Sarchí and beyond

This photo goes under typical tourist shots. DB's husband insisted on taking it. The cart in the background is the world's largest ox cart (Guinness Book of World Records). His wife's cousin owns the factory where it was produced and so, naturally we had to stop by and see the operation. Actually, it was pretty cool.
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The Alfaro factory is a pretty amazing place. They do beautiful woodwork, all with a combination of hand tools and machinery powered by a water wheel.




Unfortunately, I didn't get a good photo of the water wheel. It's pretty amazing. It drives the pulleys that run the saws, sanders, drills and lathes that make the carts, trunks and other carved wooden furnishings the artisans produce there.

Tools

Notice the elaborate tool cart.

Timeless

I love the blue house.

Outtakes 10.10.09

We went with Jim, our host here at the boarding house/B&B, to a farm he has in the hills outside of San Jose and here are a few photos from the afternoon.

Truck stop hooker?

School boys

Cornfield

Another in an ongoing series of out-of-focus photographs shot through the window of a moving vehicle. Fuzzy but something about this image really speaks to me.

El gato de la granja

The farm cat.

Bob - farm manager

About eight months ago Bob was walking along the Rio river when he noticed a burlap sack in the water. He noticed it was wiggling so he fished it out and untied it to see what was inside. Turns out it was...

Little Rio

Wednesday outtakes

Mellon man

Words are not my thing. It has never been more clear. They are unreliable, obtuse, demanding bastards and tonight I am really too tired to deal with them so, instead, here are a few outtakes from our day in downtown San Jose. The first one I took though the dirty window of a cab as we drove through the coke a cola district. Not a very safe place to walk, even during the day.

Time warp

What century is this? The sight of these two people smoking over their meal in a Peruvian restaurant gave me the feeling that we had somehow made an unexpected turn and ended up back the '40s. Crummy photograph but a strange scene, especially as there was a body guard type guy standing just outside the door. That's his coke bottle still on the table in front of us. He ate at a tiny table right at the entrance. When he finished he went outside and leaned by the door with his foot on the wall and waited for his boss, a huge man who came out about a half an hour later with a couple of equally oversize friends. The body guard/driver escorted his boss to the Mercedes parked directly in front and they drove off. It fit right into the intrigue of the afternoon's distorted sense of time and place.



Costa Rica is the cleanest country we have visited in Centroamerica but it is not without its heaps of trash. The difference between here and other places is that, generally, it will be picked up. I took this photo through the sweaty window of a bus.

Wooden horse

We have spent most of the last two days sitting in the dentist office waiting room. The appointment was 9 am but we didn't get out of there until after 7 pm. What can I say? Things are different in Centroamerica. We did enjoy our lunch at the Peruvian restaurant. The second day we ate at Vishnu's downtown. Much cheaper and vegetarian.

I especially like the photo of the giant chicken...

Between the raindrops

San Jose graveyard

We walked downtown today. It's about four miles away. We took the bus back. The afternoon rain had started by then plus we didn't want to go back down through hell's bottleneck, that's what I call it, the ravine below the graveyard. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, we were about a foot away from traffic the whole way through.



M. Lee took this photo of me before we hit that stretch of the road. We didn't know what we were headed into but even so I was wondering about the wisdom of smiling before an open grave.

Wild bananas over the cemetery wall.

Street kid, probably strung out on glue.

Street dogs under a Harvest Moon

Tonight, night of the Harvest Moon, the muffled voices of three dogs playing in the street attract me to the balcony. They look up, wary for a moment, then quietly return to their play. They have the night and life to themselves. The street is a stage in amber light. A frustrated fourth dog shouts and whines from the wings as they trot out of sight.

Outtakes

Naturally, we must start the journey with the standard... photos from the plane.

LA night. Just so you know, capturing the red flashing light on the wing tip was really really hard but you're worth it.

Morning star, Guatemala

Guatemala sunrise

Strange fruit, Costa Rica

Man and bird, San Jose Saturday market day.

Arrival

We were met at the San Jose airport by Jim, our host. He was carrying a bouquet of red carnations for me but, luckily, managed to do it without being embarrassing or serious. And already he and his wife Bibi have made us feel completely at ease in their lovely B&B/home a feat because it is not at all in keeping with our usual, preferred funky style, but more about that later.

Besides us, there are also a couple of permanent residents living here, both named John, both American expats. One is a guy, turned poet in later years, who hung out in the North Beach clubs during the '50s so, almost undoubtedly, heard M. Lee's dad play back in the day. Yes, we had a mini poetry reading over breakfast coffee, sticking to a couple of poems each. We have very different styles but it was fun.

The dogs are barking at the wind tonight. It howls restlessly over the rooftops. It's the rainy season here but there has not been much rain. We're going to the Saturday market in the morning. I'm sure it won't be as interesting as the Mayan market in Antigua but we'll get some fresh vegetables and I'll get some photos.

We're sitting at RenoX waiting to board a Southwest flight to LAX and after that we leave for Costa Rica at 1:30 am. It's going to be a long night. There was lots more running though my head earlier but it's gone now. I forgot my (favorite) pink shirt and left my water bottle in my friend's car. It could be worse. Maybe it is but it's too late now. After much deliberation, Buug was elected to accompany us. He's delighted. That little fellow loves to travel. Well, gotta go.

Through the looking glass

Bugsy in the backroom

By the end of the day my bag will be packed. That is my promise to myself. In the meantime, for your entertainment, I posted a few more photos from our recent trip to the Great Basin at flickr ... if you're interested. I'll post more here later, after my bag is packed.

Defunct Currant Cafe
Currant, Nevada

Currant is a ghost town along Nevada's Hwy 6, a road that makes Route 50, the so-called "Loneliest Highway in America", look like a traffic jam. The Currant Cafe and Motel are currently one of Mother Nature's little reclamation projects. It's my kind of place.

Currant Cafe, on Nevada Hwy. 6 

Currant Cafe, a once friendly stop along Nevada Hwy 6, the real "loneliest highway".

Currant Cafe, caught in the looking glass

Currant Cafe, a lost world

Currant Cafe interior

Currant Cafe through the looking glass

Currant Cafe, another dead Nevada roadside attraction

Costa Rica countdown

Five days. I only have five days now to pack. Five days to do all the things I could have done five days ago. Should have done ten days ago. And so it goes. And yesterday, what did I do with yesterday? Burned the whole day ... out ... when I should have been home, preparing flash drives and backup flash drives, sorting through clothes and pencils. Damn.

Looking back

My mother's diary sits on a shelf next to my morning sitting place. It is red and has a little brass lock and key. Had a little brass key. That is long gone. My brother gave me the book a few years ago saying, "Here. See what you can do with this." He gave me her little black diary as well and a couple of faded old, fancy candy boxes full of letters, some written by her and some by other members of the family. A few of the letters are over one hundred years old, written in pencil, and still readable. I get a deliciously strange feeling reading them. He had them for years and could never bring himself to go through everything. I have yet to do it myself but, by chance, I peaked at her September 22nd entry this morning. She was 18. Today was Sunday in 1935, following a very late Saturday night. She wrote. "Speaking of the last roses of summer - I know just how they feel."