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Costa Rica's Cadence
by Johanna Kato
I could actually feel the earth’s pulse. Coconut and mango trees
brilliant against the blue sky, a fiery orange crab emerging from
the chocolaty earth (sneaking under the door and into our
bedroom), crimson flowers that looked like Japanese wind
chimes.... Pure life. “Pura Vida” is Costa Rican Spanish for all
things good. How are you? “Pura vida.” How did you sleep? “Pura
vida.” Simple, yet volumes more than an ordinary “fine.” Fitting,
as there was nothing bland about the surroundings. In the
evenings, darkness and lightening competed for the stage, while
insects and frogs provided an orchestra for their dance. Mornings
made no pretense of serenity with monkeys howling and birds taking
soprano as the sun began to tuck the moon away. Nature’s
cacophony. But somehow, it all felt still. No busy cell phones. No
more bags to pack, bars to hop or channels to surf. We relaxed;
let life settle for a while.
Samara, a small town growing itself along the western coast of
Costa Rica, welcomed us to its dusty roads without fanfare. One of
my girlfriends, Laura, and I had been drawn by a Spanish Language
school, as had, seemingly, nearly half the town’s inhabitants at
any given time. Some were lured and stayed, others took their week
or two’s worth of español enhancement and were promptly on their
way again.
 The
cabinas where we settled ourselves for our month of scholastic
endeavors were a thirty minute walk along the beach from school.
Before classes began, we decided to walk there to check it out. A
dreamy kind of thing, with our bags in one hand and sandals in the
other, toes in the sand. Quite a commute. A seamless walk, it
seemed a great way to open the mind before classes. But the
following morning there were new challenges. Marea Alta. High
tide. We wondered on, forging the small river that let out into
the ocean between us and town. How high would the water be? Should
we wear our bathing suits? Would we have to swim across to make it
with our school bags? We did make it. Through swirling water, in
our suits. This was all vocabulary that soon became so common in
my stories to the class that they were among the first Spanish
words that I became acquainted with. Late. River. Forge.
Alligators.
So, soaked, it began – my temporary life in Samara.
Navigating New Pathways
“Green Season” was beginning, a time that allowed rain to arrive
unannounced at any moment. An aptly named time of year, visible in
the lush color of the jungle, leaves bigger than our bodies. On
day two the rains began innocently in the morning; then the sky
opened and showed its prowess. It reshaped the earth, bringing
down trees and making rivers of streets. The ocean became red with
its fierce understanding of the sky and waves crashed down,
leaving debris and chocolate froth in their wake.
After evening class, Laura and I began our walk along the beach
back home. The sky darkened quickly and rain relaxed to a gentle
patter on our heads. Morning had offered a completely different
beach than what lay before us now. New rivers here and there, the
earth literally seemed to have opened up in unexpected places and
poured forth. New ledges to jump from, a different texture
underfoot.
We made it all the way to the river closest to our place, and it
was a stranger to us. Impassible. Not only was it wider than ever
before, but its depth was also a mystery: brown water swirling
about with branches, coconuts, coral, a random tree. There was no
way for us to cross this thing. Even without our bags, it would
have been a questionable swim across to get home. Never mind the
alligators.
Back through town, up to the main road, we followed it home in the
dark, learning for the first time its curves and hills, areas with
absolutely no light where we hoped for a passing car to illuminate
the way. Lightening bugs glittered. Eyes glowed in the dark. We
held hands when we heard a large animal behind us (both
remembering the recent story of bulls running in the street),
waded through mud, and laughed occasionally at our predicament.
Two hours after leaving the school, we made it safely home.
Through the yellow gate, to our simple room, where the cabina dog,
Negra, was faithfully napping door-side.
 Such
vibrant beginnings forecast the days that quickly slipped by
afterwards. More mini-adventures followed, of course. We zipped
through forest canopies; saw sloth, toucans, kinkajou, and
tarantulas. An evening found me wading up to my chin through our
river, lit up by the moon (thank you, no alligators!). Monkeys
threw guavas at me. Our bus careened across the road into oncoming
traffic. Seated in a tired, red Land Rover, I was dragged up a
muddy hill by a tractor. So many moments, snapshots for the mind’s
library, set against the backdrop of fiery sunsets, skies full of
stars like I had never seen, complete with the silky swath of the
Milky Way running through them.
Life by the ocean easily became deliciously familiar. When it was
time to go, there was an absence that came with the sudden
farewell to the constant grumblings of monkeys, the sound of
coconuts landing on corrugated roofing, bickering of red squirrels
as they flew from palm to palm, the awkward whirring effort of
buzzards’ wings, anxious scampering of lizards easily the length
of my arms, tropical birds playing love songs, geckos chirping
goodnight, roosters calling both to the sun and moon. Goodbye to
all the crazy insects and crab that sneakily shared our bedroom.
And thank you to all of it for being so – so Pura Vida. Pure Life.
© Johanna Kato
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