The Mercy of Arenal
Costa Rica’s Most Active Volcano
When I was still in the honeymoon phase of my love affair with reading, the Pompeii Magic Treehouse book gave me butterflies the size of Blue Morphos, arguably Costa Rica’s most visually appealing butterfly. I loved reading about Jack and Annie’s terrifying escape from the city of Pompeii just before it was destroyed by the unforgiving Mount Vesuvius. The concept of a city built around a merciless natural entity astounded me. Needless to say, I had re-surfacing, exploding expectations from my childhood about visiting Arenal, a city built at the foot of a volcano. I considered an angry Earth showing mercy; the power of one landform to — in just hours — destroy entire civilizations is remarkable. More remarkable, though, is its power to withhold.
My journey from San Jose to Arenal would take four hours by bus; apparently, traveling between almost any two cities in Costa Rica takes about the same time. With luggage loaded and a stomach full of breakfast, I was content to sit in my seat and enjoy my most recent reading endeavor. However, as soon as the wheels were in motion, I couldn’t focus on the words on the page due to the passing views outside my window. I thought about what one could learn of the people of Costa Rica simply from staring out a bus window. I decided to find out for myself.
Leaving the city, I watched the faces of those in traffic, unperturbed by the stop and go chaos. I thought back to the last time I was in traffic at home, screaming violently over my dash hoping to project my anger straight through the windshield and into the cars of those around me. Vendors moved between cars, selling various products: sunglasses, phone chargers, T-shirts. When the roads cleared, it was only minutes before we were rolling through the mountains once again. I watched the faces of children walking to school in matching uniforms, chatting exuberantly; I saw mothers holding the hands of their little ones who carried tiny backpacks and pre-teens navigating the beginnings of dating, awkward hugs and all. I remembered my own pre-teen years, holding hands with a boy who smelled of laundry detergent and a PE locker room. Roadside produce stands managed by reserved men in cowboy hats gradually turned into entire farms, with rolling hills of coffee plants and livestock.
Half way through our journey, we made a stop in Sarchí, home to the Taller Eloy Alfaro y Sons carretas factory. Inside, aisles were occupied by focused painters, using their forearms to stabilize an experienced, steady hand. Vibrant colors of paint in jars sat on tables all around them. They hardly looked up when our group of 25 students walked in. One of the hijos, Henry, clipped a lapel mic to his collar and explained the nature of tradition in building these exquisite ox carts. The decorations we saw around us, he said, could be found nowhere else in the world; it was native to Sarchí, and could be distinguished from all others around the world.
Originally, the ox carts were used to carry coffee and wood up and down the rocky, mountain roads to the coast, allowing Sarchí to participate in the global economy. Today, they continue transporting goods, however, their production has become more about preserving an age old tradition. The wheels of these carts are made by bending and welding metallic rims to hold triangular panels of wood. Henry showed us the power behind this production, reaching above his had for a metal lever that released water into a large wheel: “The wheel produces 15 horse power,” he says as it turns behind him. To say this was an involved operation would be an understatement: it requires a knowledge of tradition and love for preserving the old, giving it a new purpose. The ox carts made in Taller Eloy Alfaro stimulate the local economy and attract people from around the world to see these one of a kind works of art. Henry says, “In this town, so many people make different kinds of things.”
As we pulled into the town, I watched our bus driver wave at friends passing on the road and exchange pleasant honks. The volcano took me right back to the Magic Treehouse book I once loved; I noticed the all-to-fresh divots along the sloping sides, like a lava slug trail left behind. The Arenal volcano was very active between 1968 and 2010 — a little too close in time for comfort, if you ask me. During its active phase, it took the lives of an estimated 87 people. Today, the volcano remains in a resting phase, though that can change at any moment.
A landform that once took the lives of many now serves the community at its base by attracting travelers from around the world, stimulating the local economy. This called me to consider the power of nature — specifically, a dangerous volcano — to not only withhold its wrath from civilization, but to give back to it. The give and take between inhabitants of the world and the world they inhabit constantly fluctuates, changing with passing time.
Our trip to Arenal ended too quickly for my liking, but I remembered to thank the volcano for showing me mercy. I opened my book — How Far She Went by Mary Hood — and found myself reading of a lonesome, country road.
