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Thank You Costa Rica

S ometime before my youngest child was two, I started going out of my mind feeling strangled with the daily routine. I longed to have days with no agenda, no concrete roads, Target, Teletubbies, errands, phone calls, or unrecognizable vegetables in cellophane. I ached to be out of my element. Establishing a connection to something greater than that which our lives revolved around became a necessity.

None of these feelings were uncommon to me in my life of 29 years. A child born to an immigrant scientist I came into this world pre-wired for exploration. Normality drives me as insane as staying put for any length of time. Wanderlust, a longtime companion of mine followed me into motherhood, haunted me as I tried to feel satisfied with mother toddler playdates and trips to the park. Strange looks would come over the faces of our friends and family when I brought up the idea of traveling to foreign places with the children– you can’t take the children there, they might get sick! How many times my poor husband suffered through my bi-annual pleas to sell the house and move to the mountain hills of Bhutan or the African plains. Better yet, what about making a tour around the world for a year? Finally though, after lengthy discussions, he agreed to spend a summer in Costa Rica. I think he knew going would be far better than a summer with me in a restless state.

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John and I had already taken two trips to Costa Rica, one before having our two children, when traveling was an escape with liberties of time and relaxation. The second time was when our youngest child was only a year old. Not as relaxing as the first, we spent the better part of the week battling stomach flu, and had to in the end cut our trip short. Nonetheless, these jaunts had been enough to intoxify me, to leave me wanting and needing more of Costa Rica’s unique magic. Admiring the dusty red roads, lush jungle, rolling hills, rugged empty coastline, cloud forests, and towering palms, I couldn’t help but feel so comfortably small against such greatness. The air thick with oxygen, you felt you could reach out and touch it. From the start I was swept away by the country’s beauty, where green seems greener than anywhere else, and where at every turn you are faced with the most vibrant colors of bougainvillea. In Costa Rica, coffee plants cover the mountains; cows, chickens, and dogs own the roads; grass is still cut by hand with a machete, and luscious pineapple, mangoes, papaya, and banana plants blanket the landscape. The people are incredibly warm-hearted and profoundly proud of their country’s natural beauty. The spirit of Costa Rica is absolutely unmistakable.

So we returned, this time for six weeks. In tow were my children Nicholas 4, and Emma 2, each carrying small backpacks stuffed with a few favorite belongings and my husband who so willingly packed up his computer to test the limits of the virtual office. Together we set off to learn about this special place in hopes that some of it might permanently ingrain itself in our over-planned, much too busy lives.

I woke up on the first morning in Costa Rica with incredible sunshine streaming through the windows. I walked out onto our balcony and took in the breathtaking views of the Central Valley with magnificent vibrant plant life seeping through every crevice. The air was cool and sweet and I could hear precious little voices of children on their way to school. My senses just exploded and I felt alive again.

Our first week was spent in the bustling town of Escazu, a suburb of San Jose. Beautiful green mountains, coffee plantations, farms, and distant views of the volcanoes surround the town. While it houses several embassies and large US companies, Escazu has both a rural and city feel to it. We took drives into the mountains completely in awe of the disparity between million dollar homes owned by wealthy foreigners placed right across the street from the tiny tin homes of the barrios. Later we traveled northwest to Tamarindo, a remote yet popular surfer destination on the Pacific coast. I knew when we rolled into town that I would be happy to settle there for some time. Just as if out of my dream, there were only dirt roads, empty tropical beaches, and a noticeable lack of footwear. We rented a small house across from the beach nestled in exotic growth. The soothing echo of waves crashed in the distance and the howler monkeys frequented the tree on our front porch.

Most of our days blended blissfully together, with time passing effortlessly on the beach or exploring the wonders of strange looking insects and lizards. We ate meals at simple restaurants, every single one of which was open to the outdoors. Sometimes only a metal roof covering a platform with wooden tables and chairs, these restaurants exuded the most wonderful aromas of roasting chicken, beans, and fried plantains. The kids would run wild, yelping out their few words of Spanish to anyone who might be nearby or they would play with whatever animal was wandering about. These outdoor nirvanas surrounded by luscious breathing living walls were sensual especially at night when the jungle was dark and mysterious.

John worked diligently, just as he would have at home, hooking himself up to the business world with various cords and adapters. Somehow planted in this most remote place he remained focused, completely fixated on the projects before him. He had several frustrating days where he couldn’t “tap in” – passwords denied, and phone lines down. Apart of me felt bad, responsible for putting him through this but I knew deep down that we all needed something that was there. We deeply needed it.

As much as I hated to admit it, at first I was a little intimidated at the prospect of having all day with the children for weeks on end without our normal line-up of toys, neighborhood friends, libraries, and playgrounds with which to occupy ourselves. Would I tire of them, would they of me? Would there be enough to do? There was certainly a period of adjustment but in a short amount of time the pace of Costa Rica forced me to just relax and let the day go where it was going to go. Incredibly, I started to observe seeds of play that either weren’t present at home, were buried under distractions, or I hadn’t had the time to notice. Nick lost himself in a world of King Cole for days, singing, and acting, and Emma toddled around chasing whatever poor creature might be moving in her line of sight. We read the same 5 children’s books, the only ones we brought with us, over and over making up silly endings and reeling with laughter.

A local girl taught us how to wave a banana just right to get the monkeys to eat out of our hands. Long hours were spent taking walks over unbearably muddy rugged roads (potholes the size of sinkholes) into town for groceries. And we took leisurely horse rides into the rainforests, through hidden villages and pastures. Emma chose to wear the same shabby T-shirt each day while Nicholas preferred a pair of swim trunks and his cowboy boots. Both of their blond heads bobbed happily around, an amazingly radiant white color from spending mornings on the beach. My hairdryer and make-up stayed neatly packed away in my case. A wrap and a tank top were all I bothered with. At night we fell asleep to songs of the jungle singing so loudly, an entirely new world revealing itself upon our virgin ears. Slowly I began to feel a part of myself emerging, a part that was just a little simpler, a little more pure, perhaps even satisfied.

I got itchy to explore further so we packed up and headed to Manuel Antonio, a verdant, hilly coastal area also home to a national park known for its vast and diverse collection of flora and fauna and rainforest wildlife. We rented a house high on the hill with sweeping views of the Pacific. It was mid-June, still the low season so the area was quiet and peacefully free of tourists. I took jogs down to the beach and was almost always greeted with the sweet chirps of the squirrel and white-faced monkeys and if I was lucky, I would get a glimpse of a three-toed sloth.

I knew I was far from home when we were enjoying a typical Tico breakfast of eggs, black beans and freshly blended fruit drinks when suddenly several tables emptied, mine included. I gazed around until I found the blond heads belonging to my family in a crowd all looking down into a well. Had a child fallen down? Did someone loose a wallet? Concerned, I walked over to see what was going on. My son Nicholas points to me with an anxious look on his face. Oh, my god I thought. What has happened? I looked over the wall and there, way down in the well was a baby frog, sitting on his mother’s back, stranded. I sighed in relief as everyone else tensed in anticipation of the mother frog’s fall to her death and that of her offspring. Finally, somebody helped the two out and everyone cheered. I was both amazed and touched that an entire restaurant could empty over the fate of two frogs. We were definitely not at home.

One of the most magical days during this trip was one Saturday morning when John and I took off from the Quepos docks on a jetski. We climbed on and immediately sped off into the vast open space. Instantly I was overwhelmed beyond belief. I looked back upon beautiful Costa Rica, all signs of human life fading away in the distance so that the green of the mountains took over--the clouds meandering in and out of the tops of the hills. I was so free yet so connected. The wave swells were huge but we flew effortlessly over each one, catching air, smacking down, moving forward fast, strong. I could feel the power of the sea and earth underneath us, complete liberation from all that tied us down.

My arms held tight around John’s waist. Pulled in close I could smell his sweet brown skin, feel the strength of his beautiful lean body and I couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. Had our lives become so detached at home that I had forgotten how pure it could be to simply hold him? The two of us together and the ocean danced the waves in concert. I loved my husband at this moment more than I ever thought possible. Somewhere out there our paths crossed, we became one, floating, flying freely. I shut my eyes and let myself melt into him, salt water splashing hard into my face.

I will forever associate this summer in Costa Rica with a morning yoga class I took in the jungle. It was there that I began to understand silence in a way I hadn’t before. It was real silence--a stillness that I have felt only a few times and this to me signifies the essence of our Costa Rican experience. Weeks full of heavy breaths and stretches forced my mind and energies to venture in directions uncharted. Over the course of our stay in this colorful, spirited and peaceful country I felt as though I was truly appreciating just how grand and incredible this earth is. My life slowed enough that I could hear, smell and feel its richness. What a majestic gift she is. I admired the harmony between the Costa Ricans and nature, where there isn’t a need to control, and where people behave as fortunate bystanders to their natural surroundings. As companions they respect one another’s presence.

Never would I have imagined that I would return home having experienced more than I had originally hoped for. Somewhere deep in the jungle mud or the ocean breeze, or the smile of a Costa Rican face, I for one brief second felt my place in the world and any restlessness came to a complete standstill. I have never in my lifetime soaked in so much goodness, from the magnificent surroundings, to the overwhelming beauty of my growing children, to the sumptuous ocean that laid bare such raw tender emotion for the man I am blessed to sleep next to every night.

Thank you wanderlust, thank you Costa Rica.

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Lydia Dean divides her time between Mas De Gancel and living in a village house nearby during the off season. She still has ties to India where she volunteered at an orphanage some years ago - devoting revenues from their other rental houses to a girls orphange there. Drop her a line at Lydia Dean or visit her website at www.masdegancel.com Lydia Dean deansrch@bellsouth.net www.masdegancel.com

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