I think I need a reset. I like to say that I came to live in Costa Rica in the last century. Makes it sound like ancient history. In truth, that 35 year year gap seems more like an entire century when I compare then to now. Back then I loved living far from the daily events of the big, bad outside world.
There was no internet, no cell phones, and the nearest public phone was a twenty minute drive from my house. If I wanted news of the outside world, I listened to an occasional half hour of BBC or Voice of America on shortwave radio. For several hours a day I had my radio tuned to all-talk Radio Reloj, as I was still learning Spanish, and the non-stop barrage of commentary was challenging for a novice. I still remember the satisfaction I felt the first time I understood an entire local news story.
I sent letters then, hand-written missives mailed out monthly from a rural post office to family and close friends in the developed world. Long distance phone calls were a rarity, an expensive luxury, made from a pulperia phone with billing calculated by the minute. Those days seem far in the distance now, like black and white snapshots of my grandparents.
Those were different times, and in some ways I miss them. My lifestyle then was inspired by the artists of the Beat generation of the 1940s and 50s. They were all about self-expression, non-conformity, experimentation and personal freedom, rejecting the trappings of post-World War 2 society. There is a scene in the beat classic On the Road, when Jack Kerouac and friends arrive in Washington DC while on a road trip from New York City to New Orleans.
It was Inauguration Day, and a parade was being set up for recently elected President Harry Truman. Yet Kerouac and his companions were so far gone in their own world that they were unaware of this major event until seeing the lines of soldiers and tanks setting up in front of the temporary grandstands along the street.
That is how I wanted to live here. The world at large would be like a distant planet. I was writing and sending off short stories and working on a never to be published novel, living frugally on savings and enjoying all that Costa Rica had to offer. For most of the 1990s I did my best to continue my beatific existence here.
Then reality set in. I joined the modern world. For four years I managed a sports bar/cantina. We had a big old style satellite dish and six tv sets. I was exposed daily to events from that big, bad outside world. The 21st century was upon me and I found it harder to ignore. I later managed a tour company which meant I had to buy my first ever cell phone, and log into the internet daily. From those days it snowballed.
Like a junkie who started off with an occasional taste and soon couldn’t get enough, I nowadays find myself lugging my cell phone everywhere, even to bed. I check my social media several times a day. The crazy world at large is too often at the forefront of my thoughts.
It has gotten so bad that recently, at the Sunday afternoon wedding of my Tico nephew, I pulled my cell phone from my pocket for an update on an election being held 10,000 kilometers away. While the rest of those in attendance watched the marriage vows exchanged, I saw the election result I was hoping for and let out a triumphant little yesss! My daughter, seated next to me, gave me an elbow for my indiscretion. And that elbow was well-deserved.
In 35 years, I have gone from shortwave radio to regular announcements on my cell phone exhorting me to hop on the AI train before it’s too late. Someday soon I hope, I will be able to retire to my little plot of land in a remote area of the Osa Peninsula, build a simple cottage and get back to a semblance of what I once had. But I have to be honest. I am too far gone in one respect: A high speed wifi connection will be a must.
