Mal Pais

I’m sitting in Steve’s new office. And this is what I see outside: Trees and bushes that look like they’re juiced up on steriods. Palms, wild flowers usually seen only in the tropical section of the garden centre. Mango, lime, lemon and avocado trees, still too small to bear fruit, but not for long. Only planted 2 months ago, already they’ve grown a foot and a half. Flitting in and out of my view are butterfies of all colors, rivaling the beauty of the land. Cartoon clouds in the sky. Sometimes those puffs are stretched like white candy floss. My eyes, wide with beauty, are also soaking up the Pacific Ocean. I can see the ripples from here and the varying shades of blues and greens and frothy white where the waves are crashing onto the rocky shore.

The sounds? The ocean rumbles like rush hour traffic, without the aggression. A symphony of crickets. Strange bird calls, and from deeper in the jungle I hear the gutteral moans of Howler monkeys. To me it sounds like the noise a man might make if he were able to give birth. Testosterone driven labor. I haven’t found anyone, yet, who agrees with my analogy, but it’s the best I can do to put the sound into words.

If I look up, inside the structure where I’m sitting I see a cluster of bats clinging together like shrivelled prunes, sleeping off last nights adventues . And almost right above my head a honeycomb, dangling precariously from the ceiling and teeming with bees. On the floor beside me, a snake skin, much smaller than the one Steve found earlier that belonged to a boa. The desk is made of tree stumps and a piece of of plywood. The only thing adorning it is an empty Heiniken bottle with a candle stuck in, just in case the power goes out, as it often does here.

No, I’m not in Toronto anymore. Steve’s three week mission to Mal Pais to clear some of the land, meet with contractors and find us a place to live while our house is being built, now includes me. I love the fact that he asked me to come here for a week to help make decisions. Even though I know it’s partly so I will shoulder some of the blame if mistakes are made!

The drive from the beach, up the mountain and onto our property is like a rollercoaster ride. An old wooden roller coaster, like the one they used to have at the Ex. A very slow old wooden roller coaster, because it’s so steep you can’t go any faster than first gear. Chugging up, up up, through tarzan vines, under canopies of trees so thick you feel enveloped by nature. My abs hurt from bracing for the bumps. My arm aches from white knuckling the passenger handle.

And then you’re here. 6 acres of the most incredible combination of jungle and ocean views. The land came with a house. And a nickname: The Bat House.The people who owned it before wanted to be at one with nature. So none of the openings have doors. Or windows. Hence the bats, bees, snakes and other wildlife that call this home.

We were up here last night with Nat and Frederico, two lovely men who are helping us turn this into a home we can live in. The four of us get caught up with eachothers great ideas. Figuring out what will go where, what materials to use, how to re-configure it and make it safe so the kids can’t tumble off the cliff and into the valley before.

Then we all stop and watch as a storm moves in over the ocean. In no time there is pounding rain. Thunder that drowns out all other sounds. Flashes of lighting competing with the setting sun. Because we are so high up, we actually see some of the storm clouds rolling in below us, obscuring the view below. Steve and I are in awe. And so are Nat and Frederico, despite the fact they’ve lived here all their lives. I am amazed that it hasn’t gotten old for them, this beauty. I remember a three month exchange to Switzerland when I was in highschool and how quickly the majestic alps lost their intensity for me. How I was dumbstruck at first and then rarely even noticed the postcard beauty.

(I just used my computer thesaurus to try and find another word for beauty or beautiful since it’s a word that I need so much to describe this place. One of the words that popped up was “toast” the other “pulchritudiness” . Writers should not use the thesaurus.).

The storm passes and the four of us get back to business. Because of time constraints and the difficulty finding a place to rent, we decide to do a quick reno on this house. We’ll live in it when we get here and then turn it into a guest house after Steve has finished building the big house nearby. But can it be done in time? Our one way tickets have been booked for January 10th. The kids school starts on the 15th and our house in Toronto closes on the same day.

My heart sinks and races at the same time when Nat tells us there’s no way it’ll be ready by January. The month of October is a write off, because supplies won’t make it up our rollercoaster road during the rainy season. Little gets done in December because of Christmas. It’ll be February at the earliest, but mostly likely March before we can move in.

Now I question our planning. It’s high season here in January. Trying to rent a place, competting with tourists who will spend thousands for a week, is impossible. And besides, everything is booked up solid. Sensing my panic, Frederico says not to worry. Without thinking twice, he tells me our family can stay at his house until the job here is done. He’ll stay with a friend. His two bedroom home is right next to the school, a walk to the beach. In that moment the spirit of the people of Costa Rica has already found a place into my heart. Their national saying is Pura Vida. The good life. And already I have found out, through one man’s extreme generosity, just how much Pura Vida there is. And how much I want to rename this town. Mal Pais means bad country, a title it doesn’t deserve. it should be called Beuno Pais,which it clearly is.