Ten Fe

 8-4-00 M 9:54 AM

 Labor Day. We bumped up and down mountain roads into the fenced off green hills of Tilarin's ranchlands, neon butterflies flitting across our path. An old cowboy was limping along the side of the road, so we stopped and gave him a ride, too. When we got to the little town, we let our passengers out and drove along the shore of stunning Laker Arenal with the conical volcano rising across the water. The houses here are well kept with yards full of flowers that made me want to live there. We stopped at some cool stone bar and barbecue pit on the edge of the lake called Eqqus. A multi-layered dance floor built into the hill behind it made me wish it was a Saturday night. The whole place was constructed of volcanic rock from Arenal. Hints of fragrant wood smoke perfumed the air. Soon there was nothing left to do but continue on. The reeds, palms, and bamboo closed in on the road as we approached the Tabacon Hot Springs. A naturally heated stream cascades down from the volcano, forming pools in which you may soak and watch the fireworks show of lava spitting from the cone--or so I have read; it was too overcast to see the peak. We had lunch there: chicken cordon bleu and shrimp-stuffed steak. We strolled the grounds and took some pictures before getting back in the Terrio. We drove on to Fortuna where we stopped for gas, and then on through ranches and farm towns, scattering cattle and geese as we went. It began to rain as we neared Ciudad Quesada. I took the wrong road out of town and ended up on another cliffhanger where there was nowhere to turn around until we reached a toll road at a lonely mountain pass where a lady confirmed that I needed to turn around. We slalomed back down and found the way to San Miguel where we stopped so Rochelle could go to the bathroom. I locked the keys in the car. Fuck and shit. I stomped down the road in the rain until I found a garage. The guys there were eager to help. They had no slim jim, no nothing but a copper wire. "Ten fe," one said. "Have faith." We drove in a beat-up, backfiring truck back to the Terrio. A man was already trying to help Rochelle with a bit of wire he had found in the trash. They were bending it down through the window that was open an inch. The lock button had no head. I was certain the copper wire could only slip off. I guessed we were going to have to break the window. I don't know how it was possible, but the guy did it. He managed to get the loop in the end of the wire over the stub of the lock and pull it up. It just didn't seem possible. When the look pulled up, everyone cheered. I asked what I could do for them. They wanted nothing. "How about some beers?" I asked in Spanish. They consented to some Pilsens which we drank on the sidewalk. "I can't believe," it I told Rochelle as we were driving away.

"I could," she said. "I had faith."