Corriendo Cintas

My favorite kind of parties in or around La Ribera have always revolved around the community getting together and showing off horses.  My last weekend, I finally got the chance to see a different kind of event: corriendo cintas.  To compete in this challenge, members of the community attempt to snag tiny metal rings off of a hanging wire as they gallop past at full speed.  Difficult to say the least! This time, I was more than happy to remain a spectator.

I feel like if I attempted this, I would, without fail, stick the tip of my tongue out in kindergartner-style concentration.  I still do it while threading needles....

Visiting Changena

The Chinchilla family is a huge and friendly group, and I got to take advantage of that when I visited my host dad's nephew Oscar at his farm. About two hours south of La Ribera and not too far from the Panama border, it's a very different kind of farm down there - but just as beautiful and inspiring in its own way.  Having a tour guide who was nice enough to take me along for his daily chores (and put up with my picture taking!) didn't hurt:

We fed and herded the cows, searched for carvings left behind by previous indigenous owners, picked avocados, and got absolutely soaked by the faithful afternoon thunderstorm.

Evenings were spent teaching two adorable little siblings American card games, catching up on the latest telenovelas, and watching the mixed flock of {free range woohoo!} turkeys, chickens, and ducks pick their way over the front yard.

One Last Waterfall

I spent, in all, about six months in La Ribera.  But I never stopped discovering new things in and around the area.  Example: the stunning waterfall I visited my last weekend there.  It plummets 125 meters  - way beyond anything I've seen in the States.  And it does so not twenty minutes from the home of a family friend.

View from the tippy top - check out the road below!

All Good Things....

Coming back to Finca Chinchilla before I travelled home was always my plan.  My experience in Costa Rica was shaped more by my family there than by anything else, and I couldn't imagine not ending my trip in their company.


I will say, however, that I ended up making things harder on myself.  As I wrapped up my wandering travels, I had begun to feel a little tired of lugging my backpack around, of the same sort of conversation, of spending money, of any number of things that wear on a traveller.  I had started to think "Well, when I'm home, I can..."


Coming back to the farm erased all that in an afternoon.  Walking back up to my family's home, surrounded by mist and mountains, I felt a sort of sigh of relief - a homecoming.  A beautiful feeling, but one that can be a little bit problematic when you have a flight booked in three weeks. 


Those three weeks passed in less than a heartbeat.  I woke up every morning feeling a bittersweet pressure to soak in every drop of each moment I had left, but still felt that the sun set before I could catch my breath.  I'm can't let this blog go without recounting a few more of these moments...

Back to Ticolandia

For my last stretch of travelling time, I wanted to be on the beach.  I have seen a lot of gorgeous places over the past few months.  Breathtakingly green forests, lush farms, gritty cities, windswept cattle fields.  But I have yet to find a place that duplicates the feeling I get when I am at the beach.  Something about the hugeness of the ocean paired with the great big open sky, epecially when set against almond trees and sturdy palms, just moves me in a way that no other place does.  I couldn't imagine a better spot to spend my last days as an independant traveller.

Since I went to Dominical, I had been hearing from beach bum after beach bum that Santa Teresa was one of their favorite beaches.  So, I set off from Nicaragua toward the sand. More on what I've been up to in the next post, but for now, take a look!

 Lots of driftwood around here for perching and lounging.

 Millions of teeny shells.

The hostel.  They know what they're doing regarding hammocks here - you can never, ever, have too many.  Friends in the background decided that my picture was too boring without them.... acting like they were on a rollercoaster?

Posing with a big thorny tree while on our quad expedition.

Break from exploring the unknown to gaze out at the ocean? Yes please.

:)

And finally, this is how I look when asked to do anything legit with a surfboard. 

On Being a Macha/Chela Muchacha/Chavala

As a language nerd, I have had a pretty limitless amount of things to observe and think about over the past few months.  I watched my own progress with Spanish with a weird amount of consciousness, tracking the plateaus and leaps with interest.  I often find myself  in excited conversations with people over silly turns of phrase within Spanish or English.  Over the past month, I've gotten to make a new kind of comparison - Spanish with Spanish.

I've mentioned briefly before that there isn't a whole lot of love lost between Nicaraguans and Costa Ricans.  I experienced this in a new way, though, once I started making friends in Granada and  began hearing over and over that I spoke like a Tica (Costa Rican.)  My friends would mimic what I had said, laying on a thick Tico accent the way people might put on a Boston one, laughing the whole time.   I pronounced my "s" to much.  I  was mushmouthed the way Ticos were.  I used the formal form far too often.   And God help me if I attempted to use every Tico's  favorite, pura vida.  Unacceptable.  So, I started to try and adapt. A couple examples of things I picked up:

cool as in chill
Nicaragua: tuani
Costa Rica: tuaniS

cool as in awesome
Nicaragua: diacachimba, salvaje, bestial
Costa Rica: chiva, pura vida, tuanis

cool as in a cool person, or as in "he's good people"
Nicaragua: buena onda
Costa Rica: pura vida, buena gente

something that reminded me of New Orleans, used for checking  to make sure someone is paying attention while you're talking in Nicaragua: oiste? (i.e. you heard me?)

getting someone's attention 
Nicaragua: a quick whistle (ooooOOOO)
Costa Rica: either a nonsense syllable or, if walking up to a home and announcing your presence, an oopeh

girls
Nicaragua: chavalas, chicas
Costa Rica: guilas, muchachas

people with light skin / hair / eyes (usually foreigners, but not always)
Nicaragua: chela, chele
Costa Rica: macha

Catarata La Fortuna

One of the things on Libby´s to do list while here in Costa Rica was to see a waterfall. Just outside of La Fortuna, we found the perfect one to visit.

While the view from the top was pretty impressive in and of itself, the hike down took it to the next level.We picked our way down three hundred some damp, steep, stairs down to the bottom, wonderfully rewarded by the view we found. A narrow strip of water throws itself over a rocky cliff and into a deep turquoise, perfectly round pool below. All around, thick green jungle.

Please note the people down here in the corner for size comparison. (!)

Hot Stuff

From the Caribbean Coast, Libby and I made a quick bounce down to my favorite place in Central America (hint, it rhymes with De Frenchilleh Parm) and then back toward the northern region of the country toward the Arenal volcano. Several long but breathtakingly pretty bus rides later, we stepped out of the bus and into the swarm of obligatory tour guides.

A pretty valley on our way there.

My first surprise was how the volcano dominated the horizon. I had expected to have to go on a road trip to really see it, but instead it loomed just over our shoulders. Arenal tends to be sort of timid as volcanos go, often spending much of the day wrapped in clouds - this was as clear as I ever saw it:

A few nights later, our opportunity for lava hunting finally presented itself.  We hopped in the tour bus, scooped up some friendly (yet VERY high maintenance) passengers from another hotel, and headed toward the edge of the volcano. Across a hanging bridge and into the woods, we found our lookout point and settled in.  Rain on our way there meant that the mountain was even more hidden than usual - sometimes I saw absolutely nothing in front of me but fog.  Flies arrived in droves.  Our companions complained....and complained and complained.  Yikes.  This was not going well.  Then, a slight clearing of clouds.  A disturbing rumble from somewhere far off.  An explosion of red on the side of the volcano! 

 Lava! 

I was amazed.  The Arenal volcano doesn´t produce the sort of liquidy rivers of lava that you may be imagining - rather, it launches house and car sized fiery rocks into the air with amazing force, tossing them down the side of the mountain.  What you end up seeing is something that looks like progressive fireworks.  The first enormous rock hits the side of the mountain and shatters, and then each of the "small" pieces goes on to repeat the process. Awesome in the real sense of the word.

When our time was up for lava gazing, we headed back toward town to soak ourselves in the thermal river nearby.  There are several resort-style hot springs that line the road near the volcano, feeding the lava-heated water into beautiful pools and waterfalls.  That however, was not our style for the evening.  Rather, we pulled up near a bridge just beyond the resorts and picked our way down to the entirely free, entirely bubbly, hot and relaxing river below us.  I could not get over the power implied in heating an entire river to jacuzzi temperatures. It´s enough to make a person kind of nervous! Thankfully, as you´re worrying about these things you´re also reclining in a natural whirlpool, which graciously robs you of whatever stress you might be having over impending lava doom...

Jungle Janes

Our next adventure? A hike in the Refugio de Vida Salvaje Gandoca Manzanillo, just south of a sleepy little town by mostly the same name. In fact, to get going on our hike, we simply walked the main road of Manzanillo until it turned into one lane, then sand, then just a path and then barely a path at all.  The jungle was wild, the way treacherous, the monkeys loud, and the air like a hot sponge.  It was worth it.  As with most things like this, though, I think it´s better told in pictures.

Beautiful clear water rushes over the corral below this lookout point.

The biggest hermit crab I´ve ever seen.

Another, ittybitty-er friend.

A less friendly friend.

A more friendly friend!

Libby picks her way across the exposed old coral beds.

Wish you could see the drop I´m standing out over.

The Caribbean Coast was one of my first experiences with tide pools.  They were absolutely everywhere, and they fascinated me.  This is from one of the many tiny beaches we popped out onto - it was filled nook and cranny with sea urchins.

Libby! Crabs! Beach! Patois!

At long last, on the 24th, Ms. Libby arrived for her visit! After scooping her up from the airport, we spent two days getting to know our charming Austrian roommate and waiting on her luggage (!) to arrive from Chicago. As anyone who has spent time in Costa Rica will tell you, San Jose is best looked at as a place to pass through on your way to somewhere more beautiful.  So when Libby´s suitcase finally made an appearance, we left right away for somewhere more interesting - the Caribbean Coast!

Separated both physically and culturally from the rest of Costa rica for most of its history [a concise version of the history here], the Caribbean Coast is regarded by many Ticos as strange and sometimes sketchy.  I heard many a time as I mentioned my desire to visit that I should consider going elsewhere - by people who had never been.  Now that I have been there, I can happily report that this xenophobic attitude, like most, is best disregarded.

As we bused to Puerto Viejo from breezy San José, we were slowly wrapped in more and more heat and humidity.  By the time we stepped off the bus in town, I was dripping. But we were there!  Puerto Viejo is an interesting place.  One of the main landmarks seems to be a rusted out barge type thing sitting in the beach with a tree growing on it. Unique, perhaps, but not what I would put on a postcard.  In general, the town has a laid back, keep-it-slow-and-chill vibe, overlaid by a new and somewhat cheesy tourist scene. Most of the vendors I spoke to were quick to tell me the story of how drastically the scene has changed there since roads began improving and buses started dropping off tourists, lamenting new ugly cement buildings and what they saw as overdevelopment.  The usual tension between more commerce as a plus and changing ways of life as a minus were obvious here.  I also heard from every local I spoke to, though, a love for the place that I hope will ensure a healthy future for the area.

Our first day, Libby and I attempted to adjust to the new climate.  We wandered the beach for a bit, ate some very necessary ice cream, and flopped in the shade at our hostel.  But by day two we were ready for adventure.  We grabbed some picnic lunch supplies from the supermarket, rented some pushbikes, and set off down the road.  South of town, a well traveled path opens in the trees just beyond the beach, and we wheeled our way slowly along the coast, absolutely surrounded by little purple and orange crabs who ducked out of the way in the last second as we passed.

Costa Rican beaches are protected by a law pohibiting development within a certain distance to the water, and I was more grateful than ever for this law as Libby and I wove through the protective barrier between the water and the road. At any point, we could simply pop over to the beach on our left, or a restaurant serving up cold drinks on our right. In the meantime, we took in the trees, vines, crabs, and coconuts.  It had been a long time since I´d biked at all, and it felt just right for the first time in a long time  to be with another NOLA transplant, on a cruiser - even if we were trading potholes for roots.

Cerro Verde

One of the things I´ve enjoyed most about staying with farm people has been the opportunity to participate in farmer´s markets and meet the communities that surround them.  William and Angie participate in a small but close knit market on Saturdays that recently welcomed a newcomer - Cerro Verde.  This community of four farms (and growing!) invited us out to their farms to share their land with us. The day we spent there with other vendors from the same market turned out to be one of my favorite Costa Rican afternoons so far.

The journey to the farm was an adventure in and of itself.  We bounced and rolled through Costa Rican backcountry the whole way, gasping at the dramatic valleys and craning our necks at howler monkeys as they alternately whooped and lounged.

By the time we pulled up, I had already had a lot of beauty for one day,  but I was in for a lot more.  We began with a short talk (some professors from universities around the country were also visiting, since this group of farmers is something of a novelty), about the dreams and realities of the farmers of Cerro Verde.  The project has been going on for some ten years, slowly transforming dense cattle-trodden and overworked-by-coffee land into healthy, producing, organic farms.  It was absolutely inspiring to hear Ticos speak passionately about organic farming and the future of both our food and our planet. Hearing the farmers recount their transition from traditional farming practices to the ones they use now, and hearing all of the peer pressure stories, trial and error stories, and triumph stories was enlightening and helped me understand both the challenges and rewards of their livelihood. Each of them positively beamed as he talked about his parcel of land. After some questions and answers, we divided into groups and got to look around and see everything for ourselves.

Our guide, Maurin, and his precocious daughter, led us past coffee plants peeking out of the shade and onto the field that he farms with his family.

Rows upon rows of produce warmed in the sun, while seedlings poked out of the seed trays in the greenhouse.  We walked, picked, munched, and learned.

I was struck silent by the beauty of where we were.  The views were outrageous, the food beautiful and healthy, waiting for the right moment to be carried into town.  And all of it was happening in a way that would preserve, rather than endanger, this land and its owners.
   Later, we filled up on lunch produced with food from the farm, bought up some of the food we´d seen right there in the soil, and piled into the car to head back.  On our way out of the farm, Maurin burst out of the house and waved us down.  What was wrong? Then I saw: his arms were full of tiny sweet bananas, two for each of us. I left full, inspired, and happy.

Los Arboles

The view from the back porch of Los Arboles.

While WWOOFing was my original inspiration for moving down to Costa Rica, I have since discovered that the system here leaves a lot to be desired. I was lucky enough to get referred to a lovely non-WWOOFing farm in the Chinchillas, and was recently lucky again when I found Los Arboles through some volunteers I met while on the farm.

Los Arboles is a farm in transition run by a lovely American couple, William and Angie.  They bought their land six years ago and have since planted over 2500 trees there! Angie in particular is beautifully passionate about trees and plants - it's inspiring to hear her teach about each one and see her face light up as she finds new growth or a newly sprouted seed.  She is also inspiring in her own right.  Fifteen years ago, she survived a 900 foot fall while rock climbing and the ensuing coma and memory loss to become the strong willed tree-hugger she is today.

Angie feeds Lula some of her daily carrots.
(Lula is an absolute carrot junkie.)

Over my time at the farm, I mostly helped Angie move her new vegetable garden forward.  We moved around the plumbing and began the process for installing a drip irrigation system, and I went to work amending the soil: hand tilling, mixing in manure, leaves, and ash from the wood stove, and taking out stones.  I left behind eight small bean plants stretching their legs in newly rich soil.

I also got to work with Sonny (a volunteer I knew from Earth Rose Farm and a beautiful person) and William two days on some cabinas that William and Angie have begun carving out of a sandstone cliff.  Crazy, I know.  But a few hours with a crowbar shaving sand out of stone can be very cathartic. And, as a reward, we got to visit a little hidden waterfall and splash the dust and sand out of our hair.

Sonny keeps hard at work on the window
(while I take a water / photo break!)

The sweet reward.

At night, I had the priveledge of sleeping out underneath the outrageous sky, blessed by an absence of mosquitos.  Waking up during the night and remembering where I was and what I was doing was such a treat.

 My bed. :)

Guanacaste

As I mentioned before, I'm in the Guanacaste region of Costa Rica right now.  It's an area with a lot of history, and very distinct from the Zona Sur, where I've been with the Chinchillas.  The land is flatter and drier, the accents are different, and the roads are better.  It's amazing in such a small country that so much can change about the landscape and the people in just a few hours.

Learn more about Guanacaste and its history here.

On the Road Again

Having completed a hefty five and a half months on or around the Chinchilla farm, I recently cut the cord for some serious wandering.  I currently have a plane ticket back to the States for July 28th, so time is slowly ticking to a close for me here. (Barring my changing said ticket - always a possibility!)

First, I spent about a week at a friend's home in San Isidro, coming slowly out of the culture shock of not living on the farm anymore.  Things like a hot shower, a room I could close the door to and know that no one else was on their way in, and whole-grain based vegetarian meals were at once jarring and rejuvenating. My friend was generous with his time and his space, and I left there ready to travel and explore.

My first destination? Guanacaste, the northwestern zone of Costa Rica.  You'll hear more about it in the next post!

Happy Juan Santamaría Day!

History lesson!

Tapa Dulce

Warning: long post ahead! Kept realizing how long it was getting, but still wanting to share more! Sorry. :)

Since I arrived in October, I´ve been patiently waiting to be part of a big event on the farm: making tapa dulce. It´s something that the Chinchillas do every few months - as often as the sugar cane field returns to a dense, sweet, jungle of stalks.  Last Wednesday, I got the word.  Early in the morning, I pulled on long pants and long sleeves and headed out into the cañal. While neighborhood men carefully selected the sweetest (oldest) stalks, shaved them of leaves, and sliced them from their roots, I hauled armful after armful toward the trapiche. 

 Mom and Mike pose in the sugar cane field during their visit.

Basically a large rotating press which feeds the extracted juice into a pair of enormous pots, the trapiche mostly sits waiting, hidden in a corner of the farm away from everyday view.  But this day it became a hot, noisy factory.  Once we had a big enough pile to satisfy my host-dad Memo, we fired up the machine and got to work.  He fed cane after cane into the clanking machine and I grabbed the husks as they slithered out like fresh pasta.  The bundles of husks will be burnt as fuel the next time we make dulce, but find a second life in the mean time as bedding for the pigs (and later fertilizer!)

The press with its impressive gears, with piles of bagazo behind.

Dark, swampy green cane juice quickly filled the gigantic pots below us as we worked, and soon it was time to start cooking.  After all the dirty work of harvesting and crushing sugar cane comes the fun and delicious work of cooking it.  Each stage of the five hour process has a name and a treat to taste, and all of us dutifully ate ourselves sick.

A few of many of the delicious stages of sugar:

Dirty and cut up by the sugar cane - ready to start eating.  

This is the simplest treat - sugar cane with the husk cut away.  Sweet, gushing, and refreshing.

Atolillo.

The first byproduct of cooking - a superfine foam that is just barely sweet but very velvety.

 

 Espumas.

As the mixture comes to a boil, a huge spoon with lots of holes in it is used to mix and fluff the juice. The millions of bubbles are also scooped off and eaten with a spoon - it has a texture like the head of a beer.

 

Rondas.

This pic is of the very rim of the cooking pot.  As the pot is stirred, foam laps onto the edges and begins to cook there.  As the foam is scraped off, it turns just a tiny bit sticky.  This was my favorite stage.

Pruebas.

Look how far the juice has cooked down at this point!  Wooden paddles are scooped into the pot and then swished in buckets of water.  The stained-glass sugar that comes off is tested for how fast it breaks - this indicates if the sugar is ready for the trough.  But it also tastes absolutely delicious.  Toasty, chewy, and warm. Important to be careful about fillings with this stuff.

After a mysterious point of perfection is reached in the large cooking pot, the sugar is poured into this large trough and stirred constantly for around 10 minutes.  Here, the consistency moves from glassy and smooth to more granular.

A small portion of the sugar mixture is scooped out to make sobado, a delicious candy that will be shared with friends and neighbors.

And then, finally, it´s time.  The sugar gets poured into mold after mold, sets for a surprisingly few minutes, and then gets flipped with a THUNK onto the table to turn out the molds.  What you´re left with, after an entire day of crushing, cooking and stirring (and just the beginning of the stomachache that is to come), is:

Tapa Dulce.