Energies of Place

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 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.

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