gazette

November, 2005                                                                                                  Number 30

THE ENORMOUS CROCODILE
    About a week ago, Playa San Miguel was all atwitter over the appearance of a large crocodilian in front of Azul
Plata. There is a little estuary there, between the restaurant and the beach, but it really resembles a drainage
ditch more than a wildlife corridor. So when I was told of the monster croc of San Miguel, I was somewhat
skeptical. However, after some unusually thorough journalistic research, I have come to the conclusion that the
animal does exist, and is indeed a crocodile, and not the smaller, less dangerous caiman.
    Lisa Brunetti swore up and down that it was a crocodile, and coming from Mississippi, she knows what an
alligator looks like. They look like big caimans. So when Lisa insisted that the beast was not a caiman, I was
convinced. Then I saw the photos. Apparently the local children took the opportunity to pester the poor thing with
sticks, and this commotion was enough to draw people with digital cameras, who saved the moment for posterity.
    Now, I have mixed feelings about sharing the environment here with large predators. I had assumed that since
the locals let their children swim in the estero between San Miguel and Coyote beaches, that there were no large
crocodiles in the area. I like the idea that there are such ferocious beasts, cruising the big muddy rivers, and
snatching the occasional Canadian tourist. But I am not sure I like them around where I swim.
    The bad news is that the Crocodile appears to be a member of the species crocodylus acutus, or the American
Crocodile. These can grow to attain a length of 20 feet, [six meters for you metric weenies] and are known to take
humans on occasion. The good news is that the individual in question was estimated to be ten feet long. Not yet
man-killer size.
    As part of my research, I asked an eye-witness where she thought the animal had gone. Doris, the assistant
everything at Azul Plata, told me simply: “No se.”

SAPOS
    Now that the roads have been groomed to a fine polish, [ well, that is an exaggeration, now isn’t it?] the traficos
have paid a visit to Pueblo Nuevo. The MOPT traffic police usually only come out here Christmas and Easter
week, when the area is flush with tourists, whose pockets are lined with cash, to be taken as bribes. But, now that
the Ministerio de Obras has spent some money on the roads here, they apparently felt the need to send out their
enforcers to try and get some of the money back. The Ticos call the traffic police Sapos or toads. This is
because they share with toads the hunting style of sitting still and waiting for someone to come in range, at which
point they reach out and snag their victim. I suppose we should all be thankful that we are not apprehended by a
large sticky tongue, when we brake the rules. Anyway, the good news here is that the traficos never come out
here when the road is bad, so it must be good, right?
According to Mario Badilla, who drove out to my place to warn me of the danger, the Sapos had already
confiscated several motorcycles, and were still at it. Thankfully, they left later that evening.

SIEBEL HOUSE SOLD
    The house on the cuesta between San Miguel and Pueblo Nuevo has changed hands. The Seibels have sold
their mountaintop yurt to Hank and Marie Groff, of Pennsylvania. They have already been welcomed to the soap
opera, and appear to be good sports. Pura Vida, baby.

RACSA FILES FOR CHAPTER 13
RACSA, the government operated internet provider, has sought bankruptcy protection from the Sala IV, Costa
Rica’s supreme court. RACSA spokesperson, Marvin Trejos Mentiroso, said the move was undertaken to make
sure that RACSA would be able to continue operating as a government agency even when they are not doing
anything useful for anybody. The problem, according to señor Mentiroso, is that RACSA has received millions of
colones in payment for future internet service, and there just isn’t any left. Nobody seems to know where it all
went. The fear is that when customers realize that they are not getting anything for their money, they might ask
for it back. This would be bad, and in order to forestall such an eventuality, RACSA has filed for bankruptcy, so
they can say for once and for all: “Bese mi culo.”

DAS BOOT
    The boat shaped, beachfront bar that Anke and Paul ummmmm…[ you know I am not very good with last
names,] have built on Costa de Oro has finally opened. There was a grand opening party on Friday the 25th of
November, that was well attended and was, by all appearances a huge success.
    Anke , as many of you know, is from Germany, but lives in the U.S. Her husband Paul, is an American. Anke’s
son Niko, claims he is a german, but he seems like an American guy to me. He is the nominal proprietor of the
new business, and he seemed to be in his element on opening night. Meanwhile, Anke buzzed around busily
offering bocas, and schmoozing with the guests. Paul also got into the act, and I suspect was making things
happen behind the scenes. Donald Vasquez provided the music, and he sang all the local hits, such as they are,
that we have all come to expect at these kinds of gatherings. .
Costa De Oro has come a long way in the last few years, and it is about time somebody opened a nice bar there.
And, now they have done.

SPIKE FOR PRESIDENT?

This is a story about ethnic tension in Central America. It begins in the Costa Rican city of Cartago, where one
night, a Nicaraguan of bad intent, decided to rob a citizen of this fine city. He scaled the fence to gain entrance to
the property. However, once inside, he was faced with an unexpected setback, which manifested itself in the form
of a very angry Rottweiler. The dog apprehended the unlucky robber, and held him fast, until the local bomberos
arrived to blast the two apart with high-pressure hoses. The Rottweiler finally relented and the police took the
would-be thief into custody. Normally that would have been the end of a funny example of poetic justice. But
when the story hit the newspapers the next day, the dog became quite the folk hero. Such are the tensions
between the Ticos and the Nicas, that people here were joking that the bomberos were not called to separate the
dog and the thief so much as to wash the poor dog’s mouth clean of Nica germs. Also it was suggested that the
Toros a la Tica [ bulls chasing the Ticos,] should be replaced by a new rodeo event: Perros a la Nica .
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your viewpoint, the robber soon passed away in the hospital. The dog’
s popularity among the Ticos soared. A joke presidential ballot was printed up with the mainstream candidates
sharing space with Don Matanica, the hero of Cartago.
Meanwhile in Nicaragua, The Nicaraguan Government has been complaining loudly and often to its Costa Rican
counterparts, and the whole thing is getting out of control. And this is on top of some already festering
resentment about the San Juan river navigation rights, illegal immigration, and recent Nicaraguan threats to take
Guanacaste back from the Ticos.
I suspect the Nicas are taking this whole business much more seriously than the Ticos, who seem to think it quite
amusing. Costa Rican Flags have been spotted with renderings of snarling Rottweilers in the white space, and
there is a movement afoot to declare Rottweiler day as an official feriado.
None of this can be called racist, since the two countries have a racial make-up that is virtually identical. And they
are pretty much all Catholics, or pretend to be, so religious persecution is out. I don’t think Nationalism is
considered an evil yet, so I guess the Ticos are safe from the U.N. They are probably even safe from an invasion
by President Bush. But then, you never know for sure…………

PUEBLO PUTS ON THE DOG
The last weekend in November was party time in Pueblo Nuevo. On Saturday, there were soccer games, and
mucha musica. Plus, there was all kinds of drinkin’ and a carryin’on, as is the usual practice here. The soccer
games were pretty much just goof-off games between the old men and stuff. Then on Sunday things got serious.
The real games were on, and the salon communal was putting out the carne, for one deserving cause or other. I
never found out what it was. Nevertheless, we all enjoyed the football, with the exception of those rooting for
Coyote. The San Francisco squad went down to an embarrassing defeat at the hands, or should I say feet, of the
clearly superior Pueblo Nuevo team.   They looked as if they might make a game of it in the last few minutes,
pressuring the Pueblo defense relentlessly. Coyote’s gringo coach paced the sidelines, cigar clamped between
his teeth, shaking his head grimly as each scoring opportunity passed unrealized. Finally, the whistle blew
signaling the end, and a 1 to nothing triumph for the home team.
    Meanwhile, over at the Salon, the horse events were well under way. The first event, and my personal
favorite, is the barrel run. Six or seven barrels are placed in a line about 6 or 7 feet apart, and each contestant
runs from one end of the course to the other, and then turns around and does a little slalom of the line, until he
reaches the starting point. The best time wins. First up was a guy named Marvin. There are a whole lot of guys
named Marvin out here for some reason. Anyway, this Marvin is usually pretty drunk by the time one of these
things starts, and this day was no exception. At the count of three, Marvin enthusiastically whipped his mount with
an evil-looking little stick he had brought along for this purpose. The horse shot forward, and was running full tilt
at the other end of the course. At this point, one is supposed to stop and turn around to begin the slalom part of
the event. But, Marvin’s horse was still skidding down the road, with Marvin tugging lustily at the reins and loudly
uttering some Tico curse at the poor beast. When he finally got the horse stopped, and turned in the right
direction, the confused animal stood in the road, unsure what to do next. Marvin brought out the stick again. The
whole thing was hilarious to all but the horse, who refused to proceed any further, as Marvin did a good
impression of Yosemite Sam trying to beat a camel into motion.
    Next up was Cowboy Mel. Now by all rights, He, and his father Antonio, should take this event first and second
place every year, but for some reason they don’t. I suspect they are not really trying. If one touches one of the
barrels, one is disqualified, and Mel, touched several. So did his Father, who went next. After Antonio, Butterfly
Mike made a nice run, and held the lead briefly. Then some young boy from Pilas cleaned everybody’s clock.
Soon it was my turn. I had a strategy. Everybody except Mike had charged down the line, and then lost time
trying to get their horse back under control. So, I figured I would just go slow and easy. That is how I won last
year, and I saw no reason to change my methodology. I came in second, about half a second behind the boy
from Pilas. Mike got third. Not a bad showing for the gringos.
    The next event was the one where you ride at a gallop and try to spear a small ring suspended on a rope, with
a stick. I have never had any luck at this event. The kid from Pilas got two rings, and so did Mike, who should
have been given a gringo of the day prize. Marvin gamely tried to compete in this event as well, but this kind of
eye hand horse coordination thing is best left to the sober, not that it ever helps me. He finally gave up and left
his horse to Felix Quiros, who was, if anything, more zooted than Marvin. He did about as well.
    After all this horsemanship, everyone returned to the Salon for drinks and dancing. But the only one dancing
was a beautiful gray gelding named Bejuqeño. This horse belongs to Hector, Mel’s little brother, and has been
taught to dance to Cumbia music. It is really quite an extraordinary thing to watch. And he was dancing right
there in the Salon where everyone was eating their carne! The health department would have a shit-fit anywhere
in the States. And that is yet another reason why I love this place.