Costa Rica 2

Sliding around on my small bag, perched on a raised level behind the front seat, this was heaven in a 40 year old VW bus, standing room only. The one-eyed driver confimed our destination, Nicoya, kindly showing me with coins from his cash box how much I was to pay. Less than a dollar fifty. Much better than the 150 shuttle cost - and infinitely more educational, fun, real.
Swaying softly next to women, men and school children, all clean and freshly groomed despite the humidity and heat (not me.) How does that woman keep her tight white capris so pristine?
At Filadelfia - a little U-turn of a village - I hop into the vacated front seat and my one-eyed driver shoots me an approving nod and faint smile. I am reminded, after years without practice, that a big grin goes a long way to bridge an inexcusable language gap.
A roadside fruit stand selling pineapples, bananas. Next to it a large mango tree, her golden-skinned fruit scattered at her feet, decaying.
10 minutes before Santa Cruz the bus hauls in a large group of women and small children. I return to my bag-seat for one of them, taking a precious caramel one-year old onto my lap. We have matching black pedicures. Balancing the slender wee weight on my knee, away from my body to keep her cool, nevertheless we are both a sweaty mess by the time we reach Santa Cruz.

Now I've really gone native I think to myself - small child on my knee, small gestures of conversation with the women... But what is native really? We all catch buses, flash our senior pass, hold our children tight, give up a seat for the elderly, pull out our cell phones at a certain point before our destination to let those at home know we're nearly there... "native" is all the same.
After Santa Cruz the flat landscape grows some hills. The lushness continues, but with more recognizable agriculture and less houses sitting on the road's edge.
We reach Nicoya. In Spitanglish I ask one-eye where to catch the bus to Nosara. Here apparently, in this empty dirt lot, apparently. Another big grin and a gracias as I leave and one-eye shoots me a look "something something muy linda" ooookkkkaaaaaay. He continues in his quiet shy voice, hand on heart "te gusto?" ummmmm "te enamor someething."

The bastard had left me at the wrong place. But all good - he was sweet and I found my way to Nicosa in good time... All the more exuberant in my dusty step at the thought that at least there was a one-eyed caramel man out there who found me appealing....