Twittering

The Earth Moves Under Our Feet

        Our final day in La For Tuna, the skies opened up, and as the sun rose higher, nothing but blue sky emerged behind the silhouette of the two conical peaks of Volcano Arenal. While we couldn’t see the glow, we could see steam rising off the lava flows. As we packed our bags for the six-hour drive time to Manuel Antonio on the Pacific Coast, the mountain came alive, the largest rumble we heard yet.
        “Hurry up, Sean!” I said as he was packing his bag. “It’s about to blow. Hear the cows going crazy. Birds are circling, and the ants moving leaves have shifted direction.”
        It was a warm, bright day, perfect for driving across the country. With every twist of the road, and every bounce of a pothole, we came to know Costa Rica more intimately.
        The highway running roughly parallel to the Pacific Coast was originally built as a railroad by the banana companies. Long since abandoned, the bridges remain in place as a one-lane, self-controlled river negotiation system. Whoever gets to the bridge first crosses, and the other side waits until all the cars have passed before proceeding. It appeared to be a long wait, late in the afternoon when we passed as Ticos and tourists stood around outside their car on the opposite side, waiting for a break in the line of traffic heading south so they could continue their journey north.
        “This is the ‘Oh My God Bridge,’” Alexander said as he slowed the bus to a crawl. “As you cross, you say, ‘Oh My God!’” Once a railroad tie bridge, it had been covered with sheets of steels and railroad ties to make the bridge passable by automobiles.
        “The roads are so terrible,” said Alexander, “because a lot of corruption in the road department. We get a new president about three years ago. He promised to make the roads good.”
        We pass a barrel in the middle of the road, marking a sinkhole. “So far, so good. Before you see a lot of barrels in the road. Roads are much better now, but he say nothing about bridges.”
        Throughout the countryside, much of the rainforest has been cleared to make way for agriculture. Everywhere along to the road, farmers have set up stands selling fresh fruits and vegetables. It’s a practice necessary today with the bad roads, but once the roads improve, Alexander anticipates some of them will go away as people will have better access to grocery stores, or super mercados, and farmers will be capable of shipping more of their crops to distribution centers.


        Farmers have staked out their territory by planting trees a few feet apart along the perimeter of their property, clearly defining their land. Where the basset hound-looking floppy-eared cattle grazed, barbed wire had been attached to the tree trunks to keep the cattle in. It was not uncommon to see a cow tied to a leash in a front yard, with just enough rope to give him the ability to tie up traffic for a moment or two. A cow in the road didn’t faze Alexander in the slightest.
        “We had a problem with teen pregnancy,” said Alexander, as we passed a group of school children, dressed in their blue school uniforms, walking home from school along side the road. There are no sidewalks. “But about five years ago, they started teaching sex education in the schools.”
        “They weren’t teaching sex education because of religion?” I asked.
        “Yes. The church didn’t want it taught, but too many young girls were getting pregnant before getting married, so now it is taught.”
        “So the country is very religious?” Dan asked noticing the Christmas garland and trees going up in homes and businesses across the country in anticipation of the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ.
        “Catholics are the most powerful,” he said. I found his word choice compelling. “But many people choose not to believe so much any more because of all the scandal.”
        “So there are other popular religions”
        “Oh, yes. We got Jahovis Witness, evangelical Christian, Jews, you name it, we got a little of everything. But mostly Catholic, which is why every town square has a church. You know you’re in a new town when you see a square, a church, a bar, and a school.”
        Pregnant children are not the only ones who need an education in the ways of reproductive mechanics. With no animal control or concerted effort for population control, packs of dogs run wild in the street, forming a network of canine gangs. Walking through restaurants, grazing on scraps, sunning themselves while waiting at the bus stop, or sometimes wrestling each other to the ground. It’s a social order that I was convinced Long John, our dachshund would hate. He’s much more civilized. However, Buster, who came from the streets of Atlanta, we were convinced, would feel right at home.
        Occasionally, the dogs bark at me, either indicating I’ve stepped into their territory, or I should be playing with them.
        “Hello, little doggy,” I would say. The dog would continue barking.
        “Hola!” I yelled. The dogs would quiet down.
        A couple of times, we passed Maxi Bodega, a superstore.
        “It’s more than a grocery store,” Alexander said. “It’s got all sorts of things you don’t find at a grocery store.”
        “Like a Wal-Mart or K-mart?” Tony asked.
        “Yes. I think Wal-Mart own it. Or K-mart. Not sure. One of them own it.” We bounce along the highway. “I suppose they good. I don’t know. They bring good prices and lots of stuff, but the money doesn’t stay in the community. It goes to the United States, and it doesn’t help the community. They say they help the community, but they don’t.”
        When we crossed the Tarcoles River, we stopped for a moment to look down at the riverbed where a group of crocodiles were sunbathing. The crocodiles loafed around like the American Coach Potato, getting feisty when another gets in their way.
        “Alexander, you speak English very well. How did you learn?” Dan asked, after he explained the how the crocodiles like Tarcoles River, and after being moved to another river, they all came back to this river.
        “I live in the United Stated for six months in 1998. I stayed with a family in Hillsboro, Oregon.”
        “I grew up in Beaverton,” I said.
        “Really? Oregon is very beautiful.” He said as he looked back in the rear view mirror. “Oregon is the only place in the world that reminds me of Costa Rica, only cooler. With the forests, the trees are different, but it is very wet, and the valleys. Very beautiful.”
        Over the course of the day, we drove through San Ramon, Orotina, Tarcoles, Jaco, Parrita before arriving in Quepos right near Manuel Antonio. We stopped for lunch just south of Jaco, where we dined on the beach.


        Throughout the country, there is evidence of a struggle between progress and growth, and preservation and cultural heritage. We saw evidence the country has no plan to manage and control development, with buildings of any type and size going up anywhere. During the high season, as the population swells exceeding capacity, power outages and water shortages are the norm. More and more rainforest and cloud forest is being consumed by agriculture and other uses. As a result, a growing system of national parks is emerging, working to preserve many of the natural wonders of Costa Rica.
        “Change, I guess it is good,” Alexander said. “But it is coming. This country is changing. More people are coming to live in Costa Rica, and prices are going up. I guess it is good because people who own land, their value is going up, but it is hard for me to buy.”
        The progress of growth has another cost: debt. In an effort for short-term and even long-term improvements, Costa Rica is burrowing significantly to improve the quality of life, and there is much debate as to whether or not the end result will be capable of sustaining itself. This could be no more clear than deep within the rainforest, where if you build, the electric company will come to you. As we drove along the coast, men were working on the electrical lines, expanding their capacity with new, higher voltage lines.
        When we arrived in Manuel Antonio, just nine degrees north of the Equator, we were told we had missed the earthquake. Costa Rica has 300 earthquakes every month. The pool turned to a brief wave pool, and the boom of the shifting earth signaled a round of shots for everyone lying poolside.
        It struck me that many of the challenges Costa Ricans face to create a viable future filled with promise for future generations mirror the same challenges we face in the United States. Getting along in this world is hard, as evidenced by people working to survive in the jungles and mountains of Costa Rica. We could clearly see how we are interconnected and dependent on each other. Getting along and being respectful of each other, our communities, and the Mother Earth, making sure we don’t take more than we give is not just a local challenge, but a global one we are faced with every day.
        It seemed fitting that when the Earth moves under our feet, we are reminded that we are only hear temporarily, and in the mean time, we are caretakers of each other and this world. Having survived another day, it’s fitting we should raise our glasses and salute.