So we paid up and after they all took off to the village, we headed for sunshine. During our whole stay on the Caribbean, we had only a couple of scant moments of it, so we decided to head back to the central plateau and if the weather was good, stay. Otherwise, we would head to the South coast of the Pacific Ocean for our last week in Costa Rica. Bernard, Jeannette's adopted son, had told us about places in the country that he really liked and the first place he mentioned was the country near Paraiso, west of Cartago. It had some old churches and beautiful scenery. Once we began climbing, the drive was beautiful, steep and curvy. I am guessing that we did 4,000 to 5,000 ft of elevation in an hour or two. We were surrounded by rushing rivers, mountains and volcanoes. When we got to Paraiso, we lined up our accommodation choices from the guide book and headed off to Orosi.
This time we landed on the first try, the Sanchiri Lodge and Mirador Restaurant. The restaurant has a plate glass wall overlooking the Orosi valley with its town and the mountain rainforest behind. They had five cabinas on the same slope with the same view with a tiny deck and a bathroom below made entirely, walls and floor, from natural stone. The bathroom had one of the greatest views from a toilet seat that I have ever seen. It was surpassed only by a toilet at Heart Lake in the Wind River Range, Wyoming that had a semi-circle of cedar trees instead of walls that left your view of the continental divide unobstructed.
We were the only people in the Restaurant that night (Monday) and were waited on by an older gentleman that we referred to as "El Senor". It turned out that he was the owner of the place and ran it with the help of his sons and his sister. It had been, and to a certain extent still was, the family farm. They were raising some of the food that they cooked in the kitchen. We fell in love with him. He had a quiet dignity and a pride that only comes with a long life well lived. He had a soft way about inquiring about our lives and sharing his own that was captivating. Near the end of our meal he treated us to a couple of Café Ricos to have with our tres leches, a traditional dessert.
So we spent two nights there, and spent the days being tourists. We drove to the top of a 11,000 foot dormant volcano about five minutes before the fog rolled in and visited a beautiful old church in Cartago, the colonial capital of the country until the early 19th century. This church is the center of the country's religious life. In August, thousands walk on their knees from San Jose to offer their entreaties for better health, victory in sports contests or love affairs. All leave little momentos of their success. When we were there, there was a constant stream of people swaying down the aisle on their knees.
We also visited Lankaster Garden which specializes in orchids, wonderful, wild, beautiful orchids. That night, we went to Orosi to find a place for dinner. The place we wanted was closed and when we went to the next, they were having a function in the dining and the deck was too cold, but before we could leave, they carried a table into the bar. So we stayed. The food was okay, the decor was terrible, but the vibes were good. People always seem to be ready to make things happen without seeming servile or resentful. It seems to be in the national character to be engaging. They had a great bar menu with a number of different kinds of rum and vodka, although we never could get a straight ordinary lime.
We had a drink with El Senor when we got back to the Sanchiri. They have a good Brandy from Jerez available so we had a glass each and talked, letting him know at the end of the conversation that tomorrow we would be heading for the Pacific. We did not want to leave the country without another hit of tropical ocean. After breakfast, the next morning, just as we were leaving, I could not find my glasses. We searched for a while and then got the whole family involved. We checked the car, our bags, the restaurant, our cabin, everywhere. Even other lodgers got into the act. Finally Dawn found them in my computer bag. I had looked there but not closely enough. When Dawn went back to say our final good-byes, El Senor gave her a painted wooden paper napkin holder as a remembrance of our stay. It is only pretty by summer camp standards, but it is now treasured. As we drove out the dirt road, we started to express the same thought--How could we get Amalia and El Senor together? We assumed that his wife had died, because she had not been mentioned and his sister was doing the cooking. Amalia is older, but it was our deep affection for both of them that made us have the simultaneous thought.
Before we headed for the Pacific, we toured the two churches and one artisan studio (that of Macedonio Quesada) that we wanted to see. I love beautiful churches. This one was very small and not grand, but it had a simplicity that was stunning. The faith of the people who built it and of the people who had worshipped there through the centuries was palpable. You could feel all the baptisms and weddings and funerals that had taken place here. I said a prayer for my parents, realizing that without their deaths and my subsequent inheritance this trip would not be possible. Then I realized that without their lives this trip would not be possible and without the lives of my grandparents and all their parents. Have I done anything to carry forth what is best in my family, genetically or spiritually? Precious little.
Needless to say, it was an emotional morning. Part of the beauty of churches is that they are places of mystery. There are no answers in a church, only questions that alternate between exposing our temporal insignificance and hinting at an unfathomable glory. No matter where our beliefs lie on that spectrum, we should probably spend more time in churches. The other church was a ruin, turned into garden, surrounded by a park. Interesting, but I think a church needs a roof.
We had to jam on the brakes to stop at the studio. There was no sign. He was a quiet man, one of two brothers carrying on the work of their father. Making religious and emotional sculptures out of the roots of coffee bushes that are carried to him by the stream next to his studio. The studio is made mostly of small branches treated like bamboo. He reminded me of the topiary artist. One of many around the whole world who live as artists, focused on their personal art, seemingly unaware of critic or buyer. From my point of view, is it simple or profound?
We spent the rest of the day driving over the Central Cordillera, near the highest mountain in the country. Stopping at a gas station when we are back down to have our rim pounded out to make them circular after hitting so many spectacular pot holes. We mutter about a country that has such unrepaired roads while admiring a people that will put up with them. We have to remember that most of the people are not driving fast cars, and whether the road is paved or not is really no matter to them. Should they pay for roads to suit our convenience? Are we visiting their country as it is, or their country made to suit us? I think it should be the former.
We stop for lunch at the top of the last fifteen minute descent to the ocean. I order a small chicken appetizer. It is simply the best chicken that I can remember ever eating, with wonderful sauce, and tender and moist. I come up with a heartfelt but nearly incomprehensible compliment. He wants to know whether I have been eating typico or gringo. I tell him both. He explains that they are free range chickens, and that he has to cook well so that customers return. He gives us a brochure of a place to stay if we are interested. Dawn mentions to me after we leave that he was a stunningly handsome man. There is much that around here of both sexes. We have been enjoying looking.
We stop in Dominical and check out a place that is full, but we wouldn't want to stay there anyway. It had too many young surfers and sort of a crowded beach. It looks like Fort Lauderdale South. So we move on. Next stop is full also, but we promise ourselves to come back for dinner. It is on a point with ocean visible on both sides. He points us to a couple of places down the road. So our final spot in the country is going to be Cabinas Escondidas, a vegetarian restaurant/ocean view cabinas/meditation center in Dominicalito.
The Pacific
We picked a hillside cabin with walls on three sides and a deck on the fourth. The shower was outside under the deck and with a view of the ocean. The room was airy, bright and private. The sun was shining and the temperature was hot. We hit the beach just after sunset and headed for the restaurant after we found our way back from the beach in the dark.
They had candles on the table! For anyone planning to go to Costa Rica, please remember to take a couple of candles for the dinner table. When we asked the waiter to sell us a candle, he gave us one instead. Again, the food was good.
The next day we found a beach which we dubbed "Nuestra Playa" (our beach), a small horseshoe shaped beach between two rocky points about a half mile apart. We saw a road, and by moving some wood aside, were able to drive our car down to the beach and park it in the shade. No one on it, and with beautiful tubular shaped waves; I spent most of the morning in the water playing in them. We moved on to the next beach, Playa Hermosa, about three miles of gray beach with about 10 people on it.
When we got back to our place, we realized that we probably should confirm our reservations with American Airlines. Armed with information from Kathy the manager we set off. First, we stopped at a noisy bar. We gave him the number which he dialed and then seemed to lose interest in the transaction. The second place no longer made telephone calls and the third phone needed a local phone card to work. So we bought one, and while Dawn hid in the car away from some of the few insect attacks of the trip, I managed to dial what seemed like 30 code numbers and the AA number and actually get through without being on hold more than 5 seconds and actually confirm the reservations. It seemed like a miracle to me. So I swaggered back to the car and informed Dawn that the task had been completed and we could go back and have our African Groundnut Stew that was awaiting us at our restaurant.
--------------------
Part 16 - Dawn:We have been periodically stunned by the level of understanding and sophistication of thought that is expressed by Ticos who have never been farther away from home than a thirty mile radius from where they were born. After a snorkelling trip off of a disappearing sand bar in Bahia-way south on the Pacific coast-we stopped for a cold drink in a local "soda." (A soda is a kind of luncheonette, or a less expensive, less fancy restaurant that may have just as good food as anywhere else, but cheaper.) This particular place was made out of an old yellow school bus with one side knocked out and high stools attached. Anyhow, we ordered a couple of cold drinks and, sure enough, the Tico proprietor started up a conversation...about his brother living in Boston, working in a nursing home long enough to collect a pension and then come home to Costa Rica. He spoke a bit of English and I ,of course, babbled away in bad Spanish that sounds good enough. He asked what my work was so I told him "dance." He asked if it was "classico" -you know with the special shoes, he said, demonstrating a point shoe with his hand. I said, "No, es baile moderno-interpretivo." (Of course I guessed that there was a word "interpretivo" and apparently there is.)So the guy got up and said, "Oh, si como las formas de animales," and he gracefully made his body into the shape of a bird, a dog, a monkey. We discussed my teaching at an art school and the idea that this type of dance was "art." He seemed to get it, totally...which surprised me because many Americans I have talked to seem to think modern dance is Broadway or TV dancing.
An even more surprising example of this sensibility came from our guide, Marino, who took us on a steep, wild walk in the jungle as a "reward" for having stayed three nights at Escondidas. We started the hike at 7:30 a.m., and it was already about 90 degrees and humid. I started dripping immediately as we hiked only UP on a non-trail which was very slippery from the previous night's rain storm. It was a wonderful hike, rewarded by encountering a family of howler monkeys in the canopy of old trees above us. Marino spoke only Spanish; Stephen and I did our best to translate for the other American couple with us. Sometimes we would just stand around and wait and look and listen for wildlife. Since I was the one willing to babble in Spanish, Marino struck up a conversation with me. He wanted to know where we were from and how long our vacation in CR was. Not only had he never been out of CR, but he had never been farther than the local beach on one side and his father's farm, about 15 miles up the mountains, on the other side. AND he had never had a vacation. I was starting to feel a little overly fortunate about my life, but told him that if he was going to be in only one place in the world, he certainly had a beautiful place to be in. He said, "Yes, I have the ocean and the fish, the jungle with all the birds and animals, the mountains and the farm." He is also married with a young daughter who was born after a 7-month gestation, spent a month in the hospital and is now fine. Discussing families, he seemed surprised that he was only a bit older than my son. He was 28, although to me he looked at least 38-that may be the combination of never having a vacation, worrying about his daughter, and seeming to be so wise.
Marino wanted to know what work I was going back to. (I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was on vacation for several more months.) So again, I found myself explaining "modern dance" and again he seemed to get it. I also said that I thought I was getting a little old for dance and was trying to figure out what else I should do. He said, "Pero es el espiritu que es importante."("But it's the spirit that's important.) He went on to describe his 75-year-old father who still dances every day of his life. Marino was the second-youngest of nine children.
So from the mouths of the "unsophisticates" comes wisdom, and I really have missed dancing and creating something. I wonder if this trip may end up validating the life I already have rather than making me want to change it. Vamos ver, vamos ver. On va voir. We will see.
It was hard to leave the ocean and the jungle for the relative civility of the central highlands for our last night in Costa Rica, back at the beautiful, modern B&B, El Cafetal. But our hosts, Romy and Lee, gave us big warm hugs, happy to see us again after two weeks. They got up at 6:00 a.m. to make us a delicious breakfast before we had to leave for the airport. (Breakfast is usually served at 8:00.) Looking at the photo (paper only) that they took of us at breakfast on their patio, it appears that we were sitting in front of a theatrical drop. Even the early morning slanted light cast shadows that looked as if they were created by a lighting designer with slatted gobos!
So this chapter ends here, with us surrounded by bananos, papayas, and coffee plants, and filled with the warmth of new and sunny people in our lives. As I think with great sadness of my friend Susanne, I am reminded once again to live each day as fully, deeply and wildly as I can and to wake each morning with a rebirth of wonder.