Day 12 In Costa Rica – Old Man’s Snot, Castration, Coffee and Colonial Costa Rica.

Feeling the aches and pains of last night’s football we had breakfast and prepared ourselves for the day ahead.  Fabio was coming down to pick us up at 11 and we were heading up into the mountains for a tour; it was going to be a good day!

Our first stop of the day was Pequeño Mundo, a sprawling supermarket, where we picked up car snacks and drinks for our trip.  The kids love a ‘silly drink’ and they were happy enough.  I really enjoy seeing normal life in places. It amuses me that the ‘husband being forced around the shops in his spare time’ look is the same the world over!

Fully fuelled and ready to go, we made our way back to the car and ready to head to the mountains.  It was raining quite heavily and the roads were actually very good, so the gentle hum of the car, the warmth and the relaxed nature of the drive meant that I nodded off.

I came to in a little bit of a panic as I could immediately sense that the car had stopped and we were pulled over at the side of the road in a little layby.  I turned behind to see that the two kids were still sleeping and Fabio was sat patiently with a warm smile on his face chatting to me in Spanish and pointing at a metal fence from which hung a white bed sheet with red and black handwritten letters on it. ‘Campaña Castracion’.

This wasn’t something that quickly came to my mind from Duolingo so I fired up Google translate.  It was maybe something that was covered in the latter stages of their Spanish course “Castration Campaign”. Slightly flustered that I was sitting in a layby with a smirking Tico next to a castration campaign, I was happy when he pulled back onto the road and explained that he let me sleep as he didn’t want me to miss the beautiful scenery we were about to drive through.

Unfortunately the weather had turned into light rain, although it was still pretty humid, so we didn’t get out to do much exploring. We were following the Orosi River and there seemed to be suspension bridges and river rapids flowing underneath and there were signs all over for rafting.  

We all agreed that the car was warm and safe and so we left our adventuring hats alone and continued the beautiful drive in to the lush green mountains that seemed to be steaming from below as the rain fell.  We were sandwiched between that mist coming up and the clouds that seemed to be lowering with every mile we pushed on.

We pulled over at the side of the road and Fabio leapt out and pulled a branch off a coffee plant and brought it back to the car for us to take a look at and explain how it all worked.  We were maybe 300 metres away from little wooden cottages that, he explained, were coffee workers’ homes that were looking after this plantation. 

It wasn’t clear if they would have been happy with us helping ourselves to a branch but Fabio wasn’t too concerned, so I wasn’t either. He showed us the beans, and explained how the beans ripen and overripen in a short space of time and that not each bean does so at the same time and so it pretty much has to be done by hand to get JUST ripe beans in time.

He got us to nibble on the beans directly and there was nothing pleasant about it……it was like nibbling on the shell of a brazil nut.  He explained that the red ones were the ripe ones and when you squeezed it with your fingers it would burst open.  The greenish liquid that burst out was called ‘Moco de Viejo’ and that sounded very romantic and professional, like I knew the inside track of the coffee industry.  It turns out that it translated to ‘old man’s snot’.

Lovely. Like painting pictures with words.

We jumped back into the car and as we drove off I kept an eye on the workers’ houses in case shots were fired in our direction but we seemed safe enough.  We wound our way up the hill and eventually came into Orosi town centre.  

It was very neat and very clean and looked like a lovely spot. The rain had died back a little to a fine mist and we pulled up in a parking space right next to the colonial church, right next door to the town’s football pitch.  Two religions satisfied with one car park.

There was a little stall right outside the church selling what looked like nuts and brown geodes.  Fabio was right in there and bought us a selection.  The ‘geodes’ turned out to something called ‘sobado’.  It had a granular fudge texture to it and was made by reducing sugar cane juice and then mixing it rapidly to form a thick paste that then sets.

We all tried it and were taking sections maybe a half of the size of a sugar cube and it was insanely sweet.  It felt like super-sugar and we had a lump the size of an adult male forearm to work through along with a bag of nuts that had been mixed in sobado too. A health food it was not. I could almost feel my teeth decaying as I nibbled through it and could feel diabetes tapping on my shoulder and winking at me.

We walked, or maybe floated in a sugar coma, along neat paths that were beautifully tended, into the colonial Catholic church.  It dated from around 1743 and is the only colonial era church remaining in Costa Rica. It was simple in its design, hardly surprising given its age and location, but anything larger and more elaborate would no doubt have been flattened years prior, given the earthquakes and flooding that is frequent in the area.

The humble, simple frame didn’t make it any less impressive and it was a very peaceful and emotive space. The white plaster walls seemed to reflect the sunlight from the entrance way and bring the tiled floor and wooden inner structure of the building to life.  At the end of the church was the altar, filled with religious artefacts, candles. It was simple but stunning.

We made our way out of the side door and into the attached museum which was housed in the former convent.  All of the signs were in Spanish and English so we spent a good hour taking everything in and learning about the rich history of the region.  Some of the artefacts were from the 1700’s and it really was a fascinating place to soak in the history of the region.

The rain was starting to fall again by this point so we skipped as quickly as we could back to the car without slipping on the shiny floor and made our way back down the mountain past the plantations and the stunning views that seemed to improve with each corner.  Fabio explained that he would come up these mountains on his bike, some 25 miles from Cartago on a round trip, and we were a mite impressed, as a Fiat 500 would struggle to get up some of the hills we took on, never mind a man on a bike.