San Ramon

The town isn't visited much by tourists; it is best known as a stop on the way to the famous Arenal Volcano. There's a quintessential Central American feel to it that I'm trying to pin down: Designer clothing shops and an American-style mall; a downtown jammed with buses and food stands and a lot of fast-food chicken; always a plaza on the Spanish model with a park and a church -- except that most Costa Rican churches are modern and not "picturesque" in the way a traveler might want them to be; the colonial architecture has mostly been destroyed by earthquakes. There are, of course, no addresses or street signs, so if you attempt to drive a car, as we did, you are forced to memorize a succession of landmarks to remember where you left it.

Another night we ate at one of the bars. I discovered an interesting risotto-like creamy rice with meat and a small side salad resembling coleslaw. Costa Ricans, we were told, do not eat enough vegetables. At a small house party, we met a man, fortyish, who had returned to Costa Rica after some time in New York. His reasons for leaving the States were lost to me in the exchange of accents, but on one point he was very clear: That Costa Ricans are proud of where they live; they think of themselves as different from their neighbors. The Nicaraguans who migrate into the country to harvest coffee have turned into an underclass and are blamed for crime. "We are not like the Nicaraguans or the Guatemalans," he said. "We are like Colombians."

There was someone else who stared at me for a moment, puzzled, until his face lit up. "I know it," he said, pointing to me across a kitchen table, "You are a Unitarian, right?" This took me by surprise. I did go to a Unitarian church as a small child. He told me that not only were there Unitarians in Costa Rica, but he had the ability to identify members of his religion across disco halls and on crowded streets. He asked me about some of the major founders of the demonination by name, but sadly, I knew nothing about them.