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  Puriscal, Costa Rica
Sunday, August 31, 2008

Saying goodbye to John this morning was hard. Last night I slept very lightly, though whether it was nervousness about the trip or a desire to savor our last hours together, I couldn't say. But I'm pretty sure I'll sleep like a rock tonight.

I had a couple of lucky breaks on the way over. Although the dispatchers at both cab companies I called to take me to the airport failed to answer the phones within the two minutes I was willing to sit there listening to it ring, I caught one on the street right away, at 5:30 in the morning. The driver didn't even have to ask me for directions this time. We encountered no traffic, and the lines at check-in and security were short. Better stilll, as I waited in line at Dunkin' Donuts a hundred yards from my gate, an announcement came over the loudspeaker that any able-bodied adult willing to perform the necessary duties in the event of an emergency and desiring a bit of extra leg room should report to the gate to transfer into the exit row. Not only did I get there first, I somehow got an aisle seat with an empty seat next to me. That was for the first leg, from Boston to Miami; from Miami to San Jose, I didn't have an exit row but I did have the row all to myself. There was one screaming baby a few rows back, but he miraculously fell asleep as soon as we took off, and stayed asleep until we landed. They didn't lose my luggage and in fact my bag was one of the first ones on the carousel. And although the hour-long scenic drive on winding roads was just the sort that usually makes me carsick, I cheated fate on that count, too. We had warm, sunny weather from the time I arrived, through the time we waited outside for the other two volunteers sharing the van back (there are ten in all, but we arrived in shifts) until the time I got up to my room and started unpacking; then it started pouring. Still, if this keeps up I'm gonna buy some lottery tickets.

It should surprise no one who has ever traveled with me that I already want to live here. I usually come to this conclusion about 38 minutes into the drive from the airport, wherever I go. But this time I really, really mean it.

There's something magical about this place. The old cars with faded, blotchy paint, rattling down the narrow roads or slumping over their axles on the shoulder seem, against the verdent hills and lush valleys, like hallmarks of a culture with better things to do than work itself to death, rather than the scraps of the impoverished. The occasional shiny new Mercedes looks gaudy--tacky, even--and out of place. We passed a bus stop where a family lounged on the bench together, some with eyes closed and faint smiles, others chatting amongst themselves with much more animated grins. I don't think I've ever before seen people in a good mood while waiting for the bus. There's a carelessness to the way people drive, passing each other by swerving into the lane of oncoming traffic, sliding out of the way of people standing in the middle of the road, weaving loosely down the hairpin turns into the canyons. And although it made me a little sad to see a Wendy's and a Taco Bell on the same block just a few miles outside the city, I felt a better each time we passed a roadside stand selling what appeared to be barbecued tubers of some sort (I didn't get a very good look, but I caught a whiff of the grill. Mmmmm....)

"Pura Vida" is the catchphrase around here; literally, it means "pure life," but like all catchphrases, it loses something in translation. I think the clearest explanation anyone has given me was along the lines of "living simply but living well." Still, I think it's probably one of those things you have to experience to really understand.

I look forward to the epiphany.

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