The Routine
I hope I go to bed a little earlier tonight. “Soy dado al trasnochar” —
“I am given to staying up late.” It’s an old habit, hard to break.
Fortunately, with my last employer I could arrive at work whenever I
wished. What mattered was getting the work done, not how many hours I
spent on the premises. Good thing, too. I usually showed up at ten, or
even a little later. I had no problem remaining into the evening hours
when necessary.
Now that I am retired, my schedule is even more my own. I can go to bed
and get up when — and if — I feel like it. Living here in Costa Rica, I
feel like rising bright and early with the sun. Late to bed. Early to
rise. Thank the Goddess for inventing siestas! Naps are wonderful
things.
Most people get up early here. Five is not unusual. The roosters begin
to crow about then. By six, everyone is stirring. The horses in the
field next door are full of energy. They prance across the green.
Tomorrow is Saturday. It is not easy in retirement to remember which
day is what. It doesn’t matter most of the time. Saturdays matter
because that is the day the Feria de Agricultor takes over a section of
town. Farmers bring in the most wonderful things! Pineapples that make
you drool even before you cut into them! I had never eaten a
tree-ripened pineapple before coming here. There is nothing better!
Strawberries, blackberries, many different types of oranges and lemons.
I have yet to find a variety that does not delight. Repollo chino (boy
choy — a personal favorite), carrots the size of your forearm, pepinos
— er, uh, excuse me — cucumbers. Broccoli, cauliflower, coriander,
bananas, wonderful bananas. I always end up buying much more than I can
possibly eat in a week, and so some of it spoils, but then, I only
spend a couple of dollars for the entire, huge bag filled to the brim.
Before coming home, I will stop by the Chinese chicken-roasting store.
“Pollos a la leña” are chickens roasted on a spit over coffee
wood. I buy two a week. Half of one I will eat on Saturday. The rest I
will refrigerate and use for arroz con pollo, sandwiches and other
meals during the coming days.
I’ll take a taxi back from the feria with my load of goodies. The ride
will cost about one dollar. I live on the far outskirts on the other
side of town.
I can tell when it is Sunday. Church bells, you know. Far in the
distance I can hear them calling the faithful (who are not many in
Costa Rica these days — only about 70 percent of the population even
claim to be Catholic anymore. The Church is going down quickly here.
The daily newspaper reported recently that the Church in Costa Rica is
losing on average 453 members every single day.)
I like to know when it is Sunday, because I will walk into town (a
30-minute stroll — great exercise!). Every other Sunday at 11 a.m. I
can watch the local boys, Los Griegos of the Second Division, do battle
against a team from another city in Costa Rica. Football — REAL
football, not the United States variety — rules here, as it does most
places in the world. Our team is fighting for the top spot in its
group. The winner of the Second Division will get promoted into the
First Division at the end of this season. ¡Vaya Griegos!
Afternoons, however, are another matter — even on Saturdays and
Sundays. This is the rainy season, which means that it will rain for an
hour or so almost every afternoon. It has not missed an afternoon in
more than a month. Sometimes it is merely a gentle shower, almost a
mist. Other times, it comes an “aguacero” — a real downpour. You can
hear the heavy rains approaching from across the hills in the distance,
getting louder as they get nearer. When they arrive, the noise can be
deafening! They come complete with boot-shaking thunder and spectacular
lightning, almost on top of each other! Quite exciting!
But then its over, the sun returns, the birds start singing, the
butterflies begin to dip and swarm, kids are chattering down the block
— life moves on.
It is time for the siesta.
