Three Mistakes in San Jose

The Hotel Aranjuez has a lush courtyard with palms and other tropical trees and plants. My first morning in Costa Rica, I sat alone at a table covered in red cloth and drank three cups of rich, dark coffee. The breakfast buffet was impressive: fresh juices; papaya, pineapple and banana; and a variety of sweet, custardy breads and mild cheeses. I watched couples and families and friends come and go, but I saw few others like me. I couldn't wait for the 6:00 p.m. orientation.

San Jose has a confounding system of avenidas (avenues) and calles (streets), whose numbers start at central boulevards. They are either odd- or even-numbered, depending on whether you're walking east, west, north or south of the central streets. For example, it's three blocks from avenida 1 (to 3) to 5, but if you want to go from avenida 5 to avenida 2, you must walk several blocks in the opposite direction to the other side of the boulevard.

I walked several steep blocks from the hotel before I realized I was lost. Haltingly, I spoke in Spanish to a woman with a baby, who smiled and pointed me in the opposite direction. Mistake #1. Since I wasn't feeling confident, I hailed a cab. The friendly driver took me a few blocks. When I asked the cost, he said, "Give me what you think is fair." Mistake #2. Believing the cost would be equivalent to what I'd spend in Philly, I handed over 4,000 colones, roughly $8. (Corina told me later that 1,000 colones, or $2, would have been more appropriate.)

In any case, since most of our trip would be outdoors, I had decided to spend my one day in the city visiting museums. My first stop would the Museo de Oro. But I got distracted along the way. The museum, which belongs to the Central Bank of Costa Rica, is beneath the Plaza de la Cultura, a great place to people-watch. Pedestrians of all ages gathered: families, couples, children, a clown with a red nose selling balloons. Young people, old people, tourists like me. A teenager shimmied across the plaza, lip synching a song in Spanish as a video camera captured her moves. A woman sold bags of dried corn to children who hoped to attract pigeons.

When I tired of the Urban Bird Parade, I descended into the museum, which contains the bank's pre-Columbian gold collection. The pieces ranged from barely an inch in diameter to several feet wide. Figurines of frogs, spiders, alligators and butterflies glittered alongside gold-copper alloy earrings, bracelets, chokers and breast plates, designed to enhance the power of warriors. The gold had been crafted by indigenous peoples from 500 b.c. to 1500 a.c.e., before the Spanish and their diseases arrived, wiping out much of the population. Perhaps I should have known better, but I was surprised to learn that slavery existed in Central America: the Spaniards traded machetes and other armaments in exchange for indigenous people.

I had hoped to take a tour of the Teatro Nacionale, built in 1897 after a European opera singer refused to perform in Costa Rica because of the lack of "suitable" performance space. Local growers paid for the building with a voluntary export tax on coffee. Unfortunately, a performance had already begun. The ticket-taker tried hard to explain in Spanish but eventually gave up and told me in English, "It's closed." I wandered away for a few minutes, but decided I'd create an educational opportunity out of my misfortune. I walked back and asked, "Como se dice 'closed' en espanol?"

"Cerrado," she said.

"Cerveza?" I repeated.

She and the man next to her burst out laughing. Mistake #3. After I stepped outside the building, I realized the word I had said back to her means "beer."