Posts

Showing posts from January, 2009

CR Photo Journalism

Image
You probably don't really want some fancy hors d'oeuvre explanation about my last two months in Costa Rica. You're too excited anxiously awaiting the meat. Well if it's meat you want, then it's meat you will get. So, without further adieu...




Those who were anticipating something a little more savory will just have to wait for finely aged reflections at a later date.

Garbage to Gold

Written: January 13, 2009

It is funny. When I first got to Costa Rica I was ever so cautious of impurities. Careful not to swallow the water as I brushed my teeth. Careful not to touch anything more than I needed to in the shower, in the bread store, on the bus. Even the grocery to me in Alajuela felt tainted, and there was no way that I was going to consider eating from an exposed mound of complimentary brown and bruised bananas and crumby white loaf bread at the hotel in San Jose.

Since I have been here in Caletas, all of these preconceived ideas of impurities have been diminished. We wash our dishes with sometimes foul-smelling well water. The dishes are hardly ever really clean, sitting out in the open air just like everything else at camp. Leftovers sit out uncovered, or saran wrapped in above normal temperatures for a day and we still eat them. Our hands and nails are always dirty from digging in the sand, using the "facilities," and digging up rotting turtle e…

A Narrative

Image
The particles were thick, as I watched salty mists project from my nostrils like dragon´s fire, or breath from a cold winter´s day. I marveled at the lingering salt mists rising from the descending ocean tides. Masquerading mountains that lined the Playa Bongo and Ario´s coasts. Mountains that I wasn´t sure were really mountains at all--growing up in suburban Ohio only offered me short-lived glimpses of the Smokies on childhood trips. And living in Japan has fooled me into believing that when identical mounds exist in excess, you tend to stop noticing them. Unknowing of what constitutes mounds as hills, or marvelous heaps of dramatic and jutting stone. It´s funny how from distances these formations appear so tall and vast, but I often find myself disappointed at the nonexistent feat at which it would take to climb them. These coastal mountains aren´t comparable to those of the Great American West, seen plenty through the photographic lens of American legend, Ansel Adams. No, …