Most of us were at the TEFL school at 8 am, ready to get on the bus, but we had no bus yet. This gave the stragglers more time to meet up for the trip to Boruca. Greetings went around and by 20 past, we all piled into the bus. I was not thinking about the extreme importance of seat choice and got myself crammed into the back corner of the bus with my knees firmly planted into the back of the seat in front of me. The trip was supposed to take four hours. This concerned me.
Shortly after getting out of town, the roads got to be terrible, unpaved and full of potholes. They were 60 feet wide, so there was room to drive around the larger sinkholes, but it was unavoidable to have a bumpy ride. We just weren’t sure how bumpy it was going to be. After bouncing along at 15 mph for 20 minutes or so, we felt a big bump and we skid to a halt. The rear driver side wheel had FALLEN OFF. The axle was sitting on the ground and no one knew where the lug nuts had gone. Fortunately, there was a restaurant nearby and eventually we all filtered in there to hang out while the driver attempted repairs. He cannibalized one nut each from the other wheels and we tried it out again.
Of course, this didn’t work.
We drove for another five to ten minutes down the road and pulled over again. When the driver checked it, he had lost one of the replacement nuts and the wheel was threatening to rip itself off again. At that point, we were through with that bus. The driver called the company, who sent out a replacement bus for us. However, we were waiting on the side of the road for the next 45 minutes until the new bus could get to where we were.
People do some strange things when they are bored. Giovanna, one of my classmates, started building an unukchuk (sp?) which is a stack of rocks, formed by alternating two stones on the bottom, one on top, two on top of that, one on top of that, and get it as tall as possible. The rocks on the side of the road were of fair size, big enough that you would occasionally need two hands to pick one up. Other people wandered around talking to each other, or playing with our instructor Omar’s three-year-old son.
Once the new van arrived, we were certain that it was smooth sailing from then on. For the next 3 hours or so, it was. We stopped at a restaurant called Do Quis that had everything on their menu. From the booze of the night before, I was feeling a little bit toxic, so a big order of ceviche sounded like the perfect thing for me. Along with it, I got a nicely sized peach smoothie that was phenomenal. We left the restaurant and saw several macaws landing in a huge tree nearby. After a few snapshots, we walked across the street to my instructor’s former high school. In the court yard of the building were two large stone spheres, over six feet in diameter. No one knows where they came from.
The short version – in the 30’s, contractors that were developing an area started to discover these spheres, some as small as a baseball, some were over nine feet across. They were buried in the earth, but there is no record of who made them or where they come from. Many of the stones have been taken before their location was plotted, but for the ones that were plotted, it appears that they create a star map. Many of the stones are scattered across a hundred mile stretch but still perfectly aligned on a north-south axis.
We all piled back in the van and were told that we were roughly an hour away from the village, unless the direct route was open. It would only be open if it had not rained recently. It had. We trucked around the back road and were on schedule for an hour’s trip before arrival when we struck yet another obstacle. It had rained on this side of the mountain too. The hill was steep, the road was soft, and the vehicle was completely gutless. A van designed for fourteen people that only had a four-cylinder diesel engine in it, giving it roughly the torque of a six year old on a big wheel. The driver tried the hill three times before we decided to reevaluate the situation. Glenn, a 40-year-old ex-military and ex-motocross driver decided to take a stab at it. Everyone piled out of the van and started hiking up. Perhaps the power of positive thinking would help us. He gave it a good try two or three times before he was trying to come up with a better idea. Some local guys came by with shovels and tried to see if throwing drier dirt (from off of the road) underneath the tires would help with traction. The bus driver stood back, a bit embarrassed at the situation, a bit embarrassed that he couldn’t do it, and trying to think of a way to get his bus out of the mud.
During this thinking period, a Toyota Land Cruiser approached coming down the hill.
We stopped the driver and Katie explained to him the situation. The driver of the SUV did a three- point turn and backed up to throw a chain under the bus and attach it to his hitch. With virtually no hesitation, the off road vehicle hauled the groaning behemoth up the hill to the next plateau. Everyone returned to the bus and climbed back in to their former seats. But we weren’t back for long. As soon as we hit the next incline, we made it two-thirds of the way up and got stalled again. After sliding all the way back to where we had just gotten back into the van, the driver told us to get out so that he could try it again. He failed, but Glenn was tapped again and was able to get it all the way to the top of the hill. Which is to say that we hiked to the top of the hill to meet back with our ride.
The rest of the ride was fine. A few spots seemed like they could be troublesome, but we were able to will the bus to continue moving forward and keep moving. One spot looked as though it was likely that we would become intimately familiar with the ditch on the side of the road, however we were able to avoid that in favor of a safe trip into Boruca.
Upon arrival, Omar’s family greeted us with children wanting to see all of these strange white people and the touch the hair of the girls with dreadlocks. Soon after, we left to grab a quick drink before heading back for dinner. The dinner was nothing short of spectacular. Smoked pork was served with heart of palm, tamale, rice, plantains, and a vegetable that I was completely unfamiliar with. It looked like a peach cut in half, but had a consistency and flavor similar to a sweet potato. A serving of chicha, a traditional drink of the tribe, followed the dinner. Once we had had our fill (not a scrap remained) we were taken to the various locations of our accommodation so that everyone could drop off their things before the night’s activities began. We all ended up going to the bar, and the bartender was more than happy to have a bus-load of white girls show up for the local boys to dance with, but most of us were too tired to hang out for long. I had one and was on my way out.
I returned with Glenn, my roommate for the night, and we debated until I was tired of talking and passed out. The rooster that was running around woke me up for a while at 3:30 am, but other than that, I slept pretty well. He wasn’t so lucky. Better him than me.
The following morning, we all met up for breakfast at the house where I was staying. Most showed up late since they were out until 2am (at Omar’s request, he hadn’t been at home there in months and was having a great time hanging out with his friends and his students). After breakfast (gallo pinto with some fried potato dish and coffee), we walked around to see the work of some of the local artisans.
In the first area, there were works from several artisans including bows and arrows, drums, woven bags, and traditional ceremonial masks. At the next house, a woman carved turtles out of the woody fruit from a tree in her back yard and carved different animal designs into their shells. One had a snake, another an owl, each one unique.
Afterwards, we visited Omar’s aunt who grew two types of cotton in her front yard and still spun her own thread and wove in the traditional style. Her dyes were completely organic, from the earth. Her face had the crevices that gouge the earth’s surface, allowing her to be crone in all of her glory as mother, telling the story of her life without ever saying a word. She was beautiful in her decay.
Next, we visited the medicine woman of the village. She described her use of local plants for medicinal purposes ranging from headache to stomach trouble to easing birthing pain. As the midwife for the village, she had birthed almost everyone under the age of twenty and still looked young despite being a grandmother.
The final stop of our journey through the village elders was to meet the son of the last chief. The Costa Rican government does not recognize him or anyone else as a chief because they want to retain final authority over the whole country, but within the community, he is treated with the same respect as though he held the title. He told of the history of his people and gave a reading of a document regarding the modern history of the tribe. The book he read from was written by his father some thirty years before and had received more than its share of abuse. This living document held a translation dictionary between Borucan and Spanish, one of the few in existence.
Upon returning to the first area, there was a mask there that I could not get away from. Any description that I give will be woefully inaccurate of its beauty, so I will simply attach a photograph. In simple terms, it is a mask of el Diablo that is hand carved and hand painted in fine line detail. It may appear ugly to some, but it is authentic and my money went directly to the artist, not to some middleman and not to some company that mass-produces similar artifacts.
We returned to the house and changed into our swim gear to go to a nearby waterfall. The hike was a bit difficult because of the portions where I needed to remove my shoes and walk on stones. The river that produced the waterfall crossed the road that we used to drive to the river, so everyone had to ford across the shallow area of water, which was knee deep at points. I was wearing shoes, my brown Pumas, and didn’t want them to remain wet for the rest of my time in Costa Rica (nothing air dries here with the humidity). It was all river rock, so they were not sharp rocks, but they were not comfortable on my bare soles. Once across, we were advised to put our shoes back on for the next stretch. Not because it was a long hike, but because it was a bumpy road down over rock outcroppings, roots, pebbles, and mud.
By the time that we got to the water, half of the people that had changed into their swim gear had changed their mind for one reason or another and sat back and watched. I, however, was the first one in the water. As soon as I got in, I started toward the falls to feel the flow and to experience the power of the river tumbling over my head. For several minutes, I swam near the falls or grabbed onto the rocks to see if I could get to the middle of the falls but was not confident of my ability to succeed. Playing was fun enough for me at the time. I swam back and forth to different areas of the pool and talked to the other students, but never really encouraged anyone else to do what I was doing. The falls were communicating with me and I didn’t want to disrupt that by focusing on others. I wanted to focus on myself.
After a while, another student named Thomas told me that there was a way to get behind the falls. Rather than over think the situation and be skeptical, I took his word and found the path behind the fall. The space was the size of a coat closet, but the air felt so clean because of its persistent freshness and constant water filtration. I couldn’t help but scream and cheer after getting inside. The feeling of successful conquest burst forth. I didn’t care about anyone else’s opinions or ideas. It was my moment.
I climbed inside one more time before getting out of the water. A perfectly placed foothold served as my launching pad as I exploded through the face of the fall and into the pool. The other students were in the process of packing up and walking back. Time was not an issue that I wanted to consider at that time. Thomas made it inside the falls a couple of times and was ok with being a little late as well. After we had put on our shirts and shoes and started heading back to meet with the group, Thomas stopped and put his nose to the air.
“Do you smell that? Do you SMELL THAT!?!? That’s BUD! That’s the smell of fresh marijuana! What a perfect spot to plant it. Outdoors, away from everything, no one is around to mess with it. It’s got to be around here someplace!”
We found a separate trail and followed it for a little way. We scanned around, and walked further to scan around, and walked even a little bit further, but our efforts were fruitless. The mysterious aroma was around, but we could not find the source.
It took more effort for us to give up the search than it did to pursue it in the first place because once we started going, it seemed important for us to pursue until our efforts were rewarded, unfortunately, we began our walk back to meet with the group. I got into the van before Thomas and melted into my seat. By the time he was trying to get in, everyone noticed a smell. Someone had stepped in shit. Luckily, I was not the culprit, but Thomas was. He ran back to the river to rinse off his shoes and make sure that the short ride back for lunch would be a pleasant one.
Once our bus arrived back at the house, everyone wandered toward the smell of fresh chicken soup, while Thomas remained back to clean up his area of the bus to eliminate any possible shit-smelling remnants. While waiting for lunch to be served, I stood against a tree with my elbow propped against it and decided that it was the most comfortable I have ever been while standing up. The tree was perfectly conformed to the shape of my position. The soup was spectacular, unfortunately, I was unaccustomed to having chicken bones in my chicken soup and was surprised when I crunched a small bone.
Once everyone had gotten their fill, we all returned to our seats in the bus to spend the next (hopefully only) four hours for the ride back to “home”. The ride, as most of us were hoping, was uneventful. We had to stop at a gas station. Shortly after that, I put on my iPod and listened to the song “No Cars Go” by the Arcade Fire and my eyes started to well up. I listened to the lyrics and made associations relating the song to heaven, as the band had meant it, but also to Boruca, as I was hearing it. My music died shortly thereafter. The headphones came off, I turned to Katie and said, “I just had myself a little religious experience.”
We stopped in Dominical for dinner. I cannot remember the name of the restaurant that we went to, but it looked like a tourist joint with over-priced food. I had used up all of my cash on the mask and needed to go to the ATM before getting dinner. Giovanna needed cash also, so we hiked up the hill to the bank. She asked me, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we ran into Nicole?”
Nicole is a former classmate of ours who had dropped out of the program to teach yoga at the nearby gym. She had gone to Dominical with Alan, a friend of Jim who is also in the class. Giovanna saw Nicole and Alan at the top of the hill and yelled out at them. She had called it not two minutes earlier. Nicole and Alan joined us at the restaurant for a little while. After returning from the ATM, I was Thomas and Katie, told me to sit at the corner booth with them to enjoy the hookah that they had ordered. It seems to be a nearly universal truth that every hookah bar has apple-flavored tobacco and that apple-flavored tobacco is the best flavor in the house. It went around a few times with a lot of people coming by to try it out.
The food finally started to get served, so we left the hookah behind to go eat. I ordered the fish tacos (around here the fish is grilled, not fried) and asked for the hottest sauce that they had. The bartender put the bottle on the bar and without trying it, poured some over my tacos. Other students had tried it already and were trying to give me warnings to which I replied, “You don’t even know.”
The bartender was curious about how hot I liked it, so she placed a bet with me. If I took a shot of the hot sauce, she would buy me a beer. Thomas warned me, “If you need to boot, the door is right there.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, “It’ll be all right.”
I knocked back the shot, but the sauce was thick, so I used my fork to scrape more of it out, and then used my finger to wipe out any that was left in the bottom. “Not only does he do it, but he’s cocky about it!” the bartender said.
I wasn’t ready for my beer yet, so waited until I was. The shot was fine, but when I take in a whole bunch of sauce, I’m done eating. I got the sweats and my nose was running, and I couldn’t have felt better. The waitress had put all of the group’s orders on to one ticket, causing mass confusion for everyone working and trying to pay. Giovanna decided to take over and take action. She grabbed a pen, paper, and a calculator and began asking everyone what they had to tell them what they owed. Finally, two hours after getting to the restaurant, we were back on the bus and heading back.
Around nine or nine thirty, we pulled up in front of Glenn’s house. He asked the driver to stop there so that he wouldn’t need to walk back down the hill with his stuff. He lives across town from me, but across town is better than across town and down a hill. I walked with Maria and Tara who have very little sense of direction. I took them as far as I could, which was to my house. I knew that they lived nearby, I just didn’t know how near or where exactly. They were unsure but figured that if they walked toward the water that they would eventually find their way back. Finally, I was able to crash in my bed and reflect on everything that happened.
