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Eons ago, I recall reading a travel story on Polynesia where the word aloha meant hello and goodbye. It also suggested dozens of other interpretations depending on the age and gender of the person using that word, the time of day, plus temperature, humidity, and wind speed. Having recently completed a ten-day tour of Costa Rica, I received a similar impression of that country's colloquial expression, pura vida. Literal translation: pure life. For almost any question (in Spanish) referencing an individual's welfare, a proper and popular response applied — pura vida. How are things going? Pura vida. Your bunions okay? Pura vida. I'm confident that a new visitor to that country, unfamiliar with Spanish, can walk into a room filled with strangers and shout that phrase and quickly get a smiling response from all parties. I place pura vida as the lead-in to my telling of a recent visit to that Central American Republic by our forty-two member tour group. Our busload of gypsies came from many U.S. States, plus a few hailed from Canada. Perhaps a dozen total arrived with a spouse, whereas many others came with a family member or a friend. We therefore began the journey strangers to one another.
That transition through which the tour group melded into a close-knit, friendly assembly overrode the mixed visits to jungle canopies, the varied wildlife observed, banana/pineapple/coffee farm stops, plus, trips to a volcanic caldera, turtle preservation area, a butterfly center, and a hot springs. No longer strangers, we had coalesced into a tribal clan. By then, in my judgment, we might have toured hell itself and had a good time.
You want an example of group support and cohesion? Well, at Tortuguero National Park, a turtle protectorate on the Atlantic side, we were offered a zip-line ride for thirty bucks. In that my brother Bill had earlier mentioned that the Wild Animal Park in Southern California charged ninety bucks for their cable slide, I saw the Costa Rican ride as an affordable why-not attraction. At least one-third of the tour group signed on with the understanding that if you backed down from the beginning to the second station, you received a refund. One lady balked, but with friendly encouragement from her new acquaintances, she zipped the whole route and finished feeling good over completing the challenge. We began (and ended) our Costa Rican journey in the Capitol City, San Jose, subsequently heading to the Caribbean coast before jockeying over the cordillera to the Pacific before returning to San Jose. We thus viewed many sights, purchased many a souvenir, and avoided any inclement circumstance. We dined to a sufficiency with rice and black beans de rigueur for each meal, mostly slept well, and seldom heard the buzzing of mosquitoes or other insects. Even the guttural male howler monkeys 'woofed' their territorial announcement on the mild side. On our first morning in a rain forest encampment, a spokesperson mentioned how early and fiercely they howled. But as one lady of our troupe put it the next day, “Despite that dire warning yesterday about those monkeys awakening us at an ungodly hour with boomings that could be heard for miles, at least this first morning they kindly kept their throaty roars mostly muted.”
Moreover, the logistics of visiting the attractions never stretched anyone's patience to a breaking point. Sure, a mild case of sunburn surfaced, and the high humidity at one beach site infringed into the comfort zone of one turista, but always the young and vivacious tour guide, Daniela Ramirez, charmed the group. Additionally, on the final night we sat to a dancing presentation showcasing four richly costumed young Costa Ricans — two muy guapo (handsome) young men, and two muy guapa (attractive) young ladies. Earlier, on the Atlantic side, a two-member marimba band played calypso. By then, a few of the group knew of my stint as a ball room dance instructor (after my discharge from the US Army while trying to finish my junior college courses). I thus didn't mind asking a few of the ladies to pirouette on the dance floor. But, on that final night, we were to be spectators of a dancing troupe that gyrated and leaped about in the manner of Dancing with the Stars. When the main display of tango thru salsa dances had concluded, the leader called four ladies and four men — me included — to the stage for learning basic moves in Latin dancing. From the start, I knew we were to be comic foils for the costumed dancer. Certainly not in a mean spirited way. Impishly, I waited for the right moment to turn the tables on him. The man exhibited some simple steps for us seniors to follow. No problem there. Then he asked the woman first, in turn, and then the men to jiggle their shoulders. Moving one's shoulders forward and backward alternately at a rapid clip takes practice, lots of practice. Then it came my turn. "George," he said, having learned all our names when we were called to the stage, "jiggle your shoulders." I can do so easily enough, but not at a rapid pace. With my hips however, I can swivel like a pro. To enhance the moment, I stood tall, looked forward in intense concentration, elbows bent by my side, brows furrowed, and devilishly gyrated my pelvic zone. I'm proud to say the crowd loved my display, and the male leader had to turn his back to me and good-naturedly wave me down. 'Twas my finest moment of pura vida.
In the country named Costa Rica by the Spaniards for its having a rich coast, the land flourished not with gold or silver, but with fertile soil. Moreover, it has no army, and takes pride in offering universal health care and public education. Costa Rica and its healthy spirit are interchangeable. Finding myself still smitten by the phrase, pura vida, I'm going to adopt it and spread it around to the natives of San Luis Obispo. We have good soil and goodwill in abundance. Therefore, dear readers, ¡PURA VIDA! Photos by Barbara Harris. To see more photos of the trip, just visit Barbara's Picassa site.
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