Starting a New Life

August 17, 2011

I’ve finally moved into my own place: a two-bedroom apartment in a great neighborhood for a reasonable price. Only it’s unfurnished…which in Costa Rica means no stove, no fridge, no bed, no table, not even a chair.

To make things more difficult, I moved in on Mother’s Day, and Ticos really love their mothers. Nearly all shops close (the two days prior are so busy they’re like the Black Friday) and the locals spend time with their families. One of the few stores open is Walmart, which is really expensive here, so there was no way I was buying furniture there. But at least I could get a bottle of raid. When I moved into my apartment, the shower curtain was suspiciously closed; then when I opened it, low and behold – a cockroach had discovered a nice wet spot to reside. Throughout the apartment, there were bugs everywhere. My sister had told me a story before I left about how when she was in Costa Rica, she woke up to a tarantula descending towards her. I didn’t particularly want that experience.

I got a little lost on my way to Walmart and found myself wandering through a residential area I hadn’t been. I came across a soccer game and middle class families were watching the players move like acrobats in the rain. This was how I imagined Central America.

Back at the apartment, I took out the bottle of raid and sprayed every nook and cranny of the place. I removed the dead cockroach in the shower, killed the spider in the bedroom, and squashed the small, fly-like creatures, which were easy to kill, but were also intent on sticking to the most difficult to reach corners of the room. I discovered one spider in the laundry room that had built a web that was quite impressive. You could tell that that spider had labored over it, that it had lived there for a long time (in spider years).

When I killed the spiders, they all put up a fight – crawling away, flailing their little legs – except for the spider that made the intricate web. That spider let go after a single spray of Raid, as if it knew this day would come. Although I killed every other insect in the place to the point where my apartment reeked of bug spray, and I obliterated all the other webs, I didn’t tear down that spider’s web. I couldn’t destroy its home.

Religious Pilgrimage

Every August 2nd, Ticos (Costa Ricans), Nicos (Nicaraguans), and citizens of other nations in the region walk from their hometown to La Basilica de Nuestra Senora de Los Angeles in the ancient capital of Cartago. Old men, women, and small children alike make the journey, some from miles away, and for weeks on end. When they finally reach the basilica, many complete the last two hundred meters on their knees.

They make this journey to see a statuette less than a meter tall. La Negrita, or “The Black Virgin”, is a representation of the Virgin Mary. The story goes that it was found at the basilica in Cartago by a native woman on August 2nd, 1635, and when she tried to take it, it miraculously reappeared…twice. Although La Negrita may be small, it is incredibly holy to Ticos, who have declared her the “patron Virgin”.

Needles to say, I wanted to see what all the fuss was all about.

With a day off work on August 2nd for the holiday, I made plans to go to Cartago immediately. The only problem was I couldn’t find anyone to go with me - everyone who I met here had either already taken the journey, or had no intention of going. Well, it wouldn’t be the only time I traveled solo.

But then it got more complicated. Monse told me that the pilgrims were completing their walk on August 1st. I had to work that day and would have to go at night. Pickpocketing is a bit of a problem in Costa Rica and it is ill advised to go out at alone at night. Even worse, I would have to take a bus through San Jose, which is not only more dangerous than Heredia, but it is a city in which I had never been – plus I would have to walk through the city center to get the bus to Cartago. (There are no “bus stations” here really, you just have to find the street where the bus you want goes – oh and there aren’t addresses here either. Seriously. I currently live at “one hundred and fifty meters from the so-and-so high school” and it’s not uncommon to have addresses where something occurred, like a famous person was born or died, or even near buildings that no longer exist. Addresses are geared toward the locals. But we’re getting off topic.)

I decided to be prudent and go in the morning on August 2nd to see the mass instead. So I was up at 6:30 (a late day…I’m usually up at 5:45 for work) and bussed it out there (no, I wasn’t making the trek). Out the bus window, I got to see a few of the last pilgrims on the final leg of the journey. I took out my camera for the first time since I arrived here and snapped away.

When I reached La Basilica, an impressive structure, there were throngs of people praying with umbrellas. I made my way into the crowd of people who hymned away, watching the priests through a TV screen and gazing at La Negrita, enshrined in gold.

A police plane flew dangerously low and dropped something from the sky. I had no idea what was falling and I ducked under a stranger’s umbrella, shielding my face with my hands. But then I saw what it was that the plane had let fall from the sky – they were flowers.

I looked around to see if I could spot any other gringos. I didn’t see any but one thing’s for sure: I was the only Jew here. But having gone to a Jewish day school, I was familiar with the act of praying; although people of differing religions seem so opposed to each other, there is a certain connection they have, an understanding.

I spent forty minutes or so at the mass. I found a spot in the grass near a mom and three kids who were Nicos. When the prayers came to a (temporary) end, one of the children turned to me and put out his hand. I shook it. Strangers all around me offered me their hands. And they said two words. “La Paz.”

There are certain ideas that have no boundaries. No matter our nationality, religion, or race, we all share the human ideals. I thought back to when I was at Strawberry Fields in Central Park on the 70th Anniversary of John Lennon’s death and New Yorkers chanted “Give Peace a Chance!” We stood out in the December cold for hours to commemorate a symbol of peace. I remembered my time studying Hebrew in Israel, and thinking how “Shalom” was the only word in the language with three meanings – Hello, Goodbye, and Peace. And here, every person who had made the incredible journey to the basilica had come to pray for the same ideal. Peace is Costa Rican: there is no army, no war. But it’s more. Although countries may be divided, and their differences may be vast, peace has no boundaries.