Bamboo

There is a small establishment next to our hotel called Papas y Burgers. It consists of a small house that opens up to a fenced off area shaded by a tin roof, populated by dark tables and chairs. They have napkin holders made of shaven bamboo trunks filled with brown recycled napkins that match the brown recycled toilet paper in the bathrooms. They provide chess and backgammon sets and a pile of National Geographic in Spanish. A skateboard and boogey board lean casually on the walls.

Three guys run this place and are reliably around for most of the day, all of the days. Two of them have English accents: one has his head shaved and the other wears aviator sunglasses. The third talks like an American, and is likely from the Bronx? LA? Chicago? I will have to ask...There is a Spanish-speaking girl that is often around, sitting at the tables sipping on beer, or walking in and out from behind the bar. Her skin is a dark caramel, toned by the weight of the waves. She wears a black tank top and short shorts with brightly colored palm tree and surf board patterns. She's the kind that has a tattoo.

They take the time here to brew a batch of tea and ice it to ensure that it is decaf the way I prefer it. I was excited to see that there is a newly installed bubble blowing machine tucked into the corner of the entrance now quietly injecting little glistening pearls into the sun-filled humid air. But my favorite part: the smooth, slow, chilling beats of what they call "Buddha Bar" that constantly pulse here off their iTunes playlist. It reminds me that it is still possible to find Zen, that Zen is waiting for me, for as long as I hover under this tin roof, my chin propped up on my elbows by the bamboo napkin holders.

Curious

We are in Costa Rica. The place seemed to be designed just for tourists: a very small piece of land in which you can drive to most places in less than 5 hours, where once you leave the beach, you find green mountains, keep going through the mountains and you'll find exotic rain forests with endangered species all around. No wasted space here.

We passed by many houses/huts in the mountains - the kind that seem to be common in tropical places. They lack thick walls, windows and chimneys - obsolete here. We passed one that had a large tent shielding large piles of lumbar and later a serious but calm looking man holding a machete over his shoulder, which got me wondering what these people did for a living. Did they all know their neighbors? If so, who did they know to be respectable? Who did they know to fear? Who did they avoid talking to? Sleeping with?