Energies of Place

The town has opened up and i want to leave. It is not only that i am grimy and itchy eaten over the night, but i ask myself why am i here. It is an ordinary town.  Yes it is the closest town to the airport and the cheapest cab ride away when arriving fairly late at night. It is not terribly old or historic, it is a Central American small city where people live, carry out their daily lives. The few tourists who pass through are, like myself, either arriving or departing the country – the first or last nights spent here. It seem not like a place to linger for long – to live perhaps, if you were Costa Rican, but not to visit. The name Alajuela looks a lot like, and to me with my hopeless pronunciation, sounds a lot like, alleluia – so somehow i was expecting something grand here – despite what the guidebooks said. But it is in fact ordinary – no, not like the US, but a different type of ordinary.

And i said to myself, before i left, that i wanted to see some of the “real” Costa Rica, this valley where most people live in and around San Jose. But do I? Did I? Or was it just something i told myself i should – the sociologist, or anthropologist in me – to explore a terrain on its own merits. If i do not explore this way do i feel bad? Should i? That somehow i am not being a proper traveller, a real explorer of the world, but rather a tourist if i do not. But then, i think no, in the US and Canada, my native lands, i do not generally seek out the ordinary when i travel, the sprawling suburbs, the unknown small cities and large towns, the forgotten back roads that are not enclosed in spectacular scenery – i do sometimes end up there but it is generally not where i go. So why should it be any different here? But here’s ordinary is different from our own – a different flavour and pace to life, different sites, smells and sounds, so in that sense it is special. But will i go out spend more of my time in the tourist places, to see what is natural and wonderful, the places Ticas put on show and display to the world in promotional brochures, not merely the places they work and live.

Yes, maybe it was the grating over windows and doors, the metal blinds securing the store fronts, fences and at times razor wire when i came into town last night, a cab ride through empty shut up streets. But now the town is coming to life, stores are opening, people about, cars and buses stream through town.

A dance on the narrow sidewalks of down, though it is different from that of New York. Here the sidewalks  are narrow and crumbling like the streets with a drainage gullies or trenches between them and the streets, deepest at the corners, to flow away the rains that fall during the green season. You wonder how the women stroll along in their little hi-heeled shoes – or some of them at least. And the crossings are chaos – a few with a light, the rest with nothing – the few stop signs seem optional, as i follow others in order to determine when it is safe to cross. I am hesitant and unsure not knowing this dance – thankfully most of the streets are one way. How far do you step out in front of a parked or sitting car or truck in order to venture forward, and are there any unwritten rules to stopping – it is organized chaos that seems to flow.

Like the bus “stations” or more aptly called staging areas where i ventured too – several in the city, different companies with buses going in different directions can you find the sign where you want to go? The station? A bus? and i don’t think there is such a thing as a schedule or an office – but that is for me to figure out tomorrow. And the busses zoom down and pass constantly.

Homes, stores, restos – all is built directly on the sidewalk with no set back. The covers are up, through grates decorate all windows and cover the few vestibules there are. No trees on the streets though the central square is filled with palms and other trees. The park is a respite from it all – especially the market area which sits a few blocks away and blends into bus zone. Stalls outside and in selling fruits and veggies – potatoes and carrots are plentiful and cheap, green oranges, papayas, small bananas, and more, and in the market, with its narrow corridors and dim lights – many stalls stand empty – but there are those, and shoes and leather, and meats and fish and soft cheese and in the corners – the sodas – the cheap food stands where i should have but did not eat. The market seems older, ad gathers the smells of all that is for sale. Outside more sales, fruits and veggies, dollar store ware, men with lotto tickets and a few selling bootleg copies of the 2012 DVD. and of course the shoes, the shoes and cheap clothes, electronics and more – it all looks the same – the single (or is it 2 stories buildings) flat on the sidewalk, concrete painting in white or fading yellows or something, some signs that poke out over the sidewalk but it all blurs together and realize you have entered the same store three times.

I go back to the central square where the cathedral is locked up and closed. People sit on benches taking it easy beneath the trees, It was the centre when the town was built. I pause, no cafes on the square, a McDonalds across the way but i go out to find the English bookstore that promises espresso and more. It is wonderful, but i stocked up on books before i arrived and cannot carry another. I stop and write what i now type. And itch, and itch, i wonder what to do – i want a day to let the vibe sink into me, but i do not want to go back to where i stayed. He tells me of another hostel which i cannot find.

Though the city centre is on a grid, street signs and addresses do not exist except on paper – if that. You describe a place in relation to something else, a landmark, a statue, a square, a school or hospital and give directions from there. I check out the place that appealed to me beside the hostel where i stayed last night with its depressing vibe. I ring the door and look inside and smile. On line it had not been clear if they had dorms but they do, i take a look, a brighter room with yellow walls, real walls not 3/4 walls where i was, walls that let the hall light shine on my face in the upper bunk all night. This place seems more joyful, the back patio yard is real with a covered kitchen and tables, books abound, and art and wood and i decide to take a loss and move over to Hotel Cortez Azul – the dorm is $1 cheaper than next door through i must double pay for the  night. I go out back, read a guidebook, set up my bed and smile. and begin to feel much better. The place you stay and first impressions can mark your stay in the larger place that surrounds.

I walk back out after a chat with someone, to the bank to get some local currency as they had been almost out at the airport in New York before i left. I cut through the square, lunch time is approaching, more people gather, reading, sitting, eating icecream and indigenous many plays the flute, a few street dogs also lay and listen. I go back to the market, and in one of the many stores find flip flops that fit so i can dare to take a shower – i buy some veggies and some fruit. But it is busy so i do not eat there. Go to a nicer resto – and was happy that my meal was $1 less than i expected and now i sit and type. Overwhelmed a bit by the zaniness outside, yesterday seems like years ago and Buffalo seems as far away as it is. Tonight the town will shut back down tight, and i will sleep – if not before then.

I have left the city behind and now i sit at airport waiting to leave, smoking a last cigarette watching cabs drive by. I came too early of course, afraid that i would miss out, and now i sit biding time. In the city all was alive – more alive than anywhere i had been, did i crave the familiar, the institutional zone, full of people, but just people passing through, on their way to somewhere else – after all that is what an airport is for.

The city brimmed with life and now i sit alone unable to remember what was just a short train ride away – that island across the river that pulses and teems with life, a heartbeat of its own, amplifying the beats within each of us.

And what life and diversity there is, a motion in place and an energy you cannot compare – all beats louder and quicker, neurons fire and bounce off one another in rapid succession.

The Upper West Wide, a calmer place but populated with people living daily lives, trees, dogs on leashes, children in strollers and in hand, two matrons great each other and a group of worn down women gather by liquor store. An interplay where pedestrians and cars are on equal ground, walk, dont walk, look to see – on a busy corner a crossing guard directs it all – smiles and says hello.

I go to Midtown where the train will leave and where tourists and others passing through gather – Penn Station, The bus terminal, the Empire State Building nearby, hucksters sell tickets, tours and stuff – a t-shirt for $1.99, 18 postcards for $1 at a nearby shop, a temporary feeling to this area dominated by hotels, shops, and building of business. I walk around, feeling a different rush one i do not like as well. But find my way to my oasis of Bryant Square where life pauses for a while in relaxed mode, beneath the trees, with tables and chairs set out to lounge, the pond to skate, and a variety of people pausing to enjoy the moment. A camera flashes, an old man reads a paper, a younger one on a laptop, down and out chat and female suit strolls through sipping coffee. The diversity of Manhattans architecture on the perimeters and the diversity of its people within.

The inside teems with life, a gathering of nations, a dance on the sidewalks, people pulling bags behind, workers the dollys of drinks and chips to be stocked in a nearby store, a multitude of nations and languages,. the yellow cabs, trucks turn corners, people stroll through the chaos and it works. Aware alert but calm. A zillion stores in which to buy, grab a coffee or a bite, a bench to gather, it has all.

Manhattan is alive, a crossroads of the world with so many who live their lives in so many ways. People ignore and they greet – a gaze, eye contact avoided or met, a smile. People in bubbles walk around but the are linked, linked in this dance – or the multitude of dances – ballet, hiphop and waltzing all upon the stage. There is an energy you take with you for a while, the pulse inside, the beat – ba bom. ba bon- faster until you crash or join in the dance. .The streets are a stage and the life is the music, confusing and loud, but lively.