Energies of Place

I write this from Orosi, a small Costa Rican town in narrow valley of shapely green mountains beneath textured grey sky. A town where i will write about in the following week, as this is where i will remain for a week. Will have time to get to know it and to be embraced in its feel.

It is a small walkable town of  about 5000 people so i read. It has a main street, a language school which is why i am here, a few stores, restos, warm bathing pools, a historic church, and more i am sure. It also has a calmer way of life which i notice as i stroll up and down the main street, and down the middle of some side streets, with few cars and still unpaved. The air is rich and it is green.

And how far away this morning seems (never mind yesterday afternoon or last week). This morning i awoke in Alajuela, sun shining bright, listening to another snore. went out in the early morn as town was waking up, most shops still closed, stands setting up, a few milling about, trucks unloading  and it was hot. I went out later, to shop a bit, the market getting busy on a Saturday and traffic picking up. I looked for a shop i had spotted the other day, but they fell into a blur. which one of the many that look all the same was it. I left the hostel, walked a last time on now familiar streets got onto the bus to San Jose. I left the now familiar behind.

The bus, on the autopista, i enter another zone. Going into San Jose, a traffic jam, another, though this time i had a vague idea of where i was. Off the bus, a busy pedestrian mall full of people and stores, bigger shops and a few more international chains that in Alajuela. The main square by the museum, it seems alive, i think i might like to stay for a few days next time i pass through. down another street i walk, away from the center and onto another bus. Zone transition time. Bus goes out of town in other direction, through traffic, and then out to autopista, past some shanties on the way.

Into Cartago, coming in it looks provincial as guidebooks say. Fields, then homes, then center, pass through quickly, another zone. Off the bus, near las Ruinas, the square, a panderia, a line of buses, the ruins to check out, the centre of this town, try to cross the avenue with others and traffic does not stop. no one know where my next bus is. i eat and smoke, and walk a few blocks. Another zone, one which i will visit more when i pass through again.

Find the bus, pull out on secondary road, through Paraiso, past a mall and a university, down semi-rural roads, all new. Then we descend – from the top look at town on valley floor, a river, a magical walls of green as we twist on down, shade grown coffee, green beneath a canopy of green, another zone, and into down, main road, a church, square, soccer field, the store where i am to get off, another zone – one i will explore.

Into the hostel where i will stay – that a zone in itself.

As i pass through many places, most new to me, some barely familiar,  time shifts differently that if i had stood still. It becomes a bit of a blur for i have passed through much in such little time – a blur. And in that time i have also passed through many versions of me – concerns of this morning now disappeared, intense sensations forgotten. In motion time and space blur and all seems more rapid.

Do you ever have that sneaky feeling that you have gotten on the wrong bus? Well i did today, and i was right. I spent the day circling around, riding buses through zones i had not planned. I had wanted to go to Heredia but got on a bus to San Jose instead. And the roads i took, the journey itself, effected how i felt about my destination. The journey itself is part of the trip, and the how, and the what you pass through on the way there, can help determine how you interpret the place when you arrive.

I had spotted the bus stand yesterday with a big “Heredia” sign hanging above and had seen many buses with that destination flow through town. I knew where the stop and station was, just around the corner and down the block from the market, i was sure. But this morning i took the long way there, down the street where it was, i thought, down another block and it was not there – i knew it had not disappeared over night. Cut through one bus staging area that i knew was not it, up the block to a corner that looked familiar, and over through another place where people gathered for the red Tuasa buses and finally to the end where a line of people waited to board the bus. Next to the  the sign that said “Heredia”.

One bus pulled out full just after i arrived, and a few minutes later another one pulled up – a san jose-alejuala sign on the front so i asked. Asked the man who was talking to or at me, not sure of the words he spoke but understanding his message, but when i asked Heredia he said yes. Asked the guy who counted the people. Did not ask the driver who collected my fare. I should have asked again – but the “autopista” sign was over on the next lane so this had to be right.

It was as we pulled out of town that feeling that i was on the wrong bus grew stronger. Though i did not know the route or the territory for i was going somewhere that i had never been, it grew as we headed out onto the autopista. There was a sign somewhere for Heredia, but i knew before we reached the exit that the it will go all the way to San Jose. The man who had given up talking at me got off the bus and then we turned in the direction of centro. I was not really focusing as the roads got crazier, more built up, and the traffic heavier. This was not where i wanted to be. the calmness i felt this morning was stripped away.

 We are caught in traffic, crawling slowly among cars, trucks, and so many different coloured buses, belonging to different lines, going different places. I notice the stench of diesel in the air. We turn the corner and arrive at a small terminal – a church is near and i debate whether to stay and explore this town. But no – i want something a bit calmer, and i don´t see the pedestrian street that someone had told me was by the terminal.

I walk over and ask the driver, the sign on the bus says ¨Heredia¨but i want to be sure. Yes, he say, it is. We wait a few moments, and then pull out, crossing over the pedestrian street a block away, then past run down buildings, the rows of used car lots and into more traffic. We are stuck in traffic. And as my impatience grows, and my bladder starts to scream, i realize that a traffic jam is a traffic jam, a definition of place in and of itself, and when you are in one it really doesn´t matter where you are. Finally the traffic calms, some trees appear, and we get to the short zone between the two, but once again it builds up.

We approach the university, and i take out my map and am realize that coming from san josé i am not sure where the stop is or which of the terminals on the map i will pull into. We get closer to the center, and i see the top of the church and a square of green, the central square i am looking for. The bus keeps going. The terminals should be on the other side of the park, and back a bit. We keep going and i get nervous. On an older corner building i spot the name of a street (a rarity in this land without street signs), way beyond where i want to be. We are on a one way street, maybe we will loop around and go back. We get to a Y with a gas station and keep on going. Someone rings the bell, we stop across from a megastore – i walk up “centro” i ask i am not understood, and i get off. Where the hell am i? It is beyond the map. I will walk back.

I turn around, and start the walk. Past the Y, the sidewalk gets iffy but i follow three students. It must be up ahead. The traffic is crazy with no (optional) stop signs, and i know i must eventually cross the street. The boys disappear, and i walk alone. A semi scruffy guy up ahead, his coat falls from his daypack  and i pick it up and call out to him forgetting the word for Sir, another man calls out to him in spanish, Senore. He thanks me and turns to speak to me in English and points me on my way.

I am exhausted and overwhelmed. I get to the centre park with its fountain and trees, to the church and enter but do not really see, the town does not look at all colonial to me, for it is not, much of it destroyed over time, and does not seem quiet. I wander around, and go have lunch – a much recommended veggie resto near the university – i imagine a cute courtyard where i can relax and linger but its air is institutional and the food is  mediocre.

I decide to head back, head back home. I go to find the bus stop. There are three that are there and no signs to indicate anything so I go to the one where the largest group is gathered. A bus pulls up that says “Heredia” on it and half the crowd gets on the bus. I ask a man where is the stop for Alajuela? He points to the bus as the last passenger steps on¨, i ask the driver if it is for Alajuela and he says yes. I pay my fare.

This road, while busy, is much calmed than the roads in or out of San Jose. Pass homes, condo complexes – everything with grated windows, and complexes with guard stations on private drives, but pass trees too. The road twists, a few walk along. If i had actually come this way, how different the experience in Heredia might have been. I would have seen it through different eyes. Someone once told me when i could not decide which path to take that it really didn´t matter for all lead to the same place. I now question that wisdom, for the path and the journey cannot be separated from the destination. You might arrive, but you will be changed along the way.

We came into Alajeula along a different route from the airport that the night before, i saw church tops and wonder if it will bypass the stop. As we get closer all looks familiar and i smile. I get off before the station in a corner that i know. I look at the bus and the sign still says Heredia. I have come back and now appreciate the tranquility of this town, and head off to a place i know for coffee, and over to the central square.

addendum – I edit this the next day. I have been back to bus central, on a successful bus trip. As i waited for the bus to Volcan Poas , i saw where i had made my mistake – across the street where i had been yesterday there was an old sign indicating Heredia, the big one up above was next to  where i now stood. And above the bus where i got on yesterday, was another big red¨”pista” sign. Maybe i was meant to take that journey after all.

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 ... [Continue reading this entry]