Rosario de los Niños

On Saturday night, I went to the Rosario de los Niños at the home of Kattia, Mauricio and their children Aaron and Axel This religious/social event featured a electronic keyboard player who alternated between religious songs and leading the assembled group through fifty Hail Marys. Although it is the Rosary for children, the adults seemed far more engaged while los niños seemed somewhat more concerned about when they would be getting their ice-cream cones (a tradition of such a ceremony). Perhaps it has something to do with the connection between the wafer like texture of the cone and the communion host
Catholicism is the official National religion of the country; about 75% of Ticos identify themselves as Catholics with 44% saying they are active in the Church. As is the case with many aspects of day to day living here, Costa Ricans tend to avoid extremes. The food here is never too spicy, in fact it tends to be much blander than in other Central American countries. Public displays of emotion are rare and, from what I have been able to ascertain, the relationship amongst many with the Church tends to be primarily social and reserved for special events like observing the Sacraments (births, Baptisms, Confirmations. Communions etc).

A Walk to Town

It is a gorgeous day, so I decided to go for a walk up the hill (which is really steep), past one of campuses of the University of Costa Rica (the main campus is in San José) and through town. The walk takes about forty-five minutes and features some great views of the surroundings and the Cathedral in central San Ramón and another church closer to where we live.

Some Photos of the House

Here are a few pictures of our house for those of you new to the blog.

A Few Excursions

Since we arrived in San Ramón, we have had the good fortune to experience aspects of Costa Rican life that would be invisible to us without the kindness and generosity of our friends and neighbours Alfredo and Marielos. Alfredo, one of twelve children in the Sancho family, was raised on a farm located between San Ramon and Palmares. It is literally impossible to go anywhere with him without being introduced to one of his relatives.

Although San Ramón has all the amenities of a city and is rapidly evolving into a convenient and economical option for those who work in Alajuela or San José, its heart still beats to the hooves of the horses and the rhythm of the machetes.
So many changes in the four years since we bought our home in the barrio of Santaguito, in the canton of San Ramón.
the shack across the street is now a lovely three bedroom home,
the lot beside it, once the home of goats and cows,
has now been divided into two lots waiting for development,
the bumpy rock road is now paved,
fewer fields and more housing sites.

However, a short drive leads to places that have not yet been affected by the inevitable reach of urbanization. Like Piedades Sur, a small town of just over 300 which is a forty minute drive northwest from us. Apparently, Alfredo is also related to just about everyone there; if not, everyone knows someone to whom he is related. While looking for the home of Marielos' friend Lillian,we spent about an hour at Fransisco and Raphaela's house where we watched the chickens, the cows and several insect nests hanging from the roof of the front porch. Keep in mind, that Alfredo had never met them before; he just asked directions from the street, and we were invited in for a while. We walked out with a big of fresh lemons picked straight from the tree. For some reason Alfredo left with the branch of a tree (probably for its medicinal qualities).

We finally made to Lillian's for coffee and some corn tortillas and were then invited by Selenia, a young woman who speaks very good English, to her family's small farm next door (quinta) that featured a tilapia pond, home made cheese, cows, chickens, fruit trees and dogs.

We finished our excursion at Kiko's house. We have met Kiko before (Alfredo's fist cousin, of course). He runs a small taverna that seats about five (maybe six in a pinch) during the weekends. He was out of town working on construction, but his wife invited us into the house for a few shots of contrabando, home made blackberry wine and a look at the new granddaughter in the adjoining home of her daughter.

All in all, a wonderful peek into the lives of small town Ticos.
Even after four years living here, we are still amazed and overwhelmed at the hospitality and friendliness of Ticos.I suspect this is not the case in the turista locales (the Pacific beaches, San José), but it is around here.

Eggs at One O'Clock

Elizabeth and I arrived in San Ramón late Sunday evening. We were picked up at the airport by Kattia, (Alfredo and Marielos' daughter) and her husband Mauricio. I think an important component of an effective blog, one that transfixes the reader, is the constant insertion of names that the reader knows nothing (and may care even less) about,and delineating the complex relationships that exists amongst those named. I know it helps me sort things out.
The following day we attended to financial tasks - paying the annual property taxes ($80.00 which includes garbage pick up twice weekly), reactivating my online account with Banco Daviviendo so I can pay the electricity, water, telephone and internet while in Vancouver and setting up an account for Elizabeth.
Unbeknownst to me (forsooth), HSBC Costa Rica is no more, at least in name. I assume the change is a cosmetic response to the outrageous practices it followed that allowed for many millions of dollars to be laundered throughout its international network; however, I was most reassured to see the posters in the bank that showed smiling happy middle-class families enjoying their prosperity. This relieved me of any anxiety I had about beloning to an evil financial empire.
On Miercoles (Wednesday), we went for a short trip with Alfredo and Marielos (see above) in their carro(car). Las vistas (the views) were mui linda (very beautiful). Note the depth of my language capacity and the ease in which I float between English y Español (and Spanish).
When we arrived back to our casa, Marielos invited us for eggs at one o'clock (hueves a la una). I thought it was a bit odd as she is not in the habit of announcing her lunch menu, but I assumed it was a late January Catholic tradition, a way of marking the transition from Christmas to Easter. At about 12:55, I told Elizabeth is was time to go, and she looked at me quizzically (as

she is often wont to do), and asked "Por qué?"(why?). Apparently, Marielos had invited us to join them on another outing: jueves a la una (Thursday at one).
Oh goodness, progress is relative. I feel I have come a long way from my conversation (repeated many timmes with the woman at the meat section of the supermercado:
Algo mas? (Anything else?)
Si, ciao. (yes, goodbye)
Maybe her smile after each of these interactions was not one of friendship.

Still, I hope we did not miss out on the pre-Easter eggs.

Returning to San Ramón and Blogging

Well, it has been a few years since I posted on this blog. For better or worse, much like Sherlock Holmes' miraculous escape from the torrents of a watery demise in a raging waterfall, the return of "From Vancouver to San Ramón" has emerged from a watery hiatus.

Unlike Conan Doyle's decision to resume his chronicles, this resurrection has nothing to do with outrage at its absence and the subsequent clamoring for its reappearance. I just sort of want to.
Elizabeth and I are returning to San Ramon for two months this Saturday (the 27th). So, if anyone is still out there, stay tuned.

Many Lessons Remain Unlearned

Well, as several of you (thanks) have reminded me, many days have passed since I last posted anything. I am not sure why but think it might have something to do with a reticence to assume there is any interest in following an ongoing narrative of what might, at first blush, seem a celebration of the mundane. However, I have discovered the recounting of events helps me gain a deeper understanding of the impact of trying to live in a foreign country without the help of anything but a rudimentary capacity to communicate. For instance, I am learning that language is jut one of many tools that help to build relations; gestures, pantomimes and well timed nods are vastly under rated. Difficult for a rather verbose guy like me.
Anyway, I will tell you in this post about the first of two incidents through which I invite you to make meaning about my rather strange life here.

The Traffic Ticket

After spending a great two days at Playa Carrillo with my buddy Davis who spent ten days here, I was feeling quite confident in my Costa Rican acculturation. After all, my Spanish is somewhat better than his and, my vast experience in dealing with the bureaucracy and cultural norms here is well documented in previous posts. Oh. how the self-deceived can fall. And usually do.
After a warmish three and a half hour drive, punctuated by the ubiquitous suicidal and homicidal driving of Tico motorists who always risk life and limb of themselves and anyone else imprudent and arrogant enough to use the highway as a form of transportation, we finally arrived in San Ramon. Driven by pride and an odd, yet persistent trait I have of demonstrating my acumen, I casually slowed down to make an illegal left turn in order to avoid the longer (7.5 minute) drive to the main intersection. After all, we locals always use the shortcut (it's kind of our way to self identify as vicenos in the barrio of Santaguita). As I was making my turn, we could hear several other motorists yelling something. The way my brain was (or wasn't) working I assumed it was part of a cultish welcome reserved for those of us who have been anointed as locals. Or maybe not.
Just as I made the turn, I was greeted, no not by the welcoming waves of my friends and neighbours, but by the commanding presence and beckoning arm of the Police who had set up a roadblock to reinforce the traffic laws. And reinforce them they did. None of my tried and true strategies had any impact on their resolve. Pathetic sniveling, whining "I am sorry, but I am a stupid Canadian who has no knowledge of the laws and had no idea a double yellow line preceded by a sign with the clear international icon signifying no left turn means no left turn. After a polite and professional examination of my license, passport and the papers from my rental vehicle, the officer, using a very cool hand held gadget printed out the ticket and informed me I had thirty days to contest the ticket.
Yeah, like that was going to happen. Unless utter imbecility is grounds for absolution, I had no chance. I was imagining the scene at the hearing. Bearing in mind, only last year, I spent two months responding to the question posed at the supermarket, "Algo mas?" which translates as "Anything else?" with "Si,si gracias, adios," and then walking away. So what kind of a defense for the indefensible could I offer? I am so Spanish challenged that when I am asked if I want anything else, I respond "Yes, yes, thank you, goodbye". In retrospect, it might have worked, but I am unsure as to whether or not my travel insurance would cover the requisite, ensuing medical examinations.
Upon an initial study of the ticket, I was pleased to let Davis know that $52 or so was not going to impoverish me, and I deserved it and blah, blah, blah. The next morning, I could not resist sharing my cute little misadventure with my friend Alfredo and his daughter Kattia. When I offhandedly apprised them of the amount of the fine, Kattia looked at me rather sceptically and asked if I was sure. She then told me that the government had recently enacted the harshest fines for traffic infractions in Latin America in an attempt to curb the carnage caused by the aforementioned Ticos, some of whom act out their machismo while behind the wheel, sort of a 21st Century dance of the toreadors.
What's in a comma or a decimal point, you might well ask. Ohh, about $500 or so, give or take a few dollars. Upon closer inspection and forty-two checks on the currency exchange program... well, let's just say the penalty was a bit steeper than I originally thought.
After Davis and I finally discovered I had to pay the fine, a fine set of adventures in itself, I, who had meticulously had the exact amount at the ready, was a bit bemused to learn (ah, it is all about the learning and, in this case, the earning), that a 30% sales tax was added to each traffic fine. I resisted the impulse to try to explain I wasn't really interested in buying anything and haplessly handed over the equivalent of at least a month's salary for the average Costa Rican professional.
At least, I played my role in keeping the roads safe!

My next posting will outline the thrilling journey I recently completed in getting my malfunctioning clothes washer repaired.
Algo mas?