water. The place feels like a jungle, and it’s not that hard to fake, because it practically is. As you walk from stream to stream, you find yourself walking between strange trees and plants. “look!”, my friend comments on a lizard walking on the water. And it is indeed a lizard. It has a tail, a mouth, but like the lord himself, it walks on the steaming lava waters instead of around it, or in it, or something. That didn’t surprise me one bit, as this is the true land of enchantment.
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The Bus ride from Santa Teresa to Cobano is a pretty one. Costa rica’s hills and green are revealed in front of your eyes. The ocean adds its charm, and the clear sky completes the picture. The cows are mostly white, lean, and randomly herding the grass. Every now and then a sign says “se vendi”, meaning a piece of land is for sale. And who wouldn’t want to buy a little piece of heaven? (blog not continued)