Forty years ago today, I set foot in Costa Rica for the first time. I arrived as an altruistic, just-out-of-college, cleanly shaven youngster who was determined to save the world from an impending environmental disaster. I figured I could do that in two years as a US Peace Corps Volunteer. Those two years evolved into five years. I tried but I didn’t save the world. But I set a path for my life and experienced some of my greatest adventures and joys.
On the flight from Miami I was sandwiched in between a Catholic priest from Cuba and a businessman from Chile. We all applauded when we touched down in San Jose. I don’t know why, I guess we were all just so happy to arrive.
The Peace Corps welcoming committee whisked us off into the city and to the two-star (at the most) Hotel Centroamericano. I needed to stretch my legs after the flight so I took a walk and found a pub. I wasn’t too hungry but ordered a beer, only to discover that in Costa Rica the beers come with ‘bocas’ – little snacks. Surely if I kept ordering enough beers I’d leave with a full tummy. A boy came to me carrying a bunch of violets. I studied the new coins in my pocket and dug out two colones and told the boy to give a bouquet to the barmaid. I got a nice smile from her. It was worth the colones.
I walked around the city and questioned what I had just signed up for. The city was noisy and smelled of diesel. I didn’t like it. Only 22, I had already seen enough filthy cities in emerging countries and my first instinct was always to get out as soon as I could. I wandered aimlessly and unknowingly into a street of pleasures while whores beckoned me with ‘Ayyy Machito’. I walked on and found my way back to the Hotel CentroAmericano where I slept a bit, anxiously awaiting my first full day in Costa Rica.
Forty years ago today. 15 June 1981. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
The next day was more to my liking. We were taken to a little pueblo which would be our home for a few months while we mastered the language and learned a bit more about how exactly we were going to help Costa Rican appreciate the value of its protected wildlands.
I was introduced to my host family where I would live in their humble home for a couple of months and speak nothing but Spanish. My new mother, 26-year-old Marielos, greeted me with a smile, or the best she could offer given she was missing her front teeth. She showed me to my room which previously had served as her sewing room and then introduced me to her younger sister, Flory, and her children: one-year-old Alfonso Junior and two-year-old Vanessa.
Later in the evening I met the senior Alfonso, a brick layer who could have passed as a blond Californian. Marielos and Flory put dinner on the table and beckoned Alfonso and me, and then disappeared while the men got to know each other.
Our goal in those early days was to integrate into Costa Rica society. A few days after my arrival, Marielos’s father arrived in a beat up Toyota Land Cruiser and we all packed in for a trip to Palmares.
Marielos’s brother, Jorge, was getting married and I was invited. We arrived to find the groom in a state of panic as he didn’t know how to tie a necktie. I was there to save the world but I couldn’t save the wedding by tying his tie. I didn’t know either. We invented some kind of knot for both the groom and his father and the wedding proceeded.
After the ceremony we packed into their modest home for some cake and shots of rum. Alfonso grew tired of chatting up the in-laws so he grabbed me and we walked into town. We found a dance hall and I was keen to see some salsa dancing but between us we didn’t have enough money to pay the cover charge so we walked home and enjoyed more of the wedding rum.
One week as a US Peace Corps Volunteer done and dusted and I couldn’t have been happier. Forty years ago this week.
