Quepos

We went out kayaking one day near the port town of Quepos, and our guide, a talkative man who I think was of Jamaican descent, offered us his sincere personal testimony on the advantages of the Costa Rican system of government. (We were eating typical lunch plates of rice and beans with salad and a fish: simple and filling.) The country is democratic, there is no army and there hasn't been a war since a brief civil conflict in the 1940s. "Instead of fighting with one another, you come to an agreement," he said. "If I do not have money? Then I promise to pay you later. That is the best way to solve problems."

He took us on a tour of the village, which has four major streets but still feels crowded. (Our assumption had been that he was working for tips, but he seemed indifferent or possibly offended when I gave him extra money later.) The center of town, as in most Costa Rican villages, consists of a church next to a soccer field. The town became an important point of departure for the bananas of the United Fruit Company (now Chiquita), which was founded in Costa Rica and later turned into a byword for multinational exploitation. Today, the bananas have given way to tourism. "If you are tired of walking and listening," he said, "just say something. I can talk all day long."

Always interesting to my northern eye was the abundance of life, such as the ants that would form a marching line to raid the discarded corner of a granola bar wrapping. Flowers, especially orchids and other epiphytes clinging to the green plants. Ruthless mosquitoes. Monkeys, which are said to descend on drinking people during happy hour. Sloths getting stranded on the power lines. Trees that always try to invade cleared spaces. A coffee table book, Costa Rica: The Last Country the Gods Made, described their effect on the landscape in this way: "Unlike the quiltlike layout of the fields in the American Midwest, the cropland here shares space with towering trees trying to reestablish the jungle among the plots."