Joanna Biggar's Blog

We chose, more or less at random, one of the little towns south of Limon that offer lovely beaches and planned to spend a couple of days. And once we checked in, rather like the Hotel California, we could never leave.  The view from our hotel room, right at the entrance to the long curve of beach and jungle that is the Cahuita National Park, told the whole story — waves and coco palms and a sweep of tropical beach.

Cahuita, View from Our Balcony

Well, not the whole story, but most of it. The rest of the attractions were right there, too — the park, and the street.  We were at the end of the paved street in town, and a lively place it was.  Hip young Rasta men set up their shops, sold trinkets, or hustled tourists. Vegetable and fruit sellers hawked their wares; self-appointed guides (any native of the town) offered their expertise for tracking animals,  swimming/snorkeling on the reef, fishing, anything.  And sales of other favors went down, too. Nor were the ganja-men in short supply. Just breathing on the balcony above where the local surfers gathered could be a mind-altering experience.  And just for balance, the howler monkeys would often join in with their incredible howls, as would a green parrot who laughed hysterically, no doubt a commentary on human folly.

Doug's fishing guide, King

But to us, it was quite a wonderful scene: black Afro-Costa Ricans, Spanish-speaking Latinos, Spanish-speaking Chinese Costa Ricans (who seemed prevalent in many shops and in the medical profession), and people with strongly Indian features probably originating from the tribal homelands along that coast.

Local Beauties, the Hotel Maids

And of course, the gringos, whom like it or not we had to claim as our own tribe.  At night, in particular, the whole mix of people gathered in the main street, and especially on weekends when rival Calypso bands outdid each other in adjacent bar/restaurants and people talked, smoked, and danced in the street.

I loved the laid-back, friendly vibe. I liked the food, much of it cooked in coconut and surprisingly not spicy. I loved having the beach outside the window.  And I loved the unexpected encounters. One was with a young German couple from Dresden we had met in Tortuguera. One night I heard a knock on our door, and there was Manfred. He and Annette remembered where we were going to be, and wanted to go to dinner with us. One of their laments about the bad old days of Communism was that they learned only Russian in school, and were left with only a rudimentary command of English. But Manfred had a ready phrase, “Is Good,” and a big smile.  It was called for when, after dinner, they decided it was time to make a serious stab at the two-for one drink specials.  They took this to mean having a drink in each hand. Doug and I watched, slack-jawed, as they kept going. “Is Good,” Manfred noted. As for Annette, a pretty young-looking nurse, I commented, “I see you like rum.”  “Not only,” she answered. “I like alcohol.”  We slunk home feeling old.

But the best encounter in Cahuita was with Don Walter “Gavitt” Ferguson, also known as Segundo. He is a legendary musician, a “Calypsonian” as he calls it, and is going on 91. He has lived in Cahuita since the age of 2, was finally recorded a dozen years ago, and lives in a house a half-block from our hotel. Every day we had breakfast in his family-owned restaurant next door, and every day he comes there to sit, eat and pass the time. He consented to an interview.  I bought and listened to his CD’s, and every day listened to his wonderful stories.

Calypsonian Don Walter "Gavitt" Ferguson

I felt as if I had met one of the treasures of the Costa Rican Buena Vista Social Club.