Well, its been a while since Ive sent words out to this little outpost of Jigaresque ranting. Today however I am in San Isidro General, a town without much to it other than a cashpoint and cheap internet- Really cheap compared to Dominical where I am staying. So with an agenda of get cash and catch the next bus backl to the beach which is in 3 hours here I am.
I suppose I should jump back a bit in time. The pictures of the new year celebrations tell much of the story. 3 days of playing, thats all it was. Unregulated, no fences, a bit of structure, but that came from within the diabolitos, but it was a game, not some dusty tradition bogged down by ritual. A truly liberating experience, with the feeling that can only be found at a festival. My hangover did last for days and mutated as it went on, until the neighbour made me some tea from plants growing in the boggy bit behind his house, and magically my guts sorted themselves out. What a relief that was, and without all the binding and discomfort that comes with immodium!
I talked with the guys with whom I was making my mask (yes I finished it- just), about the balsa supply situation, and to them there was no point using the time that they could be producing masks to sell profitbly planting trees when it is cheap to buy the wood in. I have since in my roamings seen tat there are indeed many plantations of balsa trees all over Costa Rica. There is a guy who lives in the hills who grows all his own wood, but he is a bit different to the young guys who make up the majority of the mask makers. They tend to stay at home with their parents and spend all the profits of their aritistic endeavours on beer, as any self respecting 19 year old lad might.
Time in Boruca dwindled, I danced, spent a night in the jungle, climbed a tree to photograph a toucan who stared at me face to face until I raised the camera, visited all my new friends and extended family, got up at dawn to cut thatch, packed my bags, and soon enough was on my way to San Jose in Jose Carlos the project coordinators pickup.
Since then I have been looking into a different culture... that of the Surfer! Dunya and his brother Pete are friends I made in Austria snowboarding, and quite by cahnce they are out here on a ten week surfing trip. The last theree weeks then have been spent with them, on a strict diet of beaches, and wave chasing. What a life, sunsets and getting hammered by waves. We have covered 3 towns in our travels. The first Tamarindo is expensive and teaming with young Americans away for a week at the beach. It was okay, I did have a wonderful night there sitting on the beach with an assorted group of Columbians Ticos and Swedes, just passing time waiting for the sun to rise as the full moon set into the sea. We had a rather splendid spot outside a beachfront bar that looked closed... but oh no the chap was back there in the dark busy as can be! That actually reminds me of this weekends prohibition but Ill get to that later.
From Tamarindo we took a tourist transfer (expensive but safer for all the fragile surfboards) to Mal Pais on the Nicoya Peninsula. Much more laid back we found, we stayed in Santa Teresa, although one of three villages there that kind of link up in a lazy costal sprawl. After about a week there we moved on stopping in San Jose for a few days while I tried to arrange with the lovely people in the beautiful post office (no sarcasm) for a little parcel from home to follow me. I persuaded the lads that the public buses were an okay option, so saving a fortune on transfers we arrived in Dominical, smaller again, and landed boom on our feet in a cheap room bang on the beach with a balcony and a sofa. Soon enough we had haggled with the hammock man down the way and had a rather cozy little spot swet up. Rice and beans with the grilled catch of the day in the bar next door, fruit milkshakes and pineapple cake for lunch and soon enough we were fully settled in, new friends numbering many as they come and go in the room next door, and of course Yamani and Stefanie in the South Wave surf shop who have been brilliant. (Southwave.info@hotmail.com if you should happen to be this way) Suddenly the morning after our one night out that descended into chaos, and left us reeling throughout the next day, Marta and Rodrigo from Portugal who we had met in Santa Teresa appeared. They had parked their camper virtually on our doorstep. Brilliant, definately among the nicest people we have met, so with our old friends we have been eating guacamole playing games, and waiting for the tides to be right for a surf. Oh and trying to get contraband beer. Yes nowhere is allowed to sell alcohol over the election weekend. So "go to the kitchen... door dont tell anyone... shhh" at the restaurants. At the supermarket they gave you alittle note and you had to go and knock on a door round the corner... it made it so much fun, like being a naughty child again!
Well here I am in the now. I ma sure there are many other stories to tell, but they will wait I think. er
I suppose I should jump back a bit in time. The pictures of the new year celebrations tell much of the story. 3 days of playing, thats all it was. Unregulated, no fences, a bit of structure, but that came from within the diabolitos, but it was a game, not some dusty tradition bogged down by ritual. A truly liberating experience, with the feeling that can only be found at a festival. My hangover did last for days and mutated as it went on, until the neighbour made me some tea from plants growing in the boggy bit behind his house, and magically my guts sorted themselves out. What a relief that was, and without all the binding and discomfort that comes with immodium!
I talked with the guys with whom I was making my mask (yes I finished it- just), about the balsa supply situation, and to them there was no point using the time that they could be producing masks to sell profitbly planting trees when it is cheap to buy the wood in. I have since in my roamings seen tat there are indeed many plantations of balsa trees all over Costa Rica. There is a guy who lives in the hills who grows all his own wood, but he is a bit different to the young guys who make up the majority of the mask makers. They tend to stay at home with their parents and spend all the profits of their aritistic endeavours on beer, as any self respecting 19 year old lad might.
Time in Boruca dwindled, I danced, spent a night in the jungle, climbed a tree to photograph a toucan who stared at me face to face until I raised the camera, visited all my new friends and extended family, got up at dawn to cut thatch, packed my bags, and soon enough was on my way to San Jose in Jose Carlos the project coordinators pickup.
Since then I have been looking into a different culture... that of the Surfer! Dunya and his brother Pete are friends I made in Austria snowboarding, and quite by cahnce they are out here on a ten week surfing trip. The last theree weeks then have been spent with them, on a strict diet of beaches, and wave chasing. What a life, sunsets and getting hammered by waves. We have covered 3 towns in our travels. The first Tamarindo is expensive and teaming with young Americans away for a week at the beach. It was okay, I did have a wonderful night there sitting on the beach with an assorted group of Columbians Ticos and Swedes, just passing time waiting for the sun to rise as the full moon set into the sea. We had a rather splendid spot outside a beachfront bar that looked closed... but oh no the chap was back there in the dark busy as can be! That actually reminds me of this weekends prohibition but Ill get to that later.
From Tamarindo we took a tourist transfer (expensive but safer for all the fragile surfboards) to Mal Pais on the Nicoya Peninsula. Much more laid back we found, we stayed in Santa Teresa, although one of three villages there that kind of link up in a lazy costal sprawl. After about a week there we moved on stopping in San Jose for a few days while I tried to arrange with the lovely people in the beautiful post office (no sarcasm) for a little parcel from home to follow me. I persuaded the lads that the public buses were an okay option, so saving a fortune on transfers we arrived in Dominical, smaller again, and landed boom on our feet in a cheap room bang on the beach with a balcony and a sofa. Soon enough we had haggled with the hammock man down the way and had a rather cozy little spot swet up. Rice and beans with the grilled catch of the day in the bar next door, fruit milkshakes and pineapple cake for lunch and soon enough we were fully settled in, new friends numbering many as they come and go in the room next door, and of course Yamani and Stefanie in the South Wave surf shop who have been brilliant. (Southwave.info@hotmail.com if you should happen to be this way) Suddenly the morning after our one night out that descended into chaos, and left us reeling throughout the next day, Marta and Rodrigo from Portugal who we had met in Santa Teresa appeared. They had parked their camper virtually on our doorstep. Brilliant, definately among the nicest people we have met, so with our old friends we have been eating guacamole playing games, and waiting for the tides to be right for a surf. Oh and trying to get contraband beer. Yes nowhere is allowed to sell alcohol over the election weekend. So "go to the kitchen... door dont tell anyone... shhh" at the restaurants. At the supermarket they gave you alittle note and you had to go and knock on a door round the corner... it made it so much fun, like being a naughty child again!
Well here I am in the now. I ma sure there are many other stories to tell, but they will wait I think. er
Comments