Storm of the Green Ocean

by Juna Rinkens (Netherlands)

I didn't expect to find Costa Rica

The journey begins as I descend between the mountain systems of Costa Rica, raging through a tropical storm that shook the entire plane, in the midst of the panic I couldn't help but find it beautiful, how the rain droplets blurred the lightning, and the tree tops made art between darkness and light. I look up through the window of my bus, continuing towards the Caribbean, and see the same trees above me this time. When the jungle becomes less dense the panorama is expanded, and I get the chance to lay my eyes on the vastness of nature. Between all this green, I spot an ancient train track, that accompanied me till the very end, as did a local, who opened up wholeheartedly about growing up working in the Banana Industry. As we say goodbye, and I step out in Puerto Viejo, the tropic embraces me in a way that it feels as if an invisible hot gelatin formed the atmosphere. It's a sunny day, while the soil still smells fresh from the night before. In the street (made out of sand and stones), I spot a rastaman selling coconuts. As he chaps this with a machete, smoking a ''purito'', a horde of taxidrivers began offering their services in broken english to the tourists of the same bus, the ones with the baggage. I thank myself of the past for doing my best to resemble a local, travelling as light as possible, avoiding the use of sun cream. ''Tek it, we naa us plastic ova here'' the rastaman tells me with the most contagious smile I've ever encountered, as he hands me the coconut, with a carton straw in it. As if it was staged, a turtle came out of the creek besides the street, making his way towards the beach. The sounds of calypso, reggae and roots clash together in harmony, as if it were a contest between who owns the loudest speakers. With this, and with the joyful company of the local people, the sky suddenly changes in bright colors ranging between purple, red, orange and yellow. The sun is nowhere to be found as it sets behind the mountains, but never ever had I seen a more beautiful sunset. The next day I wake up dehydrated from the chiliguaros, a mix of vodka with tabasco sauce, in combination with sweating underneath the blankets that were supposed to save me from the mosquitoes. Too bad, they had gotten my feet and head and did this obsessively. When I step outside, I encounter the rastaman. He sees me and goes ''Mi lawd waa coulda cause this? I mek bushcure fi yuh, come back lata yes?'' as he starts chapping a much needed coconut. Flying through the waves with a rented surfboard, away from the shore in the wild Caribbean sea, I spot the palm trees, the lively town in between the bush, and behind it, the mountain chain. On one side is Panama, and on the other side the whole coast of Costa Rica. The mist of the evaporating sea makes the visual effect as if everything disappears in blankness. It's so peaceful. The next thing I know is that I'm rushing to get out because I spot an unknown dark figure beneath me. Yes, ocean life scares me, I blame the sting ray that killed Steve Irwin. Panic and distress turn into relieve as I hear a familiar voice, ''Eeeh yuh deh, come ova here'', It's the rastaman. He then continues to show me a plant, called cundiamor, as he plucks the orange fruit and mixes it with water in a bucket. He explains to me his father would make this remedy back in the day. It repels mosquitoes. He talks to me about the train tracks, how life used to be back when there was nothing else. He tells me about the banana fields, about the jungle, using everything it has to offer to survive. If I may give one advice to you, it would be to engage and talk with the people you meet. This opens up many sides of the country that you would otherwise never be able to realize.