A decade is a period of ten years. The definition doesn’t change. I’m starting to realize that the sensation of a decade slowly changes as you age. A young person’s decade and a middle-aged guy’s decade are two different things. I know this for a fact. I assume the same will be true when I complete my transformation into a grumpy old man. The more decades you live through, the smaller amount of time they seem to consist of.
My wife and I moved to Costa Rica a little more than a decade ago. In many ways I feel like the same guy who quit his job, put his house up for rent, and moved to the tropical beach. It doesn’t feel that long ago. The reality is that in that amount of time, that effortlessly skinny, relatively carefree guy has moved into seven different houses, bought six different cars, opened a wildlife monitoring business, made two kids, and now secretly plucks gray hairs out of the chin of his beard.
My little over ten-year transformation has been more than matched by the place that I call home, Guanacaste’s gold coast. What initially felt like a place many years behind the United States’ modernity, has closed the gap very quickly. The resulting change is a confusing mix of gain and loss.
The first town that we lived in was located about twenty minutes from the main road. The main road was paved, and the town was twenty minutes away because as soon as you left the asphalt, you were met with a dirt road so full of potholes that you had to ever-so-slowly zigzag your way the short distance to the plaza.
After a few years, word came to town that they were going to pave the road. This news was met with both excitement and anxiety. Sure, it’ll be much easier to get to and frow, but paved roads could mean carelessly fast driving and an unwanted overflow of tourism. It’s been many years now since the road has been modernized and the convenience can’t be argued. I wonder what percentage of the people that now live there even know that the road was once a dirt road?
A decade or so ago, a visitor from the US was not only a treat in that you could spend time with someone you loved, but also an important opportunity to mule into the country the many items that were simply unavailable without traveling five or so hours to San Jose.
Prized items included anything that needed to be plugged into the wall, foods that were at all uncommon, and, in my wife’s case, all of the creams and toiletries that are required for a woman to look and feel her best. Today, the random Christmas that was once enclosed in a visitor’s suitcase is all but unnecessary. There’s a Walmart, a Pricesmart, and a whole host of grocery stores nearby, ready to meet your needs.
Modernity has a way of taking some of the adventure out of adventures. After our arrival in Costa Rica, we heard of a beautiful waterfall off of the beaten path called Llanos de Cortés or sometimes Llanos de Cortez. After a short drive on a bumpy dirt road, we found a rough path of stones and mud that led down the gorge to an idyllic waterfall.
Recalling our fond memories of that experience, we took our visiting family to the waterfall many years later. We found a spacious parking lot full of vehicles and a well-maintained cement path down to the waterfall. It seems a bit crazy to lament the dangerous path, but the increased convenience and safety somehow took something away from the experience.
It has been a decade of change for the coast of Guanacaste and the changes aren’t stopping. If anything, they’re coming faster than ever. Is it a good thing or a bad thing? I’m sure the answer to that depends on the person you’re asking. Personally, I’ll have plenty of time to think about it while I wait in traffic at the stoplight that didn’t used to be there, slowly creeping by the fresh new buildings on either side of the road.
About the Author
Vincent Losasso, founder of Guanacaste Wildlife Monitoring, is a biologist who works with camera traps throughout Costa Rica. Learn more about his projects on facebook or instagram. You can also email him at: vincent@guanacastewildlifemonitoring.com
