Letter to San Carlos

Dear San Carlos,

When I first stepped off the bus from San Rafael, I expected to walk into a mountain paradise. Everyone told me it was.

The truth is, and I'm sorry, but I was disappointed. Noisy motos wove in and out of narrow grey streets lined with slightly-crooked, peeling buildings. The demographic appeared to be half seniors, half children (and a few parents.) There were no notable alluring smells and no nature to be appreciated in the heart of town. In the near distance rose hills and mountains, but also in view were the dirty rooftops of many neighbors.

It has been over three weeks of gazing out the windows over dirty rooftops covered with deflated balls, repeating "Buenos" to the same shopkeepers and neighbors on the grey streets. And finally, I'm happy to announce, that I understand you now.

At night over the dirty rooftops comes the lightening - the most magnificent, usually silent lightening, that announces the near arrival of rain. Sometimes I watch it for hours. Sometimes there is thunder that shakes my bed. It is magnificent.

As time passes, I've met a lot of your people, San Carlos. It is now possible to wave at many people for the second, third, fourth time. The paisas in the square with their black and white cowboy/beach/farm hats, we understand that I'm not just a weekender. The guys who hang out outside the billiards hall with their shirts half up (sweet style, guys), they are now simply normal. Kids play hide and seek with their bicycles and spend afternoons at the river with their families. The seniors, who we got to dance with at a community event, muster past with smiles and waves. There is a sweetness and safety that exists inside each person here.

San Carlos, your bread situation here is hilarious. It smells divine, and you have a lot of it. But every loaf of fresh bread is sweet, and filled with a blob of hardish cheese (or arequipe, your version of caramel.) And so we've made many a loaf of garlic bread with this odd, homogeneous, and ultimately delicious food.

I would also be remiss to ignore your other culinary delights. Fluffy fried bunelo balls, fresh from dough empanadas, the popsicles in plastic cups made with coconut milk and peppered with chunks of coco. The rotisserie chicken with honey packets. The tres leches or mani ice cream, and the "super arepa" with shredded chicken and corn, topped with mayonnaise and garlic. I could eat all of these things for a very long time. (If only you had hot sauce...)

And it is a paradise. It took a while to learn where the best riverside shade-spots are, and the best paths, and the fields to cross and which bridges to cross together or one by one. And now I know that on Sundays, everyone climbs to the closest big waterfall, and on Saturdays, people party by "San Antonio" or "La Planta" where you can get your swimming and jumping fix with a side-order of regaeeton. Sometimes your treasures are far away, so I get to ride on the back of a moto with flying hair and a big smile. Sometimes we share tuk tuks, but I prefer the motos.

I don't want to bore you, San Carlos, so I'll leave you here. And come Saturday when I leave you for good, all this I will remember, and more.

Nos Vemos,
Caitlin (even though I know you could never pronounce it.)