Costa Rica No. 6, In Alajuela

I didn't do a lot today. I slept poorly and went back down to sleep between 4 and 8 am, but managed less than 2 hours, so altogether, I had less than six hours, but still not too bad, considering. This often happens, and I'm sleeping on a harder than usual mattress, so my back gets a bit sore. I spent breakfast mostly visiting with the young Nicaraguan (he's 20), who lives and works here. He is also learning to put more cheese in my omelette. He is in Costa Rica for better work opportunities, much as people come to Canada from elsewhere for the same kinds of reasons. Then the new owner of the bed and breakfast came in and we sat and chatted for a while, all in Spanish. He is in his thirties, married with a little boy. I could tell he was from San José, the capital city here. I have spent enough time in this country so that I can now tell the difference. Josefinos, as they like to be called, are pretty slick and smooth and sophisticated, and they are very adept at getting what they want. He is a nice, agreeable sort (the previous owner, whom I saw today in the afternoon, would care to differ, but I'll tell you about that a bit later, Gentle Reader) and we seem to get on well. Following breakfast, I went for a long walk through Alajuela and beyond (I started with some quiet time in the cathedral, which seems to have become my starting point while in Alajuela) and found myself in some rather gritty neighbourhoods. Then this younger, hard-bitten looking guy in a muscle shirt tried to get my attention. I excused myself politely in Spanish, and quickened my pace a little. Then a woman, evidently a sex worker, tried to get my attention (as I suspect the guy, maybe her boyfriend, might also be), and I picked up my pace some more, of course after politely declining. When I don't feel quite safe, I don't tend to hang around. A bit later, I gave some coins to a disabled man seated on the pavement, then a much fitter looking fellow held out his hand in my face and asked me for, or demanded from me, a dollar. I told him he would have to check with the fellow I just gave to, and kept walking. By the way, I don't mind visiting different neighbourhoods, since this helps give me a better idea of how people live here. In a way, it's like adding fibre to my diet. By the same token, I only wish that more people visiting Vacouver would actually visit the Downtown Eastside, which is also known as Canada´s Poorest Postal Code to help round out their perceptions of my fair and dumb-blond city. I really hate the kind of consumer tourism that gets promoted everywhere, especially ads that feature all-inclusives that show actors and models, all of them flawlessly good-looking, or probably flawlessly photoshopped, dressed expensively and impeccably, dining, dancing, swimming, gambling, getting pissed to the gills, and doing all the lame and vapid stuff that all-inclusive resorts are notorious for. I really gag at this kind of advertising, since 1. very few people are that young and good-looking and ostentatiously well-off, 2. they are never anywhere near as happy as their fake smiles and laughter would indicate, 3. they merit compassion rather than envy because they and everyone else are expected to swallow that kind of dangerous and soul-destroying Koolaid. Even if I did look like those people (and to tell the trth, I'm glad that I don't), I still wouldn't want to be there. Give me regular human beings any old day, just the way that God made them. After returning to the bed and breakfast for a short rest I went to the same cafe at the mall as yesterday, for a cold drink on the patio while beginning a new drawing. The previous owner of the bed and breakfast, a Canadian like me, came over to say hi and we ended up chatting for some time. It turns out that according to him he was shafted by the new owners. I am not going to take sides, since I do not know the details. This is one of those nuanced narratives where no one seems to win. Especially given that my Canadian friend is the perceived other in this equation. Probably the truth is somewhere in the middle, and really, since when do all of us conduct ourselves like impeccable little saints in the game of life? Certainly neither Canadians nor Costa Ricans, nor anyone else. For example, today I saw quite a lot of visible homelessness, but until Canada, a first world nation, gets its act together and starts taking better care of our own disadvantaged, we have no right to finger wag. And the beast goes on. Lovely weather today, Gentle Reader. Hot and sunny, but the strong wind all day has cooled things rather nicely. By the way, here's a little metaphor to play with your minds a bit. When you walk through any residential neighbourhood in Costa Rica, or in any other Latin American country, you will notice that a lot of the houses are protected by metal bars in front, so almost everyone seems to live behind bars. I'm not quite sure what to do with this one. Tomorrow, I am on my way to Monteverde, and the place where I'll be staying is not protected by bars. All for now, ducks!