Stools in the sunlight. waiting for a customer, not going anywhere embedded in the cement. stools enjoying the light, enjoying the shade. together. always together – stoic comrades.

Perhaps they share jokes, inside jokes about the butts they support. intimate knowledge, nicknames for cheeks and farts and whatever they find in all those back pockets.

Perhaps they are an old married couple. linked, supporting one another, no longer talking, nothing left to say. just enjoying the sunlight, enjoying the shade. never leaving. always there. waiting.

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Mansion is a town up the hill, on the way to Hojancha. (ō HAN cha).

Incongruently, they have their own flatiron building.  Who doesn’t love a wedge shaped building?

there’s no need to clear the streets when they are already empty.

cuz let’s face it, sleepy towns is what sleepy towns does.

who says a cloudless sky lacks drama?

is that something lurking in the shadows?  a body?  a dog, is it just a sleeping dog?

how old is that tree? it must be really old, it’s so bent.  is there something hidden inside the trunk, a treasure map, a locket, some snacks for later?

does anyone ever use those stools? where are the customers? do they only come at lunch or have they moved on to a newer lunch counter in a mall, with air conditioning?

is Imperial the only beer available in Costa Rica?

[ I hope you enjoyed this meandering post. There is something about this spot, this building, that stirs my imagination. However the truth is, my imagination is terribly rusty, super creaky, and so what came out is a little bit bumbly. I accept that. Tomorrow I can try and do better. ]

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Ivannia and Andrés open presents at their wedding shower

The one amazing thing about this afternoon was the non-stop laughing. I think they’ll have a very good life together. Wishing you all the best on your new life together Andrės y Ivannia.

We visited some friends of friends in a far-off place called Pirris. One gets there via a treacherous mountain road falling off into the raging river below. By crossing a precarious bridge that should be condemned but won’t be till it breaks, or the river takes it away. By climbing, on foot, for an hour to reach a magical place untouched by modern convenience, like electricity.

The home we finally reach is large, larger than most I’ve seen. Its graciousness comes from being tended so carefully, so tenderly by the daughters of this man, Don Carmen. Undistracted by Facebook or television, their energies are translated into marvellous gardens and charmingly crafted ornament.

I don’t know if we were expected or arrived unannounced. I believe it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Don Carmen, when he met me, understood I didn’t speak Spanish and so simply smiled and raised his arms to give me an embrace. It was understood I was welcome

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This lovely woman is seated on cane, munching on cane, and gazes out at the vast expanse of sugarcane before her.

This photo is taken in the trapiche of their farm. A trapiche is the place where you extract the juice from the cane. It’s done with giant millstones using oxen to turn the stones that grind the cane. The oxen walk in endless circles. Someone must also walk in the same endless circles with the oxen to ensure they keep moving.

It’s quiet work. It’s slow and steady and leaves plenty of time to think, to dream.

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As Mincho had a business as a car mechanic, Walberto worked as a an independent construction artisan.

Brothers in a family of a dozen, we eventually met many more Alamanzas including their mother, Doña Magda. A true matriarch, Magda keeps track of her family AND everyone in town so we were soon invited to her home for a visit. For a visit and so she could get the down low about who we were and perhaps just what we could do for her.

As we wandered about her property, talking chickens largely, I saw this painting on the wall of one of her sheds. I loved it immediately and asked who did it. Walberto, when he was a boy. We had just started working with Walberto. He was doing simple things for us, like a concrete retaining wall and water drainage outlets. But I had noticed the special care he took with his work, as mundane as it was, and I had instantly thought to myself, “he works as an artist would.”

Since then Walberto has renovated our now beautiful kitchen and bathroom, built us a lovely tool shed, a beautiful guest cabin and most gloriously of all, a gracious composting commode where one can while away the hours gazing into the forest and watching the ocean wash against the shores.

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Grows fast, breaks down fast. It’s a supercharged life-cycle.

At the top of Volcan Turrialba one can find the most remarkable plantlife. The soil is crazy rich and normally large plants are gigantic. It’s for the incredibly rich volcanic soil, as well as the higher altitudes, that coffee grows so beautifully, and deliciously, on the volcanos in Costa Rica.

We were paused on the path to the top of the volcano. It was steep, challengingly so, and I needed to catch my breath. I look over at Harry and realize he’s perfectly surrounded by leaves as tall as he is.

A question of scale posed by a photo.

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This donkey, or mule might be better because I believe she’s female, seemed so lovely to me. The opposite of all those donkey stereotypes drilled into us when we were kids watching Warner Brother’s cartoons. She was serene, composed, beautiful.

When I told this to my friend who worked at the farm where this donkey lives, he smiled broadly and said, “until you ask her to do something she doesn’t want to do. Then she’s worse than a bull.”

Sigh. I guess that’s why stereotypes are often true.

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I don’t know why they are kept so meticulously and at the time it seemed rude to ask. Thwarted by an useless sense of politeness, I didn’t get the story behind the case when I had the chance. Time wins. The mystery remains unsolved.

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In a country where family, marriage, children appear to be the national number one priority, this cake embodies the Costa Rican sense of humour. You might not be able to change your fate, but you can make wicked fun of it.

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Costa Rica’s national motto, as far as I can tell, is, “Laugh. Laugh because nothing you do will change things. Laugh because it feels great. Laugh at everything and no one will give you shit for anything”.

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Dogs are everywhere. Barking frenzily as you walk past their houses. Mutts galore. And many / most of them are tiny. No one spays their dogs, and as with the Costa Rican’s themselves, births are plentiful.

Mabel’s neighbor’s dog, in San Jose, Costa Rica.

Clearly the chihuahua gene figures prominently in 80% of the dogs in Costa Rica. Paris Hilton would burst with pride seeing the progeny of her favourite breed exponentially expanded into the almost infinite number of variations available in Costa Rica.

Costa Rican’s adopted the small dog trend long before the proliferation of condo dwelling city folk scaled back on the size of their dogs. This sweet little pooch belongs to the neighbour of my sister-in-law. He is the quintessential San Jose dog.