Pasa como una nube de verano

Spanish-speakers describe something of short duration as “passing like a cloud of summer,” a much more lively version of the English "short-lived." Indeed, time seemed to fly when Tim’s mom and sister visited the second weekend we were in country. With us being fairly unprepared for visitors, our weekend together was quite the whirlwind. We were stressed about just starting school, but still, it was nice to have a reason to blow off work and go tour a bit of our new home.

We got off to an early start to try to beat the clouds to Volcan Irazu, just east of San Jose, although a long trip up winding roads. Unfortunately, the clouds won. When we arrived, the nearby lava-flow field was nearly hidden with condensation.

But the winds rewarded our intrepidness by blowing off the mist long enough to look into the crater, where you could see the bright aquamarine of the crater lake, so otherworldly because of the active volcano’s sulfuric chemicals mixing with rainwater.

By the time we hiked back to the parking lot, the rain was coming down steadily, but still, we hiked up to the highest point of the mountain. By then, unfortunately, the crater was entirely shrouded; but I could still see some of the people walking where we had just been, giving me vertigo only made worse by the thin air.

Back in the parking lot, some tourists were taunting the coatis, despite signs asking that they not be fed (the wild animals, that is). In some cases, it was hard to determine which was the more peculiar animal.

We then headed back below the clouds into the valley and the city of Cartago, mainly known for its church devoted to the negrita, a black Virgin Mary statue. The story goes that the stone likeness kept being taken out of the woods, only to disappear from the finder’s possession and reappear at the place she was found. Lucky for religious fervor that they’ve now managed to keep her contained in the church.

There actually are three likenesses of the negrita, one of which is accompanied by a fountain (of run-off rainwater perhaps?) where people douse themselves and collect the holy water in negrita-shaped plastic containers. A second negrita is kept in a sort of shrine where people bring all sorts of charms representing ailments and problems that prayer to her presumably solved, including breast cancer, judging by the gold boobie pendants. On the more dramatic side, one man credits his survival at sea, stranded on a raft, to her. The most prestigious negrita, complete with a bejewel headdress, is kept within the church, of course, although recently they have been touring her around the area in the back of a pick-up, so the devout but immobile can catch a glimpse of her – and cause traffic jams.

The last stop of the day was heading into the Orosi Valley, one of the main coffee-growing regions of the country. We drove past grove after grove of the bean trees on our way to a public spring. The spring wasn’t very hot, and the water wasn’t very clean, but you get what you pay for: $3 worth. The view alone was enough for me.