Today I sent a Moneygram. It's kind of like a candy gram with cash instead of a singing bear. I sent it to Nicaragua for my Spanish school. Nova, a wonderful friend and fluent spanish speaker accompanied me so she could translate. We went to the first office but they were closed (on a Wednesday, really! Why? a possible suggestion was they were on lunch) Luckily Nova knew of another place and we entered Tamarindo and went to BAC San Jose. A small glass windowed bank with a security guard that takes his job seriously.
At first we were standing around waiting our turn, we were the only ones waiting, when he comes up and points to a ticket dispenser. He says in spanish that we need to take a number. We look at each other and trying not to laugh, take the next number, 41. There is no one in the lobby but us and yet we need to take a number. So I stand holding the number waiting for the next teller, who calls my number and we approach the glassed window with a slit for transactions.
This double approach of the window is not allowed and he steps in to wave Nova back. Oh please no don't send my translator away, I think. Nova quickly explains her role and the teller confirms that it is alright. He hesitates, eying us with suspicion and moves a step back, still glaring. I choke down a swallow feeling like we're about to commit a crime and carry on with the transaction. In no time at all we're finished, receipt in hand and leaving the bank. The guard is only too quick to open the door and usher us out, still giving us a hard look. I thank him and then quickly run for the car praying I'll escape my legal action without arrest.
Next we run a few more errands and then lunch. Nova takes me to a local joint, where you eat cafeteria style and we get some great food. She also introduces me to Hugo de Tamarindo. A refreshing juice made from a root or seed, she couldn't remember and sweetened. It was very good and I drank mine all before I even started eating.
After a few more errands we had to go and get gas (a twenty minute drive one way). While they were pumping Nova asked if I'd ever had a Trits Ice Cream. No, I reply and she disappears inside the shop claiming I have to try one.She returns with this small plastic tube with a yellow lid and hands it to me. Do I need a spoon? Do I lick it? How do I eat this and drive I wonder. She pops off the lid when she sees my confusion and dumps out the largest most delicious looking ice cream sandwich on steroids I've ever seen. With an inch thick layer of creamy vanilla ice cream and rich chocolate fudge captured between two butter golden gram cookies that crumble like powdered goodness and mingle with the ice cream, I hold a piece of near heaven in my hand. After my first bite my eyes glass over and things sort of fade away. I think I moaned allowed several times on the drive home but I was in good company. Nova laughed and joined in making glorious sounds of pleasure at the sweet surrender of goodness. I've just been introduced to the wonderful new Costa Rican Drug here and I'm hooked. I'm a Trits addict now and not afraid to admit it. I can't wait to start dealing and introducing others to this Costa Rican specialty. Care to try one?
After I dropped Nova off at a Bull farm where she works and almost get gored by one of the passing bulls, I drive home with the windows down, music blaring and pass by the marker. A small tombstone, alone on the side of road, that always brings a moment of silence. I wonder why it's there, what it represents, who it belongs to. Perhaps one day I'll find out, but until them I'll just have to wonder and guess.
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