Most of the time, when it rains, it does so in short bursts and it usually is an aguacero, or down pour. The ground floods and everyone who doesn't have an umbrella gets soaked. Then, in about 15 mins, it lets up and the sun dries everything.
When it rains, it smells so wet and earthy and you can practically see the plants grow with each shower.
In general, Costa Rica reminds me of when I was in Kenya in that I am very aware of what I smell. It seems like it always smells like something in developing countries, and while Kenya usually smelled like burning garbage, Ciudad Quesada smells like diesel and wetness, with occasional wafts of raw meat and fruit and waves of cow and sugar cane when trucks pass through the agricultural center.
There is always music playing somewhere and you can continually hear vehicles downshifting to make it up the hills. Cars travel around town at about 10km an hour with huge canvas covered speakers strapped to their roofs, repeating advertisements and short bursts of music.
Este. Verano. Caliente. Visite bar "El Techo" por la mejor musica y mujeres "sexy"....
The sidewalks are cracked, most buildings look like they could use some paint, and the houses all have tin roofs and bars over the windows. But there is a very non conventional beauty to this place, which has not been manicured to fit what tourists think a tropical paradise should look like. The buildings, although dulled with time and humidity, are all painted in pretty pastels. Even the trucks that pass through shipping brahman cattle to slaughter are colorful, with slats painted bright blue, yellow and green.
There is also always the impression that the jungle that was once here is still waiting in the wings to take over once again. Anything planted or growing here seems to thrive and every patch of exposed earth has flowers and foliage clamoring to take hold. Even the the cement sidewalks, drains, and walls have tiny little ferns poking out of every crack.
The people here are friendly and boisterous, acknowledging themselves that Ticos talk fast and frequently. People go out of their way to help all of the time, giving up their seats on the bus, holding customers children while they shop, and eagerly offering advice and directions to an often confused gringa. People hiss (Sssssssst!) to ask for silence, warn away dogs, and to get attention, especially that of pretty chiquitas. Trucks and busses signal to let the cars behind them know that its ok to pass and drivers beep all of the time. Not the angry, drawn out beeps of American cities, but quick chirps that let pedestrians know they are there and tell the cars in front of them that they can go.
And, even with all of my feminist ideals and background in sociology and gender studies, the machismo culture here is pretty good for a gal's confidence. Men, young and old alike, never hesitate to appreciate the beauty of women that pass them by. They beep, hiss, proclaim their love, whistle and make their car alarms go off. The Ticas, for their part, all know that they are beautiful, wear the tightest clothes possible and generally ignore the advances, strutting arrogantly past with no acknowledgment other than a small smile on playing at their lips.
The most popular saying here is Pura Vida, or pure life, and there is certainly something about being here that makes you feel more alive.
Esoy enamorada de este ciudad...
... I'm in love with San Carlos
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