Written by: Dominick A. Miserandino Photography by: Margherita Miserandino
San Jose, Costa Rica emotes similar feelings of both adventure and a comfortable familiarity.
Flying to San Jose, Costa Rica emotes similar feelings of both adventure and a comfortable familiarity. Being in our hemisphere had its influences, but being surrounded by pristine jungles and Spanish colonial beginnings certainly showed through too. We were en route to Costa Rica to catch Silversea’s Silver Wind and then go through the Panama Canal.
We grabbed a cab to head to our hotel, the Hotel Tournon. The cab ride was uneventful except for the scenery. San Jose is a mix of mansions and mayhem. Right next to a home, which looked like it belongs in the French Quarter of New Orleans, was a building made out of tin walls. The total cost for one could surpass millions here in America; the other couldn’t surpass a few hundred dollars. And there they were next to each other. Between the buildings were flowers and exotic vegetation, which we would love for adorning any wedding back home. To the native Costa Ricans, it seems to be the equivalent of our dandelions. They were everywhere to the point of merging into unnoticeable.
The Hotel Tournon reinforced that initial feeling of comfort. It was a beautiful, well-kept hotel where the staff made us feel right at home. After settling in, we asked the gentleman at the front desk to direct us to a restaurant for some authentic food.
"McDonalds, Burger King, Taco Bell?" he said it quickly with a laugh, which came across as somewhere between a serious joke and a political commentary. He joked that fast food was the national pastime and after calling out every fast food establishment, his face changed into one that seemed to say, "No, I’m really serious."
We explained we wanted something that was as Costa Rican as possible and in no way should be from a chain restaurant.
Two minutes later he had us in a cab heading over to Nuestra Tierra. Costa Rica is filled with all things natural and the restaurant had a selection of foods barbecued and cooked with the freshest ingredients possible reflecting that.
"Honey, I don’t have any Costa Rican money."
It was the first and the last time on this trip that I ran to an ATM. Throughout the rest of the trip, people not only accepted U.S. dollars quite readily, but in some cases preferred it.
We ate our meal and went across the street to an outdoor market. I’m still not sure of its purpose, but I fell in love with a wooden bowl. They had this large, wooden salad bowl set, but with individual bowls so small the salad would have to be diced to even fit in successfully. Everywhere was this natural wood look, and it just struck me.
Margherita didn’t need to be convinced to go shopping. We continued walking through the streets, stopping in shops here and there. We walked about ten blocks downtown where as I mentioned earlier, everything seemed a bit familiar and a bit not. At times it reminded me of visiting Spanish Harlem or the Flatbush section of Brooklyn. The signs were familiar, the stores were familiar and everybody dressed similarly. The only difference here was that everybody was Hispanic and we were a pale white couple lugging an incredibly massive wooden bowl.
The Hotel Tournon
I should mention that we arrived at the airport at what felt like the ungodly hour of 6:15 a.m. so by this point we were already well through the seven stages of exhaustion. Carrying around a 30-pound wooden salad bowl only added to our weariness. We signaled for a taxi and went straight to the hotel. We turned on the television and found nearly every station that we were familiar with back home. Were we away, or were we not?
