intercultural communication

One thing I love about being here is that, since I understand so little of what is happening around me, I really see things. At home, I have a slot in my brain into which experiences fit: city buses are allowed to drive on the shoulder of the highway, say, or waiting a long time to be served in a restaurant is a sign of poor service. But here nothing has a slot, and so I have to look and look and try to make sense of things.

The past weekend was a long celebration for Juan Santamaria, the guy who died setting fire to William Walker's safe house, thus driving Walker from Costa Rica. It took a few more tries before the Central Americans finally killed the guy (he was one determined person; he kept coming back and back in order to fulfill his dream of slavery in Central America), but our local guy certainly gave his life for a worthy cause. On Saturday, my mom and Mike and I went to the farmer's market--maybe my favorite place in Alajuela--and our way out was completely blocked by a parade of horses. I am not exaggerating when I say there were at least a thousand cowboys (and cowgirls) riding their horses into the streets of Alajuela. Everyone had on hats, and many were dressed in slick outfits--lots of black, lots of tight jeans. Some people were drinking beer as they rode, some were talking on cell phones. One guy pulled his horse up to a van parked on the side of the road and a guy inside made him a scotch and soda for the ride. Did he pay for it? Was the other guy his friend? Why drink scotch and soda on horseback? I can't answer any of these questions. The horses were doing a wonderful high stepping kind of walk that looked a bit like dancing (clearly, I know nothing about horses) and the three of us watched and watched and watched. Eventually it became clear we would be there all night, and Mike was pretty sick, so we had to dash across the road finally when the way was sort of clear. Were awards given to best horses? Who cleaned up all that shit? I have no idea. But the whole event was pretty cool and utterly strange to me.

In Cahuita, we had rain the whole time. In fact, for about 24 hours the whole country was covered in rain, unusual for this time of year, but the Caribbean was rainy for 5 days. So we came home after just one night. Mike was sick anyway and the girls wanted one last day of sun before they went home--which they got, managing to burn themselves to a crisp on their last day here. Maggie walked out of her cabin (she and Lizzie shared) in Cahuita, and luckily I heard her walking around in the dark. When I asked what she was doing, she said she was going to the hammock and Lizzie was supposed to follow her. At this point I realized Maggie was locked out and Lizzie was sound asleep, so the only possible explanation was that Maggie had been sleepwalking. She vehemently denied this at the time, but by the next morning she admitted to being quite surprised to find herself walking through the gardens at the hotel in the middle of the night. Pretty scary. And poor Lizzie: when we finally woke her and got her to open the door of the cabin, I heard Maggie snap at her, "you were supposed to follow me." To which Lizzie replied sleepily, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Tomorrow I do one more trip to Manuel Antonio, this time with my mom. It's such a great place--I'd recommend it to everyone. Then we get back on Friday, my mom leaves on Saturday and I'm done with traveling--except for the one last important trip home.

Adios from the land of scotch drinking on horseback!