Costa Rica Dispatch: Walking the Dog Under the Supermoon
It’s April 7, 8:30 p.m. The moon rises. It’s a supermoon, the biggest and brightest in the year. Many websites predict positive vibes — the moon’s energy will make us connect with ourselves — but it’s hard to think positively right now.
There’s a chill in the air, though it’s summer here in Costa Rica. I hear my dog’s paws scuttle from her bed to my desk. Her expression is predictable: It’s time for her walk. I pat her head twice.
She wags her tail as I walk over to the “outside shoe” section and put on my sneakers. I admit I get excited too; this has become furred therapy. A perfect excuse to walk outside. We both need it.
I elbow the elevator button. As I reach the lobby and the door opens, I spot my neighbor; she carries heaps of toilet paper and paper towels. I want to scold her — don’t hoard that! — but I can’t because words don’t want to venture past my mask. So, I just measure six feet and make my way outside. I use my elbow to open the door and wonder; those people who can lick their elbows, are they bragging now?
My dog hops once, excitedly, as we step onto the sidewalk. I hate to disappoint her, but we must be brief. I’m slightly disappointed too.
Outside, it’s empty, but at the distance I see the red and blue lights of a patrol that has just skimmed over our street. If this moment had a soundtrack, I wouldn’t want to imagine it. The range of emotions is far too wide to understand. Perhaps some whiskey blues might do the trick. It’s done it so far.
A rustle close to me. My dog tenses her legs and stands guard. I try to see without inching closer; I spot two hands foraging. As my eyes adjust to the dark, a skinny man appears in front of me. Ragged, loose clothing. Wiry hair pointing in all directions. Fingernails blackened by hunger.
He rummages through the trash bags my neighbors placed just a couple of hours ago. When they came down, they probably did so with gloves, a mask and goggles. But he barely has clothes on his back. Quarantine is impossible when you don’t have a roof over your head; though I doubt social distancing comes as a surprise to him.
My dog alerts me, though I’ve already spotted him. It’s not a bark. It’s not a whimper. It’s uncertainty. I pat her head and gently pull her to keep going. But she won’t; she likes greeting people. He notices me and stops in his tracks.
“I’m sorry, partner,” he tells me. But I reject his apology, he owes me nothing. We stand silent for a second. Then he looks up. “Oh, wow.”
Instinctively, I mimic his gesture. The moon is rising at a blistering pace. It bleeds white light into an otherwise dark, empty sky. It seems even the clouds have left to go home. Wherever that is. That big, lively orb of light creeps over my apartment building and freezes our movements. He’s stopped rummaging. I’ve stopped pulling my dog so that we avoid this awkward encounter. The super moon.
“Ain’t that pretty?” he mumbles. He scratches his beard. I want to scold him — don’t touch your face! — but I can’t.
“It sure is.” I tell him.
But he returns to the bags, in hopes of finding whatever bits of food he can. My dog forgets the moment, pulls me over to a tree and pees. She then turns towards the building. It’s too cold; she wants to go back inside. I mumble a “goodbye” and leave.
As the elevator climbs to my floor, I want to knock on my neighbor’s door. Perhaps we can build him a fort out of all those rolls. But she won’t reply, because I can’t find a way to knock on her door.
So, I step into my house and look at the fridge and pantry. I forage through them and what I can find, I pack tightly into a plastic container. I look out the balcony, but he’s gone. The streets are empty again. Soon, another patrol will pass by, and the silence again.
My dog places her paw on my leg; she’s hungry. Before drawing the curtains, I take a look at the moon one last time. The supermoon, the brightest in 2020, and to have it in such a time. A singularity, an unusual phenomenon that made us all look at the sky and forget everything, for just one second.
But it’s not the only one. Eventually, another supermoon will rise, for all of us. Those with a roof. Those without one. And hopefully, I’ll have the plastic container ready.
Bernardo Montes de Oca was a Clarin Journalism Fellow at Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism in the fall of 2019. He is currently an independent multiplatform journalist based in Costa Rica.
