eyes

        Back in Quepos it was business as usual in my neighborhood of Boca Vieja. (which translates into - Old Mouth ??  Ok, I have no idea. Really.) We pulled on to my street, and as I watched the children play and the dog’s roam, I had this strange feeling wash over me. It was a feeling of being “home”.  But then, I was home wasn’t I?  I don’t have another home.   My family, all fifteen of them that were in the house at the moment, welcomed me with hugs, kisses, and a thousand questions all at once about my weekend.  Bileida immediately went into the kitchen and whipped up a huge plate of food for me.  Pinto Gallo, a salad, and the most amazing piece of delicate fish I have ever eaten.  She said she bought it at the market because it had been caught that very day in a fishing village nearby.  Anibal laughed at me because I only drink one inch of Coca-cola every night.  When they offer me something I always accept because I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I have never been one to drink soda at all.  I didn’t realize he was watching so closely. I am learning, though, that everyone is watching.  Watching very closely.  I have always lived in cities, and I am an urban dweller by nature. Part of the attraction, beyond the energy and excitement that a city provides, has been that I can wander around in an anonymous fashion if I so choose.  Here though, I am learning, I’m in a very small town, and although I think I am just going about living my new life, people are noticing.

         One day PamEla asked me to walk with her down to the beach because she had to buy something for her son. He was a surfer and wanted her to bring him a hemp necklace from the local beachside market there.  We trekked down the main road to the beach and stopped at the first booth we found.  It was draped with dresses, jewelry, towels and t shirts for sale.  A beautiful Tico woman greeted us and assisted PamEla with a gift for her son. I asked the woman her name. “Como se llama?”  She answered, “PamEla.”  I laughed with delight and said, “Mi amiga es PamEla, tambien.” My friend is Pamela too!  She kissed my friend on the cheek and they laughed at the odds.   Then I told her that my name was Lucetta.  She looked at me and said, “Se a quien ustedes es." Oh I know who you are.  She wagged her finger at me and said, “Usted es la muchacha mala que hacia su tarea en el autobus la semana pasada." You are the bad girl who was doing her homework on the bus last week. What?!? Oh my gosh, she was right.  “No, you don’t understand!” I explained in breathless English, “It was my birthday the night before.  I don’t do that every time!”  She burst out laughing and responded in perfect English, “Sure, sure, sure. Next time just ask ME for help. Very nice to meet you, mi amiga Lucetta.”

       Several years ago, I took up running.  I was getting older and I wanted to stay healthy for as long as possible.  My feet hadn’t hit the pavement since I’d left the US, but I decided I needed to start back up again because my Tico mother fed me into oblivion. I checked the tide chart for the beach.  If the tide was low, I could run on the beach and jump over the small rivers that ran into the ocean, without getting my running shoes wet. (Nothing ever dries out here) If the tide was high, the rivers were too wide and I would have to remove my shoes to wade through them, making running impossible. I got up several times that week at the crack of dawn, according to the charts, and ran down to the beach.  It was a steep run down a gravel road, but I passed several beautiful homes on the way, waving and exchanging pleasantries in spanish with the caretakers of the houses as they worked in the yards.  On the weekend I slept in and walked down to the beach with a friend.  As we headed down the gravel road we noticed there was a man standing in the middle of the road.  As we neared, we saw that he stood with his hands out as if to stop us.  We walked closer and as we did, he took one hand and tapped it on the top of his other wrist where a watch would be. With a grin on his face he said, in English, “You’re late.” 

home again 

public elementary school right beside my house
hey, is that one of those stray dogs?...

 PamEla's booth

my beach at low tide