The Raconteur in Costa Rica

The Raconteur in Costa Rica

Sometimes what seems trivial at first, can often free your soul, and invite bliss into your life. It can be something as simple as a rush of breeze, a setting sun, or in my case, the look in her eyes. They possessed the familiarity of an old acquaintance. The wrinkles on her face echoed years of experience and wisdom that she was about to share with me. I smiled at her. Her smile mirrored the warmth of the sun that was about to set behind me. I went back to fixing my camera on the tripod as she slowly strolled along with her walker. Once set up, I glanced back. She was still there, muttering something to the cow that was grazing by the road. I could not make out what she said but the fact that she was speaking English caught my attention. I needed a break from the Spanish that I spoke with the proficiency of a four year old. I walked over. “She’s a shy one”, I said, referring to my earlier failed attempt at making friends with the animal.

Halfway across the world from home, I was about to be set free from certain misconceptions, and preconceptions of the world around me. As my camera captured the golden light of the sun reflecting off the hills surrounding Arenal volcano, clouds of white gently floated above its peak. The continuous clicking of my camera accompanied our conversation along with the rustling of leaves and occasional birdsongs. I was about to be amazed by captivating stories only a 70 something year old could deliver. From her time as a young mother in New York City, to her days sailing solo around the world during her late 50s before moving into the calm midst of the Costa Rican rain forests in La Fortuna, she took me on a vicarious ride of her life. We then talked about war, and politics, and climate change. She eventually blamed it all on overpopulation and even tried to convince me to never have kids. Her voice, a little shaky with age, was endearing. One of the greatest pleasures of travel comes from unexpected conversations with complete strangers. And as they walk away, you’re left to ponder.

What was more beautiful than the raconteur in her though was the fact that she was sharing her memories and timeless wisdom with me, a complete stranger. As we parted ways, she reminded me again that the world did not need more people. “However” she said, “the world does need more hugs.” She hugged me with the warmth that only a mother could offer.

She stopped by a man selling fresh coconut water. As the vendor chopped off the top of the coconut with his sharp machete, she said something in Spanish and the two shared a hearty laugh. As I stood there halfway across the world from home, nostalgia was the last thing on my mind.

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