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Sneaking away from San Jose was an easy half hour bus ride on a good highway to the University town of Heredia (sounds like 'Herelia'). I was to spend several days at different times in the company of eccentric gentleman who had found this 'all male bastien' an excellent winter retreat from their past.
Henri is seen here in culinary preparation with his El Salvadoran sidekick, whose name escaped my inquiries for reasons I can assume had something to do with the civil war in his native country.
These two never once, in my stay at this small 7 room Hotel in central Heredia, acknowledged my conversation which was presented in my unique pause and hmm Spanish. The intensive language programs offered by the many schools and private colleges are now fully investigated and are part of my itinerary next journey here.
Our morning always began informally at the front entrance with a cup of coffee and the usual male banter about sports and stocks with a smattering of other interesting asides. In my minds eye I would try to imagine this tribe of misfits living in a trailer park somewhere on the Atlantic coast of Florida, playing shuffleboard and miniature golf. Somehow they didn't fit the picture.
Without the stabilizing influence of a 'Mother' or a 'Wife', men tend to revert to their childhood with reckless abandon, making faces and noises that would scare a dog. Bill, a retired cop, on the right was having the time of his life down here, playing cards till all hours of the night and drinking buckets of rum with Miguel (armwrestling Bill) and Johnny. Henri was always somewhere in the background and I (left standing) would put in an appearance to stimulate conversation which would fuel the fires of my travel diary.
as Heredia pauses with it's head up."
The daily routines of the typical
Costa Rican are characterized by
a sense of comittment and determination.
Sundays are always given back to the family in Costa Rica. The dedication to work is forgotten during this day of entertainment and relaxation. The town square becomes the focal point for the children where clowns and jugglers perform acts of precision and dare throughout the day and parents divert to the church for prayers. There are infrequent services here in earthquake shaken places of worship but the generally the church need only serve as an spiritual enclave to shoulder sins of the humble masses.
"Ciquente colones, Senor,.....Ciquente."
Replied the patient bus driver as for the third time he enunciated as clearly as was possible the value of the bus ride to the hills above Barva.
I opened my hand and rummaged through the pile of strange coins for a 'SeeKwenty'. I did have a basic knowledge of the currency but I could not translate the fare to 50 colones.
"Gracias" he beamed as took several coins from my palm and threw them onto a large fare tray.
The looks I was given, as moved toward an empty seat, were gracious rather than mocking.
Escaping the miday sun was easy amongst the shadows cast by this the most profound statement of spirituality. These students were waiting for their bus to return them home. School begins at 8 am.
On the elevations above Barva and Heredia the moisture and fog increased as did the lush green growth with a marked increase in the value and size of the properties which gazed down into the valley below.
"I originally came because of the Orchids..." Franklin pined.
"...but I got myself married and now have a 12 year old daughter."
Franklin sat next to me on my way up the mountain and told me his story of leaving England 15 years ago to live in Costa Rica where he would raise his beloved species of orchids and enjoy his retirement as he always dreamed. He now raises orchids for a wealthy out of country estate owner and in return has been given coach house accomodation and a small salary to keep his young family. He shook my hand as we approached his stop and he wished me an enjoyable holiday, with particular emphasis on the word 'holiday'.
The parade of characters continued as I glanced about the brightly colored bus to see a confident, but gentle lady clutching an assortment of leaves. She stood at the front of the bus on the lower step apparently prepared to jump off as the need arose. As coincidence would have it she preceeded me off at my stop which I had made to locate a mountain lodge with exotic alpine facilities and service at Central American pricing.
I began looking in all directions muttering the name of the hotel, a key move to get directions to your destination. My curiosity with the bunch of big leaves might be satisfied with subtlety.
She motioned me to follow her down a rough path. An engaging interaction based entirely on finger pointing, hand gestures and very intermittent Spanish was sufficient to relate my travels from and to and subsequently to learn that this affable pixie lady was a herbalist on her way to cure a severe skin condition of a farm lady. Her daily travels took her routinely up and down the mountain jumping off and on the bus as required.
We had walked several kilometers when she pointed to the gate entrance to the Tirolean Lodge. I thanked her for her kindness and she turned and marched through a tall grass field to her next appointment probably lashing a few shafts of greenery to her medical bouquet.
Finding that this renowned Tirolean resort was full of "Tourists" on an evangelical mission. I stopped on my way back down the path for an avocado lunch. As I sat pondering and munching I became aware of several dogs sauntering directly toward my rest stop. Fear gripped me as three shepherd, collie crosses made eye contact and strutted to a dead stop at my feet. Wagging tails and perked ears convinced me of their friendly social nature and without hestitance became my personal guides up the mountain path.
The fog and heavy mist can be a problem for shooting sharp photos but the reduced light creates much more depth in your colour range. These photos were all shot with a film speed of 100 ASA ideally suited to overcast or low contrast scenes. Optimum shooting conditions would be using a tripod, ASA 25 speed film, a low shutter speed ( 25 th of a second ) and small aperature setting ( F16 ). Shooting in this lighting will give you results which more closely reflect your original impressions.
My pack of canine adventurers stayed with me as I stopped frequently to shoot photos. The roar of a second gear increased in pitch until around a slippery curve appeared a small blue Toyota sedan with a young couple glancing briefly at this guy and his canine entourage in the ditch. Moments later the same vehicle returned at an increased rate of speed, probably bent on making happy hour at the Holiday Inn.
What a shame for them not to have felt the cool mist on their skin or to have sucked in pungent grassy air or peered deep into the thick forest canopy following a thread of water up through a mossy crevice.
At any turn nature would present a new canvas all soft and smudgged with mutual colors and textures, bringing the sky down so the images blended as though in a bubble. Huge blooms cast no shadows on the blankets of turf beneath them and they swayed not from any breeze but from the enormous beads of moisture that swelled on their petals.
My perceptions were jolted back into the Central Valley rhythm when the sun broke through the mist and there in bold daylight before me was a 7/11 or at least the Costa Rica equivalent.
Many of the small stores in the cities have as much of a selection as any developed country but the small towns still rely for much of their packaged goods coming from local suppliers.
The slurpy machine must have ben out for repair so I settled for a cold 'Coca' while the proprietor prepared his selections of 'Bocas' for the noon crowd. These little sausage meat delicacies were being pressed and shaped then rolled in batter and deep fried.
Not for your average low fat diet, eh.
Small plates of assorted bocas are a part of the Tico daily routine and are consumed with a typical high test liquor which appears in small refillable 6 oz. bottles to supplement your regular beer. This would be similar to increasing your cars' fuel performance by adding more octane, the basic performance ingredient of any gasoline.
The rain had settled in again as I boarded the Lower Barva bus for a twisted journey through several small villages in the mountain crease of the valley.
The architecture of Cartago is a result of several earthquakes which have at times eliminated all structures exceeding garage height. More than compensating for the historical symbols are the friendly faces. Every inquiry is greeted with a respectful reply.
"Yes this the park where the Irazu Crater bus will depart from" replied these charming teachers who were returning home after morning class. One would begin the sentence and the other would finish... all in excellent English.
"It departs on the hour, it is likely you will meet several other adventurers at this stop." They wished me well and hoped I would stay for a while in Cartago.
" We welcome more tourism, enjoy the volcano but start to run if you hear anything unusual." they laughed as they left.
I smugly relayed the volcano warnings to a school teacher from Montreal and a University Student from Germany who had gathered for the 40 minute bus journey to the top of Volcano Irazu.
Screaming every meter of the way our school bus and it's overworked transmission dog-legged up the volcano face to the entrance to the Volcano Irazu National Park. Unlike the tourismo charter ($35) that had departed shortly before us, our $10 fare included the entrance fee to the park. We all scrambled to grab our gear and beat the queue to view both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans.
I struggled to catch up with the others only to find that the oxygen resources somewhat thinner than in the valley with a marked decrease in my balance and navigational skills. To add my difficulties, a strong but comfortable wind seemed to come at me from all and every direction gusting sand into my face. With what operating capacity I had left I crawled nearer to the crater rim taking in an increasing oval view of the sulphurous crater core.
In 1963 Irazu erupted without warning and scattered tons of nutrient rich volcanic ash across the Central Valley for the next 2 years. Since then it has been dormant with only a bubble and periodic burst of steam from the rusty lake below. The unexplained eruption of thirty years ago was very much on my mind as I stared into the 'harmless' pit.
Edging along the razor back path I noticed there was little on either side that would prevent me from bouncing down the stoney ground to the forever below, but I kept my momentum and focussed on the dots of animated adventurers that had already reached the lookout. Here at 11,000 feet and looking down into a cloud the exhilaration carried me along the narrow pathway to a most magnificent vista of the Pacific ocean and a cloud obscured view of the Atlantic.
There would be another day , another view of the ocean and four more volcanoes.
Updated August 6, 1996
2775th