San Jose Del Pacifico

19.3.08-23.3.08

We hand out biscuits on the creaky minibus as it snakes its way into the hills and everyone relaxes in a way only biscuits can make you do. A man in the snazzy black cowboy hat behind us smiles and we chat a little. He is going home for the holiday with his son, taking home for the family the earnings from his farm job in the states. Through the bus window we buy coconut ice lollies and re position the huge wooden yoke so that it doesn’t fall on the old man that strained to get it aboard at the last stop.

Later we stop for filling potato and guacamole salsa wraps, a snip at 10 pesos (33p) each. The red, dry plateau stretches an extraordinary distance broken only by the odd hill rising like an air bubble in toffee out of the flat expanse, we continue to wind our way upwards.

After driving along the perilously narrow spine of a forested hill we arrive in the small village completely immersed in cloud. We reluctantly disembark into the damp and chilly air, wondering what is behind the wall of white on the other side of the street.

We are directed to an old lady who has a place and she leads us blindly down a steep dirt track. We manouvre round a stubborn donkey to a log cabin teetering on the edge of who knows what. It’s a complete white out all round. “Is that a cliff drop away in front of us?” We’ll have to wait and see. I have a hunch when the cloud lifts there’s going to be peachy view so we take the cosy but basic mountain retreat.

Nearby dwelling

It’s the last night of a festival preceding the main festival, so we dump our stuff and climb up to the top of the small village where the locals are assembled and in high sprits. Here all of the social buildings are cobbled together. The basketball court butts up against the church, where a professionally organized tournament is in full swing. Above the court is a permanent brick stage, its set up with drum kit amp and mikes. With all these festivals in Latin America even a tiny garret needs a proper music venue.
We eat spicy chorizo tortillas and drink hot punch made with suspect alcohol poured from a bottle that may have been procured from a hospital. Its like a poster paint container with alcohol written across it in large red letters. Too chilly to be fussy and eagar to get in the spirit of the event (as we are latecomers) we cheerfully sip the poky brew.

The games are fast & furious and we join the throng seated round the edge and try to visually explain a rugby ball and its use to one of the locals, to the amusement of many. A new mc style commentator takes the stand, he’s loud, frantic and funny, no one scores for ages as he puts the players off but the crowd love him. He uses a deep drawn out voice to say foooouuuuuul! Parodying the Latin American football commentators.

Behind us a huge complex cane structure is being lashed together, looks like it will stand 30 meters high. 8 men start to rase it and we realise we are in the path if it falls. We shuffle, it wabbles upwards, then it gets caught in the trees & wobbles some more before finally stablising and being tied in place. You’d need about 40 security to pull off a cliff top event like this in England; the simplicity is pleasing and a bit of danger adds to the anticipation of the spectacle.

The many games of basketball are finally over, the band strike up and the fireworks begin. A woman dons a papermache and cane whatsit, the fuse is lit, she dances around the court and Catherine wheels spin above her, bangers explode and traffic lights cascade out over her head.

Next (after a persistent & enthusiastic casualty of the surgical alcohol is helped from the court) a papermache bull is charged at the audience in a more energetic display of fizzy bright gunshot loud pyrotechnics. The band picks up tempo but never waver from the same perky big horn tune throughout.

Finally the super structure is lit we stand cosily squashed in with the band against the wall of the church as it sparks into life. fuses wiz up the sides and light pairs of Catherine wheels in reds and yellows, when these die the fuses continue upwards to light more before setting off a large wheel in the middle with a bird design. This pattern continues, the centre wheel is lit up with a giant mushroom surrounded by a happy festival message in red. All pretty high tec low tec, if this was attempted in London you could guarantee one side would have stopped working after the first small wheel. We are amused that the mushroom is larger than crucified Jesus on the top wheel.

San José del pacifico is famous for magic mushrooms that grow down the damp forested mountain side, wrong season though there were a couple of youngsters that night that may have been under the spell of the revered trippy fungus.

Freezing we retire to our cabin and sleep piled high with colourful wool blankets and feel like we are in a fairy tale awaiting the mystic place to reveal itself to us.

In the morning we wake and run to the door like you do when it’s snowed in the night to see what’s outside. Here’s the view…

The next few days we pretty much sat here gazing out at the ever changing colours, twitching (in the binocular sense), reading or doing water colour challenge. Occasionally we drag ourselves away for chorizo, cheese and mushroom Quesadia’s at our favorite quirky wooden local restaurant.

Historic reading of the day: The Aztecs had flower wars where battle would be arranged with neighbouring tribes and would end when each side had captured enough solders to use as sacrifices. Killing anyone on the battle field only happened by accident rather than design. Death by sacrifice was a bit like martyrdom you got to go to the best afterworld honoring your violent death.

The Aztecs were gradually converting their symbols to sounds and given a bit more time they would have had a fully functional phonetic alphabet. A drop of water falling into a basin started to signify a. A human eye i. Two parallel lines with footprints in-between no longer a path but o.

Also found out the Mayans used to build imperfections into there stele monuments as only god should be able to create something perfect. This is now looked for to help prove authenticity in the relics.

More processions that afternoon, we can see and hear them in the distance, the band still are playing the same tune.

The next day the mist returns in the late afternoon. We wrap ourselves in blankets and sit outside watching it creep spookily over the layers of hills towards us until everything is again obliterated. Lucky we had already been out and had our fill of delicious unhealthy chorizo, the locals prepare so well with guacamole, salsa and chips!!!

The old landlady visits early next morning and surprises us by making smalltalk through the doorway while we are still in bed. On the way to breakfast we feed the astonished donkey dandelion leaves as he can’t reach anything green.

Later we go for a forest walk down into the view we’ve been looking at for the last few days, all very relaxing, great fuzzy pine trees, don’t see a soul.

Here’s a few more pictures….

Mmm meat

This cutie was with his mum and not the one we were feeding

When the landlady starts to burn her rubbish just below us and we are inhaling toxic smoke the magic spell is broken and we decide to leave the next day. 4 days is perfect, but it is perhaps a little cut off for a longer stay. We can see the lure of the mushrooms; would they help guide you through the fog though?