Smile and Say Hola!

The kids play a game in the States called “Sweet and Sour”. It involves sitting in the back of a car or bus and waving and smiling at the people in cars behind you. If you get them to wave back, and/or smile, they are deemed a “sweet”. If not, well, they know who they are.

The funny thing here is that the Ticos are all “sweets”. Whether it’s a truck driver, road construction worker, or person working a fruit stand, their sometimes grim countenances almost invariably soften and flash into a dazzling smile and a wave if I venture a wave myself.

Walking past someone on the street, I have learned to say, at least,  “hola”. Because even that seems a bit stiff by local standards–“buenos dias” is better, or sometimes you hear an “hola, hola,” or just a “buena!” To pass in awkward silence with downcast eyes seems to be a Western behavior that immediately pegs you as a transient or just simply a sour.

When I first arrived in the country, I learned an invaluable lesson about not trusting GPS guidance blindly. The road west of Liberia that I was following went from pavement to gravel to two deep muddy tracks on a narrow switchback course over mountainous terrain. Make a u-turn,  my GPS helpfully suggested. This was completely out of the question due to both the sheer drops on either side of the road and my unwillingness to go back over the harrowing river crossings and bogs I had already survived.

I had not seen another car (thankfully or not was unclear to me at the time) since the road had so rapidly deteriorated, and I was babbling to myself for being so alone, useless and lost. Things could not be worse, I was thinking, when I came around a corner and saw five men on ATVs parked in the middle of the road. All had red bandannas covering their noses and mouths, and I came to a dead stop and stared. They stared back for what seemed like an eternity.

I felt the presence of my cash, passport, suitcase and my mortal life in the front seat and fleetingly considered attempting the 97 point turn that might take me back the way I had come. Dismissing this option as not fast enough of a getaway, I smiled awkwardly and hazarded a wave. To my relief and pure joy, they waved back and immediately set about moving themselves to the side of the road. One even jumped off of his ATV and pulled a fallen branch out of the road so that I might pass. My second smile and wave were heartfelt as I slogged past them feeling faint.

Consequently, it is no surprise to me that we have met more Ticos thus far than Western locals. A continuation of this “sweet” aspect leads them to be the first to speak to us, ask us our names, our business here, and how we like their home so far. They often ask how we find the Ticos, themselves. An odd question, I thought at first, because it is an invitation to make generalizations. A mother of a boy in Russell’s class pressed me for an answer. I surged forth with all of my positive generalizations as she nodded in assent. Los gringos, I asked conversationally, how did she find them? Cold, she said. I think it is because it is so cold where you live. I laughed, conceding that she might well have a point there.