In everything there must be balance. And living in a developing country reminds me of that regularly. I love when people call Costa Rica paradise. Sure, in the photos, the tropical beaches and mountainous jungles look like heaven. But, you can’t see the heat in the photos. You can’t see the mosquitoes, and you certainly can’t see the regular frustrations that come with living in a developing country. Like today for instance, one of the hottest days of the year, in a year that has been the hottest since 2014 on the Osa, some idiots with a chainsaw took it upon themselves to take down a tree that was growing alongside the road just a stone’s throw from my house. They didn’t cut a wedge out of the trunk to control its fall, nor did they tamp a metal wedge into the cut to push the tree’s fall away from the power lines. Instead, they cut the trunk straight across, and you guessed it; the tree fell directly onto the power lines.
Located along the road from Puerto Jimenez to Carate is the sprawling Finca Bijagual (pronounced Bee-Ha-Gwahl). Both a tourist destination, offering guest cabins, a restaurant, and horseback riding, Bijagual is also a functioning cattle farm. Bijagual is owned by the always pleasant Don Trino. A towering and elderly Tico, he is bespectacled and always clad in a Hawaiian style button down. Instead of floral patterns, his shirts feature images of cowboys roping steers, fisherman battling marlin, or scenes of Daffy Duck and Goofy sipping cocktails on a beach. He can always be found hanging in the restaurant, an open-air pavilion located just adjacent to the road. The Bijagual restaurant also serves as a venue for the occasional dance party, events that draw attendees from all the nearby villages. Beer and cacique guarro (Costa Rican-made sugar cane liquor) flow freely while partiers couple up to dance the merengue, salsa, and bachata. These events go late into the night, and almost always go on without incident. The same, however, cannot be said for one Bijagual party that occurs but once a year. Coinciding with the birthday of Don Trino’s son, this event is the annual castrating of the bulls.
The experience is tough. With the intense bouncing comes waves of exhaust filling the passenger area as the driver downshifts to make it up the steep inclines. The clatter of the truck with its makeshift implements is near deafening. Dust is everywhere, coating everything. And, for those of us born with testicles the colectivo can be particularly painful, as genitals are pounded by the hard benches if not sitting in just the right position. The smartest travelers on the colectivo use bandanas or buffs to cover noses and mouths, sunglasses to protect the eyes, and loud music playing in ear buds to help muffle out the ear-splitting racket as the truck smashes down the rocky path.
Today I have arrived back in Costa Rica’s Osa Peninsula after leaving it over 8 months ago. Many forces drove me back here, but the two that pushed hardest were, one, the disconnection I feel from my own society in the U.S., and secondly, my desire to live a life motivated by something more powerful than a paycheck; a sense of wonder and purpose.
