There are close to 200,000 people of Tico origin presently living in the US. I have spent the past month in an area where their numbers are scarce. I was interested in meeting and talking with any who had relocated to this area of the mid-Atlantic. I found a couple Facebook pages geared toward Ticos in the area and posted on both boards indicating my interest in meeting anyone from la comunidad Tico/a.
The response was nada. Cero. I wondered if my anglo name had anything to do with the “Hasta la vista!” response. Not every Tico in the US is in the US legally, and to any of them, my inquiry may have looked like an ICE trap. For over thirty years the letters ICE for me have been pronounced EE-say, but this ICE isn’t the electric company. So I understood the reluctance to communicate.
Both of these pages have included me in their messenger accounts. My inbox is flooded daily with an array of offers. One guy sends three ads daily, on both boards, offering cable TV and Wi-Fi for only 20 US dollars per month. There are multiple ads offering to help pay bills—likely a payday loan type scam where they help with your bills, then charge outrageous interest.
There are numbers to call that will help with a driver’s license or with temporary tags for your auto. The usual assortment of high-paying online jobs that never materialize arrive daily in my inbox. And, of course, as Craigslist no longer permits personal ads, there are several young women offering their services. Not all are Ticas.
At least one includes a phone number with a Dominican Republic area code. She offers masajes ricos with a final feliz, which, if you do not understand Spanish, translates to a sexual proposition. And—in a continuation of a previous article about comparative costs of living—I received a menu of Tico dishes available from a home-based service offering típico foods: casados $17, chifrijo $16, ceviche $13, among other items listed.
At those prices, I can’t wait until I am back in Costa Rica for típico food. I have given up on making any serious connections with the few Ticos in this region. I am a week away from traveling to the other end of the country, and I know that the Los Angeles area where I will be visiting has a sizeable number of expat Costa Ricans. I hope to meet a few while there.
Meanwhile, I am thinking about Costa Rica. I read the daily papers online and check my Facebook pages for news from the areas of Costa Rica I frequent. Last night I found myself watching a 10-minute video of a celebration of boyeros leading their yoked oxen up a winding mountain road in Platanares, an area of Pérez Zeledón.
A long procession trudged up the muddied highway in a light rain. In one of the oxcarts rode several young women dressed like cowgirls. Everyone looked to be having fun and the words pura vida went through my head while viewing. Were I back in Costa Rica, I may well have paid no attention to the video, but 3,000 miles away it was a hint of the life I am missing.
