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Hello from
San Jose Costa Rica
The reliable rain capital of the world.
I have been here
a week, long enough to see the invariable weather pattern during
this "green season:" brilliantly sunny in the morning
until one or two o'clock in the afternoon, then rain until
early evening. In the decade since I last visited San Jose the
city has undergone considerable modernization. Tap water is safe to
drink everywhere and futuristic sky scrapers create dramatic
backdrops for all of the older buildings still in use. Cell phones
are widely used, but foreigners are prohibited from buying a line.
If we want a phone, we must rent one for $200 per month.
Mosquitoes in
the city are rare. So far I've seen only one, the one that bit me on
the leg in an Internet cafe. With so few mosquitoes I don't imagine
malaria can be much of a problem here in the city. Everyone says to
expect swarms in the jungles where some of the critters do carry the
organism that causes malaria. I'm religiously taking my Chloroquine
once a week, just in case one of the bad guys decides to sample
Californian cuisine.
The last couple
weeks before I left were spent arranging my financial affairs, among
other demands. Earlier in the year I completed the sale of Santa
Barbara real estate I have owned for thirty years and studied over
what to do with the proceeds... in addition to giving the government
an obscene amount in capital gains taxes. Janis, my Big Bear Lake
bank manager patiently guided me through all of the intricate
convolutions required to manage things remotely during my year long
absence. However, after all the careful planning, the first two
ATM's I tried refused to recognize the financial virtues of my
beautiful new translucent bank card. The corporate office for that
famous international bank tells me they offer no ATM banking
services here in Costa Rica. Fortunately, I still have the old card
from another bank I used so successfully throughout China.
During one of my
early evening walks around a neighborhood near my first hotel I
witnessed ordinary people doing ordinary things: an elderly fat lady
in her house dress sitting on a chair softly talking with her
daughter, boisterous kids harassing a store keeper, a young man in a
tank top briskly walking while singing in a high pitched effeminate
voice loud enough to be heard a block away. Stopping at a Quizno's
for a refreshment I am amused by an older, overweight guy with a
jutting jaw and a grin so wide the stretching must hurt, totally
beguiled by a pretty dark skinned girl a third his age. He supports
his head on the knuckles of one pudggy hand, elbow firmly glued to
the table. Mesmerized, the girl plays with the straw in her empty
soft-drink cup and kept smiling at the old guy as intently as he at
her. Both seemed totally enraptured by one another, so much so
neither notices the white haired North American watching so closely
for ten minutes. My choice of Quizo's might well have been
McDonald's or Burger King or Taco Bell. Every block has at least one
of the American fast food joints.
As daylight
turned to dusk and then darkness an interesting phenomenon unfolds.
Side streets busy with frenetic activity in the sun light became
dark scary alleys at night while drab deserted trash strewn alleys
of the day became exciting neon lit party venues at night. I
suppose one could see the same transformations in any city of the
world, but this is the first time I noticed the stark contrasts
enough to comment.
Downtown San
Jose reminds me of Bangkok in one regard: many older North American
men loiter in the bars and sidewalk cafes, some with young girls,
others attempting to attract them. And the girls are plentiful, some
are obviously professionals, but many seem to be opportunists or
naive sweet young things. I have been amazed by all the belly button
jewelry being worn by some of the scantly clad young women.
While nibbling
on a chicken leg at a KFC I noticed a sign advertising "Puree
de Papa" and wondered if that might be the way some of the
girls get their revenge with the obnoxious American
"papas" or perhaps it has some religious significance with
a reference to the Pope, affectionately known as "Papa"
down here. As it turned out, KFC is serving mashed potatoes: papa is
potatoes in Spanish.
My downtown
hotel is the Presidente, a four star establishment with $50 to $100
room rates. In Costa Rica everyone pays an outrageous tax of 16%
considerable boosting the final bill. Beggars, shoe shine boys,
musicians and curio vendors hover around the hotel entrance and
attached open air restaurant playing tag with the busy security
staff attempting to discourage them, much to the amusement of the
tourists.
San Jose is a
humid place. Washed socks take 24 hours to dry, cotton underwear
about ten - that's five times longer than anywhere in China.
The hotels have more television channels than many of us have in
California. Evenings are spent watching the tube for an hour or so
and then reading from the hundred books stored on my nifty
iPAQ
Pocket PC.
At the moment I am engrossed with the Da Vinci Code, a truly
remarkable piece of fiction wrapped around a good deal of
interesting historical facts about the origins of the Catholic
Church and the New Testament Bible. It is clear why it has become so
controversial, especially among people of faith. I want to do
collateral research on some of the more contentious assertions made
by the author.
I've been
hearing about a lifetime Pneumonia shot and wondering if it might be
a good idea for a traveler like me. Does anyone know if they really
work? Some may remember my whining about a very sore infected big
toe that threatened to delay my departure. That has been healing
nicely and now is mostly symptom free. The healing properties of our
bodies are amazing. The snug fitting Propet Walking shoes I chose
are now super comfortable and I again walk many hours each day.
Most of the
people on my postcards lists have responded to the "still want
'em" query. I will be weeding the lists as time permits of
those who have not specifically indicated a preference. If you are
bored by my tales of exotic wanderings, please excuse the delay in
getting you off the lists.
One day a short bus ride got me to the second largest city in Costa Rica, Alajuela where I walked for a couple hours. The Park of Mangoes is a dangerous place. As I stood taking pictures of a sculpture display, a green mango the size of a baseball crashed at my feet with terrifying impact. Looking up a squirrel dashed along the branch high above directly overhead. I have to wonder if the squirrels have learned how to make unaware tourists jump. Near the entrance to the Cathedral along the park an example of the mysterious stone spheres can be seen. No one seems to know their purpose or origin, but they are found all over Costa Rica.
Another long bus
ride offered another kind of excitement. As I fumbled to get off at
an unfamiliar stop two guys pressed me in a "sandwich"
jostling me in an obvious attempt to lift my wallet, the guy ahead
ready for the hand-off. Always alert to possible dangers like this,
they got nothing but dirty looks. When one of the perpetrators got
off the bus with me and then crossed the street to board a bus
heading back the way we had come I had my confirmation. We really do
need to be aware of possible bad guys everywhere down here.
Peace,
Fred L Bellomy
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 Reference photo:
authorAugust 2002 |
