bienvenidos a chavelo´s.

d: on one of my first nights here, the tican boyfriend of a girl who was staying at our place had two recommendations when i asked about places that are quintessentially costa rica but are not in any guide book: the farmers’ market in guadalupe, and the small town of cachi. having already hit up the market (*great* touristless event; see last post), we set off early yesterday morning for the supposed 45 min bus ride to cachi. the actual ride however took us over two hours due to a procession (a walkathon of sorts) lasting about 4 miles that kept traffic at a more or less of a standstill.

apparently, every sunday after easter, a town between san jose and cachi gathers around an image of the locally-worshipped virgin (forgot what her name was; the catholicism here will really blow your mind), and follows her from one town, down a very steep valley wall, to another—then they all turn around and head back home. quite an interesting event, this one. additionally, we (i) were very entertained by a 4-month-old sitting in front of us with her mom. throughout the whole trip she would look me directly in the eye and smile brightly, then would turn to ash and give her a flat-out scowl. great times.

view from the bus and virgin walkathoners:



a: oddly enough, said infant of course took a liking to me first as all babies and dogs do, and was all smiles until she began glancing in david´s direction... i wondered why he was frowning at this jubilant little cherub, and when i saw his glee at observing this formerly smiley bundle giving me looks of death, it all came together. david denies anything of the sort, yet continues to ask me daily why i think this child was so angry at me.


d: we finally arrived to cachi (smaller.). we looked around briefly and realized that we were without a plan or even any idea of what might go on there besides the fact that there was a river somewhere. in fact, had we not spoken to a woman on the bus earlier in the trip, we wouldn’t’ve known that we were even in cachi. we refueled at a local soda (cheap tican restaurant) and asked the dude behind the counter how two outta towners should spend their day. he pointed to a hill and suggested we head up it to see what we could find. we picked up some picnic goodies at the market and up we went, heading towards our favorite day of the trip thus far…



the town was generally pretty quiet outside of the main soccer field at its heart where kids around 11 years old played as we arrived and men well into their 40s played as we left. just as everywhere else we’ve spent time, the people were extremely attentive and courteous. cachi lies at a far lower elevation than does san jose, so the hills surrounding are covered in beautiful dense tropical jungle. the community is one row of homes deep on either side of the only road heading up this very steep hill.


we could hear a river the whole walk up but only finally laid eyes on it about 30 mins in, where a group of 8-10 teenage boys (and one poor girl) were spending their sunday jumping off a rock into a pool that had previously been dammed to what must’ve been a depth of at least 10 feet considering the way they were diving… among the peace and serenity of our day to that point, nothing could possibly have prepared us for one house in particular. it was on our right as we approached; dolls that had been mutilated, beheaded and otherwise very wrongly abused hung on the property’s front gate. more outtaplace, most disturbing. directly in front of the gate was a sign that read: for sale. sweet mercy. the property actually had three different gates, all with similar brow-furrowing decor. we looked past the 3rd gate to find a sign that finally gave some hint as to who would choose to “decorate” in such a manner: dr suchandsuch, orthopedic and trauma surgeon. not sure what to add to that.



at the top of the hill, two miles up and well past where the roads had stopped being paved, was a trucheria (trout fishery) owned by this dude (nicest. coolest.) named isaac (call me “chavelo”) who approached us with an outstretched hand as we walked onto the grounds to say hello and introduce himself. he suggested we continue up a path above his place to check out the scene and come back down for a fish lunch.



a: david failed to mention that meeting isaac-chavelo shed light upon his own family history. all his life, david has referred to his aunt isabel as ¨chava,¨ short for ¨chavela.¨ apparently chavelo-a is the common nickname for isabel or isaac, but david never knew the significance. i thought that was kinda cool.

d: we walked up about another 300 yards to what was literally the abrupt ending of civilization and beginning of the jungle, where we sat and had our picnic.

a: i can picnic anywhere.



d: after coming back down and relaxing a bit, we decided it was about time to try a trout. chavelo asked us if we’d like to fish it ourselves—of course we agreed. fortunately i was at the helm on this one, as fishing at this particular locale requires intimate knowledge of trout tendencies and behavior. that, combined with my expertise in bait and tackle allowed for us to celebrate the catching of a trout after a grueling struggle that made me appreciate having kept in shape over the years.

a: similar to the saying ¨shooting fish in a barrel,¨ at chavelo´s one can ¨catch fish in over populated puddle.¨ check out the video of this manly, carnal triumph, and pay close attention to the look of pride (terror?) as his kill flops around in his face:



you´ll notice chavelo is gripping the trophy with his fingers in the gills...this is just where he inserted them in order to rip the trout´s head off, which left a red badge of courage right on david´s foot. and that´s where it stayed the rest of the afternoon, so that no trout would let their guard down.




d: exhausted and sore from the experience, i entered with ash to watch chavelo’s friend isaidro chop up my worthy prey and fry it nice n tasty along with some plantains for what was really a perfectly relaxing experience capping off the afternoon. again, the beauty of this place really lay in the fact that we were the only lightskins around; a few of the men gathered around a table gambled with dominoes as ash and I served as apprentices in the kitchen and enjoyed our feast.




a: fried plantains and a beer suits me just fine, though i realize david had an additional layer of appreciation for his meal since he slaughtered the beast himself.



we can’t comment enough on how awesome everyone who we’ve met here is...