Postcard from San Jose
Greetings from the reliable rain capital of the world.
I have been here a week, long enough to see the invariable weather pattern during this "green season”: brilliantly sunny in the morning until one or two o'clock in the afternoon, then rain until early evening. In the decade since I last visited San Jose the city has undergone considerable modernization. Tap water is safe to drink everywhere and futuristic skyscrapers create dramatic backdrops for all of the older buildings still in use. Cell phones are widely used, but foreigners are prohibited from buying a line. If we want a phone, we must rent one for $200 per month.
Mosquitoes in the city are rare. So far I've seen only one, the one that bit me on the leg in an Internet cafe. With so few mosquitoes, I don't imagine malaria can be much of a problem here in the city. Everyone says to expect swarms in the jungles where some of the critters do carry the organism that causes malaria. I'm religiously taking my Chloroquine once a week, just in case one of the bad guys decides to sample Californian cuisine.
The last couple of weeks before I left were spent arranging my financial affairs, among other demands. Earlier in the year, I completed the sale of Santa Barbara real estate I have owned for thirty years and studied over what to do with the proceeds... in addition to giving the government an obscene amount in capital gains taxes. Janis, my Big Bear Lake bank manager, patiently guided me through all of the intricate convolutions required to manage things remotely during my yearlong absence. However, after all the careful planning, the first two ATM's I tried refused to recognize the financial virtues of my beautiful new translucent bankcard. The corporate office for that famous international bank tells me they offer no ATM banking services here in Costa Rica. Fortunately, I still have the old card from another bank I used so successfully throughout China.
During one of my early evening walks around a neighborhood near my first hotel, I witnessed ordinary people doing ordinary things: an elderly fat lady in her house dress sitting on a chair softly talking with her daughter, boisterous kids harassing a store keeper, a young man in a tank top briskly walking while singing in a high pitched effeminate voice loud enough to be heard a block away. Stopping at a Quizno's for a refreshment I am amused by an older, overweight guy with a jutting jaw and a grin so wide the stretching must have hurt, totally beguiled by a pretty dark skinned girl a third his age. He supports his head on the knuckles of one hand, elbow firmly glued to the table. Mesmerized, the girl played with the straw in her empty soft-drink cup and kept smiling at the old guy as intently as he at her. Both seemed totally enraptured by one another, so much so neither notices the white haired North American watching them closely for ten minutes. My choice of Quizno's might well have been McDonald’s, Burger King, or Taco Bell. Every block has at least one of the American fast food joints.
As daylight turned to dusk and then darkness, an interesting phenomenon unfolds. Side streets busy with frenetic activity in the sun light became dark scary alleys at night while drab deserted trash strewn alleys of the day became exciting neon lit party venues at night. I suppose one could see the same transformations in any city of the world, but this is the first time I noticed the stark contrasts enough to comment.
Downtown San Jose reminds me of Bangkok in one regard: many older North American men loiter in the bars and sidewalk cafes, some with young girls, others attempting to attract them. And the girls are plentiful, some are obviously professionals, but many seem to be opportunists or naive sweet young things. I have been amazed by all the belly button jewelry being worn by some of the scantly clad young women.
While nibbling on a chicken leg at a KFC I noticed a sign advertising "Puree de Papa" and wondered if that might be the way some of the girls get their revenge with the obnoxious American "papas" or perhaps it had some religious significance with a reference to the Pope, affectionately known as "Papa" down here. As it turned out, KFC is serving mashed potatoes: papa is also potato in Spanish.
My downtown hotel is the Presidente, a four star establishment with $50 to $100 room rates. In Costa Rica, everyone pays an outrageous tax of 16%, considerably boosting the final bill. Beggars, shoe shine boys, musicians and curio vendors hover around the hotel entrance and attached open-air restaurant playing tag with the busy security staff attempting to discourage them, much to the amusement of the tourists.
San Jose is a humid place. Washed socks take 24 hours to dry, cotton underwear about ten - that's ten times longer than anywhere in China. The hotels have more television channels than many of us have in California. Evenings are spent watching the tube for an hour or so and then reading from the hundred books stored on my nifty iPAQ Pocket PC. At the moment I am engrossed with the Da Vinci Code, a truly remarkable piece of fiction wrapped around a good deal of interesting historical facts about the origins of the Catholic Church and the New Testament Bible. It is clear why it has become so controversial, especially among people of faith. I want to do collateral research on some of the more contentious assertions made by the author.
I've been hearing about a lifetime Pneumonia shot and wondering if it might be a good idea for a traveler like me. Does anyone know if they really work? Some may remember my whining about a very sore infected big toe that threatened to delay my departure. That has been healing nicely and now is mostly symptom free. The healing properties of our bodies are amazing. The snug fitting Propet Walking shoes I chose are now super comfortable and I again walk many hours each day.
Most of the people on my postcards lists have responded to the "still want 'em" query. I will be weeding the lists as time permits of those who have not specifically indicated a preference. If you are bored by my tales of exotic wanderings, please excuse the delay in getting you off the lists.
One day a short bus ride got me to the second largest city in Costa Rica, Alajuela where I walked for a couple hours. The Park of Mangoes is a dangerous place. As I stood taking pictures of a sculpture display, a green mango the size of a baseball crashed at my feet with terrifying impact. Looking up a squirrel dashed along the branch high above directly overhead. I have to wonder if the squirrels have learned how to make unaware tourists jump. Near the entrance to the Cathedral along the park an example of the mysterious stone spheres can be seen. No one seems to know their purpose or origin, but they are found all over Costa Rica.
Another long bus ride offered another kind of excitement. As I fumbled to get off at an unfamiliar stop, two guys pressed me in a "sandwich" jostling me in an obvious attempt to lift my wallet. Always alert to possible dangers like this they got nothing but dirty looks. When one of the perpetrators got off the bus with me and then crossed the street to board a bus heading back the way we had come I had my confirmation. We really do need to be aware of possible bad guys everywhere down here.
I leave for Playa Hermosa on a Gray Line bus in a few minutes, so will cut this short. Expect updates when next I encounter a decent cyber cafe.
I have been here a week, long enough to see the invariable weather pattern during this "green season”: brilliantly sunny in the morning until one or two o'clock in the afternoon, then rain until early evening. In the decade since I last visited San Jose the city has undergone considerable modernization. Tap water is safe to drink everywhere and futuristic skyscrapers create dramatic backdrops for all of the older buildings still in use. Cell phones are widely used, but foreigners are prohibited from buying a line. If we want a phone, we must rent one for $200 per month.
Mosquitoes in the city are rare. So far I've seen only one, the one that bit me on the leg in an Internet cafe. With so few mosquitoes, I don't imagine malaria can be much of a problem here in the city. Everyone says to expect swarms in the jungles where some of the critters do carry the organism that causes malaria. I'm religiously taking my Chloroquine once a week, just in case one of the bad guys decides to sample Californian cuisine.
The last couple of weeks before I left were spent arranging my financial affairs, among other demands. Earlier in the year, I completed the sale of Santa Barbara real estate I have owned for thirty years and studied over what to do with the proceeds... in addition to giving the government an obscene amount in capital gains taxes. Janis, my Big Bear Lake bank manager, patiently guided me through all of the intricate convolutions required to manage things remotely during my yearlong absence. However, after all the careful planning, the first two ATM's I tried refused to recognize the financial virtues of my beautiful new translucent bankcard. The corporate office for that famous international bank tells me they offer no ATM banking services here in Costa Rica. Fortunately, I still have the old card from another bank I used so successfully throughout China.
During one of my early evening walks around a neighborhood near my first hotel, I witnessed ordinary people doing ordinary things: an elderly fat lady in her house dress sitting on a chair softly talking with her daughter, boisterous kids harassing a store keeper, a young man in a tank top briskly walking while singing in a high pitched effeminate voice loud enough to be heard a block away. Stopping at a Quizno's for a refreshment I am amused by an older, overweight guy with a jutting jaw and a grin so wide the stretching must have hurt, totally beguiled by a pretty dark skinned girl a third his age. He supports his head on the knuckles of one hand, elbow firmly glued to the table. Mesmerized, the girl played with the straw in her empty soft-drink cup and kept smiling at the old guy as intently as he at her. Both seemed totally enraptured by one another, so much so neither notices the white haired North American watching them closely for ten minutes. My choice of Quizno's might well have been McDonald’s, Burger King, or Taco Bell. Every block has at least one of the American fast food joints.
As daylight turned to dusk and then darkness, an interesting phenomenon unfolds. Side streets busy with frenetic activity in the sun light became dark scary alleys at night while drab deserted trash strewn alleys of the day became exciting neon lit party venues at night. I suppose one could see the same transformations in any city of the world, but this is the first time I noticed the stark contrasts enough to comment.
Downtown San Jose reminds me of Bangkok in one regard: many older North American men loiter in the bars and sidewalk cafes, some with young girls, others attempting to attract them. And the girls are plentiful, some are obviously professionals, but many seem to be opportunists or naive sweet young things. I have been amazed by all the belly button jewelry being worn by some of the scantly clad young women.
While nibbling on a chicken leg at a KFC I noticed a sign advertising "Puree de Papa" and wondered if that might be the way some of the girls get their revenge with the obnoxious American "papas" or perhaps it had some religious significance with a reference to the Pope, affectionately known as "Papa" down here. As it turned out, KFC is serving mashed potatoes: papa is also potato in Spanish.
My downtown hotel is the Presidente, a four star establishment with $50 to $100 room rates. In Costa Rica, everyone pays an outrageous tax of 16%, considerably boosting the final bill. Beggars, shoe shine boys, musicians and curio vendors hover around the hotel entrance and attached open-air restaurant playing tag with the busy security staff attempting to discourage them, much to the amusement of the tourists.
San Jose is a humid place. Washed socks take 24 hours to dry, cotton underwear about ten - that's ten times longer than anywhere in China. The hotels have more television channels than many of us have in California. Evenings are spent watching the tube for an hour or so and then reading from the hundred books stored on my nifty iPAQ Pocket PC. At the moment I am engrossed with the Da Vinci Code, a truly remarkable piece of fiction wrapped around a good deal of interesting historical facts about the origins of the Catholic Church and the New Testament Bible. It is clear why it has become so controversial, especially among people of faith. I want to do collateral research on some of the more contentious assertions made by the author.
I've been hearing about a lifetime Pneumonia shot and wondering if it might be a good idea for a traveler like me. Does anyone know if they really work? Some may remember my whining about a very sore infected big toe that threatened to delay my departure. That has been healing nicely and now is mostly symptom free. The healing properties of our bodies are amazing. The snug fitting Propet Walking shoes I chose are now super comfortable and I again walk many hours each day.
Most of the people on my postcards lists have responded to the "still want 'em" query. I will be weeding the lists as time permits of those who have not specifically indicated a preference. If you are bored by my tales of exotic wanderings, please excuse the delay in getting you off the lists.
One day a short bus ride got me to the second largest city in Costa Rica, Alajuela where I walked for a couple hours. The Park of Mangoes is a dangerous place. As I stood taking pictures of a sculpture display, a green mango the size of a baseball crashed at my feet with terrifying impact. Looking up a squirrel dashed along the branch high above directly overhead. I have to wonder if the squirrels have learned how to make unaware tourists jump. Near the entrance to the Cathedral along the park an example of the mysterious stone spheres can be seen. No one seems to know their purpose or origin, but they are found all over Costa Rica.
Another long bus ride offered another kind of excitement. As I fumbled to get off at an unfamiliar stop, two guys pressed me in a "sandwich" jostling me in an obvious attempt to lift my wallet. Always alert to possible dangers like this they got nothing but dirty looks. When one of the perpetrators got off the bus with me and then crossed the street to board a bus heading back the way we had come I had my confirmation. We really do need to be aware of possible bad guys everywhere down here.
I leave for Playa Hermosa on a Gray Line bus in a few minutes, so will cut this short. Expect updates when next I encounter a decent cyber cafe.
posted by Santa Barbara Theatre at
16:02
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