In these dismal days of businesses closing, it is refreshing to see a few opening. In Potrero, we attended the new Hotel Mediterraneus with its Amata Terra Restaurant, and Shack’s Bar near Perla’s. And in Tamarindo, Dave and Doug have taken over the back bar at Voodoo and will run it as a local sports bar, a commodity much needed in town – big screens, pool, foosball, and a friendly bar. Their success depends on you, the customer; support local businesses.

Fashion Fun!! The “Let it Rain” Fashion Show will be held at Bar 1 in Tamarindo, starting 9 p.m., sponsored by Papaya con Leche. Proceeds (20%) will be donated to Cepia. Tickets available at Papaya con Leche.

Even in Paradise one needs vacation. El Coconut will be closed from the 18th of May till the 15th of June. Do not miss the 20% birthday discount on Saturday the 20th of June!

Died and gone to heaven? No, not yet. I’m at Ben and Katie’s new sports bar Sharky’s watching Stanley Cup Hockey playoffs on a 10-foot screen. Finally, hockey in Tamarindo! Sharky’s (next door to Pacific Park) has a range of sports events on the 30-foot screen. Saturdays, ladies drink free from 9-11. Videos will screen all the ‘80s classics.

Pura Vida Health operates an organic market on the beach at Witch’s Rock Surf Camp, every Saturday, and will host a community Beach Fair on the first Saturday of every month.

Cocodrilo Restaurant introduces its new “economic crisis” menu: an appetizer, main course and dessert for $20, and reductions on regular menu prices.

Kahiki and Jimmy’s Restaurants have arisen again, now at Pachanga, after the fire at Iguana Surf. Jim and Susanne run Jimmy’s for breakfast and lunch, 7 a.m. to 2 p.m; Dave McDaniel is operating Kahiki, with the same hours (closed Mondays) and serving the same great meals from chef Steve Blanco. Nightly specials are: Tuesday - 2x1 caiparinha; Wed - free beer with a burger; Thur - 2x1 mojitos; Fri - 50% off all appetizers; Sat - Ladies Night 2x1 drinks; Sun - live music.

Surfside Properties and Coldwell Banker Beach Properties have joined forces, and will work out of the Coldwell Banker offices in Brasilito. Contact Laurie Meier 2654-5567 or 8865-1143 for details.

Got any old clothes to get rid of? Blankets, linens or anything that can be useful to others in a disaster situation? Brandon McCullers has put his Pacific Coast Storage at your disposal. Call 8305-1919 for details, or drop stuff at Stella’s Boutique (opposite Lazy Wave) where Lesley will pass it on. Also wanted, sealable storage containers (e.g. ice cream buckets).

With a flash of yards of colored skirts, the marimba players strike the first high notes of the familiar folkloric melody of Punto Guanacasteco, the national dance of Costa Rica. Whether in the Melico Salazar Theater in San José or at one of the scores of fiestas civicas held all over Costa Rica, typical folkloric dances have become a colorful symbol of Costa Rica’s cultural heritage. Professional dance groups and local school groups don the traditional garb of Costa Rica’s past. Roots of these festive dances lie in coffee plantations in the mountains, Guanacaste’s famous ranching culture mixed with a bit of indigenous folk dance and music and romantic Spanish melodies. Sometimes humorous, sometimes romantic, the energetic dance pieces always tell a unique story of Costa Rican cultural past.

According to Cinda Chase in the Costa Rican American Forums, “Like many Costa Rican folk dances, the Costa Rican national dance, the punto guanacasteco, comes from the province of Guanacaste. Couples wear traditional costumes and follow a melody played with a marimba (a type of wooden xylophone) and several guitars. This dance, like other popular dances, portrays the courting traditions of the past. The male dancer always follows his female partner and the latter, while smiling, pretends to get away from him. The male dancer periodically stops the music by shouting “¡Bomba!” so that he may recite humorous praises, called bombas, to his lady. A tradicional bomba goes as follows: “Dicen que no me quieres / porque no tengo bigote / mañana me lo pondré / con plumas de zopilote.” (They say that you don’t love me / because I don’t have a mustache / tomorrow I shall put one on / made out of buzzard feathers.)”

Each January, during the fiestas in Santa Cruz, known as the Folkloric City, scores of marimba groups line the streets to play the many familiar songs and scores of dancers perform the “cultural stories” to the strains of the marimbas. In schools, on civic holidays, children of all ages don the costumes and sandals – the girls in home-sewn skirts made from tiers of colorful fabric, white-lace-trimmed off-the-shoulder blouses, braids and flowers in their hair; the boys, in white pants, shirts, red cummerbunds and scarves, wear the traditional cotton hats.

Sarah Wright, a writer and researcher, in her description of Guanacaste Day which celebrates the Annexation of Guanacaste to Costa Rica, explores the anatomy of the folkloric dances: “The most popular bailes típicos (typical dances) that occur throughout this celebration,” she notes, “include the Cabillito nicoyano (Little Horse from Nicoya ); El torito (The Little Bull); and the national step dance, the Punto guanacasteco (Guanacaste dance step). In the Cabillito nicoyano the barefoot dancers are dressed in campesino style: the man wears white work pants, a long-sleeved white shirt, a campesino hat, a red cummerbund, and a red bandanna. The woman wears a white, off-the-shoulder blouse accented with lace, and a flowing, tiered skirt of bright colors. The dance is between the character of a male cattle rancher and the woman he is trying to impress. The man in the dance is the cattle rancher and the woman is a colt that needs to be captured. The music mimics the sound of horses’ hooves. The man follows the woman around in a circle attempting to lasso the colt with his bandanna. The dance ends with an intensifying chase as she twirls toward him, and is finally caught. The El Torito is a dance between a man and a woman where the man is the bull and the woman is the bullfighter.. The man is portrayed as a sort of spirited rogue, attempting to kiss her; while she showcases a graceful femininity oblivious to the danger the bull presents, and eventually dominates him. The Punto Guanacasteco (Guanacaste dance step) contains three steps and involves, from time to time, all dancers pausing in mid-dance and a male dancer shouting out a witty, sometimes racy, rhymed verse that comments on some aspect of the interaction depicted in the dance scene).” (Helmuth 2000)

Costa Ricans are very proud of their history and culture, and there is an effort by government and cultural organizations to promote the cultural heritage of Costa Rica through music and dance. For example, in April a group of Rotary International members from California, Florida and San José visited schools with the Amigos para la Educacíon to donate library and scholastic books to area schools. At the La Garita elementary school, the donors were treated to the traditional music and dances by the school’s two dance groups. The marimba, also recently donated to the school, will be used to teach young people to learn the instrument and continue the musical heritage.

For starters, there is a choice of chicken skewers, firecracker shrimp, fish fingers in a tropical dipping sauce, shrimp roll with pineapple sauce. There is chicken soup with Asian vegetables and a Caesar and a house salad. We chose the Aloha Tuna Tower, and the Mediterranean Platter, hummus with chips, olives and falafel, plus an arugula salad. All dishes were delicious and plentiful.

For burger fans, there is the classic woody burger and a Honolulu Mahi Mahi fish burger. My dining companion, though vegetarian, found plenty to interest her among the entrees: the mahi mahi turns up again in two entrees – with a tropical glaze or with puttanesca sauce; a vegetarian lasagna; two tuna dishes – blackened or Asian style; whole roasted red snapper; and Hawaiian coconut shrimp with mango sauce. I could be a vegetarian if I didn’t like meat so much, and chose the pork tenderloin, medaillons of juicy pink meat on a bed of potato puree and spinach. Other choices were chicken breast with couscous and spinach, chicken penne in a green walnut pesto, filet mignon marinated in chipotle and surf ‘n’ turf.

Desserts are vanilla ice cream, triple chocolate brownie with ice cream, and a heavily loaded Rousie Brown after-dinner drink.

Kahiki is open Tuesday through Sunday from 5:30 to 10. All major credit cards are accepted. Tel: 8826-0758. Opposite Pasatiempo in Hotel Mamiri. This location also serves breakfast and lunch under the name Jimmy’s.

Here’s what happened.
The band pulled into the parking lot of that night’s engagement in a pretty good mood. We’d rehearsed that week and had several new old songs added to the repertoire, and we showed up early enough so we could have plenty of time to do a thorough setup. This was our second gig here; the first one wasn’t exactly our finest performance and we were later accused of being responsible for all the missing ash trays and salt shakers, a crime we didn’t commit. I was a little surprised at being asked back, but a gig is a gig!

The load-in and setup went smoothly with the bar staff keeping the band well lubricated, people started to show up, including a morale-boosting visit by The Band Wives. Things continued to look good. The manager showed up and Euro-kissed everybody in sight, happy to have us back and keeping a close eye on the table condiments. All that was left to do was get onstage and start the show.

All bands have rituals they go through before a gig. I ritualistically prepare and put on the same headband I’ve been wearing for seventeen years, while the rhythm section (bass and drums) have their own practice of quick-smoking an entire pack of cigarettes. This band is powered by nicotine.

The band takes the stage to an appreciative reception by the audience, mostly locals who’ve come out to have some fun and listen to (in my own humble opinion) some pretty good rock and roll. There was also a smattering of, shall we say, older types probably not quite as enthusiastic. We start off with “Good Lovin”, from the Young Rascals, usually pretty safe for a beginner. The band is playing pretty good and we end the song to an animated response from the crowd. We thought.

Suddenly the manager rushes up to the stage with two individuals that she identifies as the owners. The woman is close to tears and her husband is about to have an aneurism. In no uncertain terms did they let the band know it was playing much too loud and was running off all their customers, although not the ones enthusiastically applauding. The Band Wives, later in a written affidavit, said the band had never sounded better.

Far be it from me to cause trouble so I instructed the band to turn down and we would do a “mellow” song to calm things down. We went into Otis Redding’s “Dock of the Bay”, what I thought was a guaranteed “calmer downer”. The crown dug it and once again showed their appreciation.

Nevertheless back they came. It was even louder than the first time! The owners are beginning to froth a little at the mouth.

Okay, we’ll turn it down some more. Now the boys in the rhythm section, although all hopped up on nicotine, also happen to be extremely sensitive artists. To get here the bass player had driven over some of Costa Rica’s worst roads to make it in from far-off Pinilla. He looked close to tears at the prospect of playing quieter while the drummer, who actually just lived right down the road, had come armed to the teeth.

We played a less-than-very-loud version of Del Shannon’s “Little Runaway”, and I still thought we were sounding pretty good.

You guessed it, now the owners’ eyeballs were almost popping out of their skulls and dire threats were uttered if we didn’t turn down. Now even yours truly was getting a little miffed. I turned everything down that I could possibly reach, we launched into a really lame version of “Who’ll Stop the Rain” by Creedence Clearwater Revival”, after which the owners came back complaining that our lower volume sound was even worse.

We stopped playing. The owner came onstage and informed us that in real life he was a famous Rock and Roll sound mixer and he was willing to adjust the sound himself if we would just let him play with all our knobs.

Instead the band huddled together and took a vote. We’d rather leave than put up with this (insert expletive). Which we did.

Or maybe it happened this way.
You know the restaurant-bar business is pretty tough in this part of the province. It had always been our dream of quitting our jobs in the paper products industry and moving somewhere exotic and buying a place, so we were pleased at how easy it was to buy our business from the previous owners.

We have had to provide live entertainment as a means of attracting customers, bringing us in contact with some of the lower life forms around.

I was surprised that my manager had rehired this band for another performance after the missing condiment situation, but for some reason she’s been having trouble finding bands to play here. Good riddance if you ask me.

I was gonna keep a close eye on these guys.

When the band first started playing the volume caused the whole building to start shaking. Several of my older customers said their dentures were hurting due to the mid-range rumble that seemed to be the band’s trademark sound. People were walking out by the droves and the only people who seemed to be enjoying themselves are the riff-raff that we just can’t seem to get rid of.

Finally they finished their first song and we were able to approach the stage and ask them nicely to please turn down. Instead they all turned their amps on “eleven”. I’m also wondering, since they obviously haven’t learned anything new in forty years, why they don’t play hipper music, like maybe Barry Manilow or The Carpenters.

This band just wasn’t willing to co-operate. They continued to play louder and louder until we finally convinced them to stop and consider the alternatives.

I even offered to adjust their sound for them as I used to do the audio visual chores for my church group. The old guy in the headband just sneered and said if he couldn’t play as loud as he wanted he’d just pack up his toys and leave. I really didn’t like that guy’s attitude!

So they packed up and left. Although I didn’t have to pay them, always a plus, I nonetheless lost thousands of dollars that night as our plentiful supply of toilet paper and napkins mysteriously went missing.


Jesse Bishop hails from Texas, and lives in Langosta, Costa Rica with his lovely wife Susan and ugly shar pei dog Sun Tzu. In addition to writing for the Howler, Jesse is a guitarist who plays several gigs along the gold coast. Contact Jesse at owlhumm@hotmail.com

For me, it was not the stock market that went into free fall today. It was the 500 lb. concrete culvert pipe that we were gently lowering into a newly dug well. The end of the dry season is the traditional time to dig—or deepen—wells in Guanacaste. The ground water is at its lowest point in the year. Rain doesn’t mess up the edges of the hole. The ropes don’t get all wet and slippery. You’re not flailing around in the mud. And the bonus for the guy in the hole is the refreshing coolness of artesian groundwater springs after a week of sweating through layers of increasingly rocky subsoil. When he hit water, “Papi” came up caked in mud, but elated.

Eager to have a backup well close to my kitchen, I had joined forces with some of the true notables of my town. “Papi”, noted equally for his prowess in the cantinas and the dangerous work of well digging, was more than willing to work through Easter week. An occasional advance kept him lubricated enough to make it to work but not so much that he constituted a danger to himself. He brought an interesting selection of hung-over help; some of who lasted only long enough to earn a shot or two to take the edge off the morning’s shakes.

All things considered, the actual digging proceeded apace. Anyone who can tunnel straight down ten feet in two days definitely makes it in my book. Reversing the sequence of geological time they went through black soil then red, and then began to unearth the familiar “lastre” that is so common on our roads. Equipped with a digging bar and short handled shovel, the going got tougher but the tough kept going until “Papi” was practically up to his waist in water and it was time to seal the sides of the well.

This practice helps to keep the shaft from caving in and ensures that the water entering the shaft comes from the bottom up, hence aiding to filter out sediment and impurities. Back in the day, this was done with handset stone, now, the preferred method is pre-cast culverts, like the ones used for channeling streams under roads. Smart people use a backhoe to lower them securely down the well shaft. We went for another approach.

“We’re doing it Estilo indio—Indian style,” Papi announced proudly. You may have marveled at the rope work in the village fiestas. Complicated knots and deft turns manage the friction on wood that keeps the bulls in, the gates shut and give the riders a chance for their moment in the limelight. That’s more or less how we were ‘planning’ to proceed. Forty meters of brand new 3⁄4 inch rope that would have easily brought a hefty Brahma bull to its knees was deployed around the culvert, over a stout teak pole and wrapped around a couple of laurel trees, to slowly feed out as we lowered the thing into the hole. We were ready.

As a firm believer that the laws of physics indeed do apply in our universe, I humbly admit that at times it seems that the law of Murphy trumps those of Newton. Looking back, it is easy to analyze what went awry. However, the rifle-shot report as the rope snapped and the culvert disappeared found the crew scrambling for cover and the boss considering Plan B.

With all due respect to the Indians, I informed Papi that I didn’t fancy any more dead ones around my place. The crew was happy to consider alternatives that would keep them alive until payday. We had the talent and broke out the tools. Predrilled holes to hang the beasties without wobbling, a hand winch to lift them into place and the best of Papi’s rope and wood techniques. Like dressing for a wedding. Something old, something new, etc.

Total piece of cake. Respecting the laws of physics, we made short work of the remaining tons of pre-formed concrete and high-fived around the newly completed well. Murphy, meanwhile, was up to his old tricks out by the highway.

If you haven’t seen the new highway from 27 de Abril to Paraiso, be prepared for a shock. It’s not just the reflectors at night that brings back memories of landing at Heathrow. In front of my house the roadbed has ‘risen’ at least four feet. During the re-grading of the entry, simultaneous with the physics experiments in the well, the backhoe broke the water line—twice. At times like this there is a very important rule to remember.

You are forbidden to let the following pass through your consciousness, “Oh, God. What else can possibly go wrong?” Don’t let your mind go there! In stark contrast to my non-karmic, non-crystal worshipping, non-cosmic based, vibration centered, aural rainbow view of the universe, I never mess with Murphy. With me it is axiomatic that if you give the mental space to the Murph, he’ll obligingly complicate your life, make your best-laid plans go the way of my infamous culvert and otherwise intrude on your pura vida lifestyle.

In that sense, today was my lucky day. I managed greater control of the inner workings than the physical world and avoided that fateful third strike. The scary experiences will probably mutate over time into a palette of colorful anecdotes. Evolution has apparently selected for optimism. A more positive ‘spin’ on past events helps us get up, wash off the mud and face the new day with hope that things will get better.

In the future, I’ll be pulling buckets of clean water out of my new well for a long, long time. Worldwide, millions of individuals have seen their personal futures disappear with the geometric rate of acceleration that sucked my culvert into the void. Politicians are doing everything possible to keep hope alive and bending the rules of economics to accomplish the task. I’ll stick with trying to understand and apply the laws of physics. All the while maintaining a profound respect for the law of Murphy.

Tom Peifer is an ecological land use consultant with 13 years experience in Guanacaste. Phone: 2658-8018. peifer@racsa.co.cr. El Centro Verde is dedicated to sustainable land use, agriculture and development. Web site: http://www.elcentroverde.org/