It was a national holiday in Costa Rica and all the schoolchildren held festivities with traditional dances, songs, and celebrations at school. After our Spanish classes were done for the day we were invited up to Manuel Antonio Bi-lingual Elementary School for the festivities. The children were so excited to share their dances with us. I’d heard from a friend of mine who teaches English there that she hadn’t had an English class in weeks because they were preparing for this day during every spare minute of class time. When we walked in it looked just like every school I’ve been to before a big event. Children ran excitedly to and fro getting into costumes. Mother’s painted make-up on the little girls and one boy got a mustache for his role. A microphone was being set up in the corner, and the mothers and fathers laid out traditional foods on a table. As “tico time” goes, these preparations took an extra hour after we arrived, but we waited patiently in the sun being good gringo guests invited to the party. Eventually there was a call to order and the celebration began. They danced and sang, recited poetry from memory, and added funny quotes from their country. It was an adorable event. The parents were so proud, and I realized that as humanity, we are all the same no matter where we live or what our age. We all want to love and be loved, we all want someone on the planet to be proud of us, and recognize our value, and we are all just trying to be the best we can be under the circumstances of being human.
PamEla graciously invited me to come to her pool at the hotel to cool off for the afternoon. We stayed in the water for two hours and enjoyed a break from the intense heat, until PamEla decided it was time for happy hour. We strolled next door to a place called Gato Negro, Black Cat. The bartender was a friend of hers and he spoke fairly good English. “He will help us with our Spanish homework while we have Cervesas.” Beers. Who was I to argue with a plan like that? With his help we got our work done and laughed and played as we practiced our terrible Spanish with him as well. As the sun set, I decided it was time for me to head back to Quepos to have dinner with my family. It began to pour down rain and quickly became dark so I decided to take a taxi instead of the bus. We sailed down the hill about 2K towards Quepos and all of sudden everything went dark. Completely dark. Then ahead of us, traffic stopped cold. We sat behind a bus in line and waited for a while. Finally the taxi driver inquired with the bus driver as to what was happening. As it turned out, during the storm, a huge tree had fallen across the one road to Manuel Antonio, taking with it the one power line to there as well. The word on the street was that it would take several hours to clear the tree. I looked at the driver and decided I would just have to make the best of a bad situation. “Pueda me toma apoyo a Gato Negro?” Could you take me back to the Black Cat? Why would I sit in the street for hours when there was a party to be had, instead. I went up the stairs of Gato Negro in the dark and yelled, “Hola!. I’m back.” PamEla was delighted and was helping the restaurant put candles all around for light. They brought us another round and we talked about how we take electricity for granted. By this time, it was way past dinner and I knew my family would be concerned. There was no way I could call Bileida on the phone and understand her rapid Spanish, so I asked the bartender if he would call my house and explain that I was there. He agreed and I gave him her name and phone number. The bartender came back laughing so hard as he recounted the conversation. He said that at each point during the conversation, she would stop him and relay the information to the 20 usual relatives gathered at my house for dinner. It went like this: “Shhh, It’s about Lucetta!” “She’s in Manuel Antonio. “ “The power is out.” “ A tree is down across the road." “She’s ok.” “She’s at the bar at Gato Negro.” He said there was a silence and then an uproar of laughter in the background. “I guess she IS ok!” To Anibal, I was no longer Lucetta. My new name was Gato Negro, which he called me from that day forward.
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| these boys spiked their hair for the occasion |
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