peregriNation: Matapalo

My field trip began as Charlie picked us up at PamEla's hotel and we drove through the countryside to Matapalo. I was happy to see more of Costa Rica. We passed mile after mile of palm trees and I asked Charlie about them. He explained that back in the 1940's these were all banana fields owned by the United Fruit Company, or as we know them, Chiquita. There was a banana blight that came in from Panama and destroyed all of the bananas. Chiquita decided to try the African Palm to save it's business, and it worked out wonderfully. The oil from the tree is the basis for lotions, cosmetics, soaps, candles, and is also used as cooking oil. By the time the banana blight had passed, the palm industry was firmly established and profitable. We passed acres and acres of nothing but palm trees, except every few miles or so there was housing that had been built for the field workers. Each one of these sets of homes, interestingly enough, perfectly surrounded a soccer field.

We arrived with enough daylight that we were able to tour the Jungle House property and walk across the dirt road to the beach. It took my breath away. It was truly the most beautiful beach I had ever seen in my life. I felt like I had arrived at the end of the earth. It was long and wide with dark sand created by volcanoes. There was not one single person on the expanse of the entire beach. I wanted to cry at the beauty and simplicity of it. PamEla and I walked in silence, rendered speechless, both of us being consumed by an immense stirring in our souls. It was one of those unforgettable, life-altering moments that hopefully we all experience at one point or another in our lives, jolting us out of our numbness, if only for a short while. We left when the very last glow of daylight fell below the horizon and we were afraid we might not find our way back to Jungle House in the dark.

That evening, Charlie piled as many people as he could from his communal house, into his truck and we drove to the next town. We all wanted pizza and there was a great little restaurant that served it in Dominical, a surfer's beach, located about 16 kilometers south of Matapalo. Over dinner we got to know Charlie's funny friends, through a combination of spanish and english. They mocked him from time to time about being our professor. "Oh no!" I came to Charlie's defense, " He has taught us many useful things in class!" He taught us how to say, "Echo un pedo." Literal translation: He is letting out farts, and "Echar un pedo." He farted. I cannot, for the life of me, even remember how this came up in class, but they fell out of their chairs laughing hysterically, pointing at "un profesor". I looked at Charlie and asked, "Como se dice en espanol, how do you say, "Don't flap the sheets?" He and PamEla laughed and Ignacio, who spoke very good english, asked what I meant by that question. Evidently he doesn't have any brothers or sisters or he would understand. I explained that when someone passed gas in the bed and they wanted to pull a prank, they would "flap the sheets" and the smell would go everywhere torturing the poor person next to them. He immediately relayed this in spanish to everyone else. They laughed and laughed. They had never heard of such a thing! Is this only an american custom? What can I say? I am doing what I can to be an ambassador of good will for the U.S.

Charlie gave us a riding tour of Dominical after dinner and on the way home we were stopped at a police check point. Several officers leaned into the window and asked many questions in spanish that I did not understand. From the back seat, Ignacio pulled out his ID and handed it to the officer. The policeman seemed satisfied and handed it back. He then asked Romero for his. Romero did not have his papers with him. In Costa Rica, it is required that everyone carry their ID card on them at all times, gringos included. They asked Romero to step out of the car and took him back to the guard house. Ignacio whispered to me, "They think he is Nicaraguan and an illegal." Twenty minutes passed and we grew more anxious as we wondered if they might keep him. Finally, they returned him to the truck. He said that he had memorized his ID number, and over time he was able to convince them to check it against their records. After a while, headquarters had responded back that it was indeed Romero, and he was, in fact, a tico. We rode in silence for a few moments understanding that his life could have been changed at that moment. Several miles down the road we passed what must have been a waste water treatment plant, and Ignacio broke the silence when he yelled out, "Who flapa da sheets?!?!"