its a kind of magic...

May 2, 2007

What is it about that chorreador (cloth drip filter) that the Rodriguez family uses to make their coffee that makes it so sweet and wonderful? Why is it that every grilled platano has the sabor enough to make me drift into a poetic mind state? Why is it that every gallo de queso that I ever ate for breakfast in San Luis satisfies me enough to make me forget that I miss dark chocolate and spicy food? Why is it that I have never felt more content scrubbing dishes in the open air kitchen of the casita for the Sunday feria? Why is it that this poor ugly dog Chispa has grown on me until I’m calling her Princhipesa and giving her leftover gallo pinto to snack on?

I will tell you why. There is magic in San Luis. A magic that is burned into my soul and that is so deep I couldn’t forget it if I tried. There is the smell of tradition and love and family in San Luis. Yes I saw Jesus’ crucifixion reenacted gruesome and fake for Semana Santa, but every wife, husband, grandma, child, and dog of San Luis was present for that procession, like for the death of a loved one. The magic of San Luis resonates up to the tops of steep hills from the bottoms of crystal blue rivers and graceful wings of the Morphus Azul butterfly. The magic echoes from the seeds of the anona fruit and from the tasty sweetness of miel de chiverre. The magic resounds from the bottom of the bucket that I use to shower, and from the moist cleaness of the clothing hanging on the line outside. From every onion pulled out of the earth and every aguacate that falls from the tree, from every child that tumbles through the dirt, or that marches clean and pressed in a school uniform. The ambience is so powerful that one is simply absorbed into it and swims in it, unaware of the outside world.

Last night I had the sad realization that the food here in San Jose doesn’t taste the same as it did in my rural site. It could be that my host mom in the campo had the access to all of the wonderful organic veggies of her own finca to work with, or it could be that she used different spices or something. Or it could be that when she cooked she did it with ‘mucho gusto’ pouring love by the spoonful into the soup or the morning tortillas, and even the afternoon coffee. It could be that her hard working hands, though cracked, and darkened by fresh earth, added the ingredients to each meal with care and happiness that showed that she was grateful for what God had given her to work with.

Winter has begun in Costa Rica, which is to say the rains have come. Finally, the locals say, it has usually rained a lot more by now. I guess it’s tough luck if you don’t like rain, but there’s nothing I like more than holing up in my room to study with a nice pitter patter on the rooftop. We are also going through a series of apagones or rolling blackouts to conserve power because of the lack of rain, and because Costa Rica relies heavily on hydro-electricity. These blackouts not only make the average walk in downtown San Pedro more interesting, but life-threatening adventures. The strategy is to congregate enough people on the side of the sidewalk and then all step out at once so that the traffic has to stop for us wee little pedestrians. Talk about adrenaline. Patience of the already impatient drivers is stripped just short of homicidal events as horns blare up and down the congested calle. “Oh San José,” I say out loud partly to myself and partly to the other ACM Megan, “how I will not miss you.” It’s true that the city can get the best of me sometimes, and that I yearn for the campo life, but overall, Costa Rica is a sparkling enchantment of a country, and I can not help but look to the future and hope that somewhere in God’s little book of life, there is room for yet another adventure or two here in the Pura vida of Costa Rica.