Marie-Cecile and her husband James moved to Guanacaste and founded the Institute of Oceanology in Costa Rica. Here they planned excursions to explore and educate children and adults about the country's coast and land. These scientific missions quickly turned their focus toward efforts in protection and rehabilitation of these treasures, as Marie and James witnessed the heavy hand of politics involved in the coastal destruction and misuse of ecological life systems. These natural sacrifices were not used for the support and prosperity of the provinces, but for tourism, resort and gated communities and recreational private grounds (golf courses, polo fields and gardens boasting plant life not native to Costa Rica, for example). The success of tourismo bolstered the country's economy undoubtedly, but upon closer look, the price was paid by the natural resources and culture of this land. The Institute began to investigate and address the testimony from farmers and natives, (speaking against the injustice and bribery occurring within local and high levels of government), and it soon grew into an operation of activism. Their organization helped to spotlight the unyielding united front of affected and targeted towns who fought the drilling of water wells and lines. Now the situation has been exasperated by the planet's detrimental warming, and while the drilling continues to threaten, the wells in many communities are already dry.
We were invited to visit a farm with Marie and James, Guillemette and Sylvain, to hear the story of the degradation and will of a people and their home.
[I recorded this visit completely and will upload the footage and photography in a week, (once home). For now, I will tell from our English-speaking perspective, with iPhone pictures taken by Elliot and Nate, and will try to summarize the inspiring story until the real deal is available.]
We drove out 45 km to the small village of Lorena. James drove us in a well-loved blue van (Ford somethin), with Marie, their son Earnesto, a friend (super friendly, but I've forgotten her name) and the three of us, in tow. The other family followed in their car. The windows were open and an oven hot breeze blew my face if I was angled right. Max and Nate were windless, so I was in a prize spot. I have no idea what the speedometer read, but climbing the mountains felt and sounded like the creep up a roller coaster. I've flashed back a lot to my trip to Skyros ages ago; specifically piling too many people into a pale blue, ancient Saab that drove us just a bit faster than walking. I think it's hmm, the resourceful attitude of both cultures that strike me. If all I had was a scooter with a basket to get around, I might fashion a trailer on the back to carry the guys across town; helmets and regulations be damned. If it works, use it. If it's broke, get some tape. Kind of great.
Ok so right now, in the van, I'm watching Nate start his thing; diving into dispair. He's hot and because of the language barrier, the guys aren't 100% sure of what we are doing. I wasn't even sure. So I'm making eyes at them to "be cool," while seriously over-heating. No one else was uncomfortable, just us. If you know me, you know I hate being a baby, a tourist, and I hated feeling faint now. The drive over muddy dirt roads, the heat, the lack of explanation and words for the boys all ratcheted up in my head, until I realized:
this is me leaving my comfort zone. Excellent..and..aha! and..ugh..and we arrive.
It's about 4:00p and we park along a stretch of farmland soaking in the last hottest bits of sun. The kids run to play on an old tree, and I wandered around taking pictures (feeling better having a handle on my psyche but still not quite out of the box). Sylvain was already out of his box and lit up with excitement, which made me a little jealous, ashamed and wanting to hurry my head along. Guillemette looked her calm and usual cool, which reminded me to chill, just chill. At the farm entrance we met maybe seven people; all sitting patiently and knowingly. I wasn't patient and I didn't have any answers for the boys when they asked, "what are we dooooing?" I was lucky to hide behind my camera, and, being boys, the guys raised no eyebrows when smashing rocks and logs in heated frustration. No snacks, no water, no answers; uncomfortable. [Marie is reading this now thinking "Oh dear I knew it!" but wait, I promise we pull through!]
Three or four more cars pulled up, and middle aged men, retired women, young kids, preteens and new adults, mothers, fathers, grandparents, friends slowly joined and sat along the fence of the farm. I was called over to record the story of Lorena and why we were gathered here.
An older woman with a fedora hat and serious expression, motioned for me to sit in front. My clumsy pantomime communication cracked her up, and her face broke into a great smile. Sitting next to her, a woman began to tell...
Lorena is a small farming village located in the hills of the Nicoya Peninsula. The people of Lorena live simply, listen to nature and are contentedly detached from tourismo. Many years ago, the owner of this farm, arranged to sell a section of his land. The individual buyer turned the property in 2000, and resold to the wealthy and powerful Conchal Society. My understanding is that the Conchal Society manages and distributes the country's tourism and recreation funding. The Conchal Society is also working with the AyA, (Acueductos y Alcantarillados) the public society of water for Costa Rica. Their influence and reach is well known in Costa Rica, for getting what they want (offering promises in exchange for cooperation), and the people of Lorena generally tried to remain under their radar. Had he known the Conchal's involvement, the farmer never would have approved the sale.
Immediately, they built four drills that would drain water into a large tank on the property (across the street from where we sat). Large trucks would transport water (equalling 20 times the amount of the entire town's consumption) to resorts an hour's driving distance away. Additionally, the Conchal Society began to prepare the land for a pipeline that would take the water straight from the drilled farmland to the resort wells.
I imagine the first trucks were surprised to find their access blocked. The farmers and people of Lorena sat on the pipeline and refused to let the construction trucks pass. They did this everyday, all day, alternating shifts to guard their water. For years they kept this schedule, until the Conchal Society moved on to a neighboring town.
And now, today we sit again because the next door city Tamarindo has gone dry. There is no water. The wells on this farm are also nearly dry due to the effects of the severe drought (shared by countless nations, states and cities globally). The lack of rain, endured for at least three years now, compounded with excessive drilling to keep resorts green, has dried parts of this country. The Society recently returned to Lorena to drill new spots, for new unfounded waters...and so, without question, the people of Lorena sit again. Friends join in support, and journalists have come to speak with them, but the story is quite simple. They are protecting their livelihood. They are the face of the class forgotten, and the people of our world. And the boys and I had the privilege of sitting with them.
Before I knew it, we were being shuffled into the van, this time with 14 people riding. Nate was on my lap and we were in a stifling middle seat, alongside a mother and her son (on her lap) on one side, two other women on our other side and one woman squatting in front of us. No one was bothered nor impressed by our Tetris fit. We drove through a very deep and muddy crossing, with the uneven weight of the van teetering and complicating the drive. Guillemette told me later that she and Sylvain held their breath watching us. We drove into the dusk and were let out in the middle of a festival with cowboy dressed men and women riding horses through a crowd of hundreds of residents. It was August 1 and the church at the top of the festival held mass for the celebration.
My first thought was "Air!" and immediately following was "I need water for the guys." I made a B-line through the festival toward the super mercado, and bought waters and ice creams. Once the three of us were hydrated, I turned around and realized I was in a sea of no one from the blue van. Next thought, "Ok, we can walk home. We totally can find our way."
Then I saw them. Old faces, little babies, bubbles, teenagers squealing, boys on bikes with girls on handlebars, guitars, hamburgers, laughing, hugging; families and friends who have been celebrating all day. It was like a huge family reunion, yes JUST like a family. And...
just like that I was out if my box. We were ok. I didn't know where I was but I was suddenly absorbed and loved where I was. Full of hmmm, trust, familial leaning and loving, and color and lawn chairs. I took out my camera and snapped it all, and spoke my broken Spanish, and felt so grateful that Marie brought us here. And when my stress lifted, the boys lifted. It was magic.
We wandered a bit and finally spied Guillemette. I gave her some water and found out that she was not feeling as cool as she looked. We were both relieved to find each other, but also to see that we both were ok. I mean, I was ok. I was out. And that's how she looked-out. Sort of like when you hit a level of stress that is so ridiculous, you can only laugh. That's where we were- in the happy laugh spot. I was where Sylvain was. And I am so, so glad that my brain lets me go to happy-silly rather than to mental-breakdown. Life is so much more fun when you can ride the waves.
We ate hamburgers and tortillas with Guillemette and Sylvain, and the kids ran and played tag and monster and whatever else made them laugh like crazy. Clementine was the feared "IT," and made the boys scream as she approached.
The sun finally disappeared, and we found Marie to thank her and say goodnight. Sylvain drove us back, Guillemette cranked the AC, I sat between Clementine and Elliot (who helped me take pictures with my phone) and the beasts rode in the hatchback, (naming the cars and giggling).
[Photos of the farm owner, participant, drilled grounds and pipeline to come; including video of Lorena's story in full. Please visit the Institute's page
https://m.facebook.com/InstitutoDeOceanologia/about?refid=17
for more information until my posting is complete, and thanks for your patience.]
