
Some things need to be said. Costa Rica is a country that is home. Usually in the Virtual Nomad path, we try not to bring individual experiences in more than necessary, but sometimes when there is a long history and deep personal connection with a certain place, we just have to. Costa Rica is one of those countries that can be described as ‘home’.
While Finland may have been consistently ranked as the happiest country in the world (based on metrics such as education, social support, life expectancy, trust, work-life balance, fundamental freedoms, equality, safety and low levels of corruption), the Happy Planet Index ranks Costa Rica first based on ecological footprint, life expectancy and general well-being. Costa Rica has one of the five blue zones in the world, Nicoya. Blue zones are regions where people live longer and healthier lives on average than anywhere else in the world. Costa Rica has made monumental efforts to protect the environment, with 29-30 national parks covering 25% of Costa Rica, including forest and biological reserves, wildlife refuges and coastal areas. Costa Rica started conservation efforts already in the 1960s and has become a flagship country for sustainable tourism. The breathtaking Corcovado National Park is the biggest protected area in Costa Rica and named the “most biologically intense place on earth” by National Geographic.
But first, as always, food.
The Tico Night – la Noche Tica

The Costa Rican Virtual Nomad gathering is a fairly small one. Gathered around the table are my partner JK and myself, and our children L (18), FK (15), A (11) combined with my children’s dear friend NA (18). We are accompanied by my dear lovely friend L* and her daughter S* (both on their 7th Virtual Nomad stop). My daughter L (18) is about to start travelling the world so it is also a chance to say farewell before her long journey. And what is a better way than with a place that is dear, as is Costa Rica. We celebrate a ‘Tico Night’, Tico meaning Costa Rican (our night would be la Noche Tica in Spanish).
The most typical dishes in Costa Rica are Gallo Pinto and Casado (meaning ‘a married man’). They are both constant daily features of Costa Rican cuisine (la cocina tica). They might seem similar but there is a clear and important distinction between them. Gallo Pinto is an important part of the breakfast table – it contains mixed rice and beans (with generous coriander and stir-fried onions, garlic, capsicum and salsa Lizano) that is often combined with eggs, tortilla and sour cream. As for Casado, it is a lunch or dinner dish, it also includes rice and beans but prepared separately. Casado includes white rice, black or red beans, meat (chicken, beef, pork), salad and plantains. For our Tico Night (la noche tica), I prepare gallo pinto but then serve it with salad, tamales and plantains.

An urban legend has it that the origins of Gallo Pinto are from San Sebastián (a neighbourhood in the capital San José). A farmer was going to prepare a rooster (gallo pinto) for dinner and the people in the neighbourhood thought he was preparing a feast and everyone was invited. When they turned up, the rooster was not enough so the farmer prepared rice and beans. This became local news and people would joke about the delicious “gallo pinto” of the farmer.
My gallo pinto turns out well and even if a bit unorthodox I accompany it with Tamales. Tamales are consumed in all Central America and Mexico, and in Costa Rica are particularly part of the Christmas table. Costa Rican tamales are different from the Mexican ones in that they are wrapped in banana leaves which gives them a unique aroma and moisture. We could not find banana leaves or banana leaf tamales in Sydney so I bought Mexican ones. Tamales, in all Central American countries, and Mexico, share certain characteristics but also have regional/local differences. In Costa Rica, tamales are, again, above all a Christmas dish, filled with savory corn dough and rice. In Mexico, Honduras, Nicaragua and other Central American countries, tamales do not often have rice cooked in them and are consumed all around the year. The Mexican tamales that we have in our ‘Noche tica’ (Costa Rican night), are more spicy and have more sauce than Costa Rican tamales would be. Costa Rican tamales are more mild, and the rice is cooked inside the tamal. Nevertheless, they do give an idea to the group about tamales – and we will then just wait for the next Costa Rican trip to maybe indulge in the Tico ones.

The salads that accompany the main dishes are the Ensalada de Palmito (the heart of palm salad) and a cilantro salad. In the palmito salad the hearts of palm (edible inner core of palm trees; texture and taste similar to asparagus or artichoke hearts) are sliced and then mixed with other salad ingredients, most typically tomatoes, cucumbers, corn and coriander. (L proofreading note: I have since begun to eat Palmitos out of a tin, delicious!) I used lime juice, olive oil and cilantro (coriander) for the juice and achieved an authentic Ensalada de Palmito taste, I must say. 🙂 The other salad was based on a generous use of cilantro/coriander that is a common feature in the Cocina Tica. It worked perfectly with the fried tortillas and plantains, also common in Costa Rican savory landscapes. Overall, it was a very successful night that succeeded in being as authentic as possible.

As a dessert, I prepare pan de maiz, called Pan de Elote in Costa Rica. I made it from fresh corn and mix it with milk, butter, eggs, brown sugar and condensed milk. It is sweet, buttery and delicious – and well received by our Virtual Nomad group.
A country without an army

While in the Pre Colombian times there were no significant empires in Costa Rica (such as the Incas, the Aztecs, the Mayas), the lands were inhabited by tribes and civilisations, including the Diquís (until approximately 1530). They were famous for their gold but also produced rock spheres (round rock balls) that appeared everywhere but whose purpose has remained unknown. Cristóbal Colón (or Christopher Columbus as referred to in English) sailed to the shores in 1502 and is believed to have the land named ‘Rich Coast’ for the golden treasures that the Indigenous people brought him. Or it could be Gil González Dávila who arrived in 1522.
Costa Rica was not the favored destination of the conquistadores and therefore left to its own organisation and the status of a peripheral colony, keeping to itself for a while. It was not rich but quite poor and isolated from other colonies. The independence arrived in 1821 without too much trouble, and after some back and forth (like Nicoya Province joining sometime later). Costa Rica became part of the Federal Republic of Central America 1823-1838. An important event of the country’s future state was the Battle of Ochomogo in 1823 that ended with the victory of the republicans and settled the way to become an independent country (as opposed to being part of Mexico).
Costa Rica became a coffee producer in the early 1800s and coffee has remained one of its main exports, together with bananas. Like some other countries in the region, Costa Rica has a complicated relationship with fruit companies whose actions easily diverge from modern standards of fair labour and environmental conservation. Nevertheless, Costa Rica’s past is fairly peaceful with the exception of a few hiccups such as the dictatorship of Federico Ticono Granados and the 44-day civil war in 1948. Since 1948 Costa Rica has not had an army and has built a society of stable democracy, environmental protection, progressive social policies and high social well-being. Around five million people live in Costa Rica, with approximately two million in the metropolitan area consisting of the capital San José and its surroundings. Costa Rica has also received large quantities of refugees from the neighbouring Nicaragua and immigrants from other Central American countries. There are eight recognised Indigenous populations which form around 2.4% of the population – around 1% is Afro-Caribbean (centralized above all in the Caribbean coast and the Province of Limón). The land is volcanic and Costa Rica has between 5 and 7 active volcanoes. As mentioned before, 25% of the Costa Rican territory is national park land.
Six books from Costa Rica
I am lucky to have many amazing, wonderful Costa Rican friends, some of which I call family. One of my dearest friends is FQ, scholar and Professor of Latin American Studies who is a trained historian specialist in urban cultural history – and who is an inspiring, magnetic and deeply charismatic person. FQ and her family are those kinds of people that are so generous with their time, friendship and hospitality that it makes you always feel inadequate when responding to their love and care (but then FQ’s wonderful husband kindly reminded me that friendship is not transactional). She is my definite go to person when it comes to Costa Rican literature and history, a well of knowledge and humour, and very generously finds and shares information with me. So as with other countries that I have close friends in, I will follow the recommendations that she has given me. She gave me six titles and luckily I can access five of them. I have another very dear friend LH who while not Costa Rican by birth, is married to a Costa Rican and calls CR her second home. She is a journalist and has studied literature, and is well read, so she is my other reference point for books. She approves the selection by FQ and then suggests a few others based on the recommendations from her well read and very helpful friend in Costa Rica . The recommendations from LK somewhat interlap with FQ’s; if not fully at least when it comes to authors, so I choose six books and then I am ready to indulge into my Costa Rican literature trip recommended by my beautiful friends.

Anacristina Rossi was born in Costa Rica and studied in the Netherlands, France and England. Her environmental novel La Loca de Gandoca (1991) was part of the Costa Rican school curriculum for 17 years and is a ‘muckraking’ novel to defend the Gandoca Wildlife Refuge. My friend FQ recommends Limón Blues (2002), a meticulously researched book that mixes fiction with real events and historical figures. Limón is a coastal town on the Caribbean coast and central to the Afro-Caribbean culture in the country. While Spanish is the official language of Costa Rica, English Kreole is widely used in Limón. The novel tells the story of Orlandus, a Jamaican national who moves to Limón in the early 1910s, and his wife Irene – and their disappointing marriage and attraction to other people. Central themes of the book are ever existing racism, ethnicity and belonging. Anacristina has done a tremendous job in researching for the the book in which fictional characters and events are matched with historical figures and events, most notably Marcus Garvey, Jamaican political activist and founder of the Universal Negro Improvement Association (UNIA) whose life story is quite compelling (in this book, and in general). She used local newspapers as references, and through her meticulous research, the book portrays a super interesting photograph of Limón and its traditions, music, demography and history.
In the book, Orlandus is a colleague of Garvey and the story develops not only in Limón but also in Jamaica, Cuba, New York and Africa. The narrative alternates between third and first person covering mainly the view points and experiences of Orlandus and Irene. While the historical and sociopolitical development of Limón, UNIA and the presence of United Fruit Company in Costa Rica are fascinating and serve as a wonderful testimony, the love stories feel clumsy and forced, containing basically graphic sex scenes, and unrealistic relationship development, in simple romance novel fashion.. But the overall theme is racism; rampant and ever present, also a window to the Costa Rican past of discrimination against black populations. A fascinating anecdote is that the chapters are ordered under odd numbers – the even numbers are reserved for Anacristina’s subsequent novel, Limón Reggae.

La ruta de su evasión by Yolanda Oreamuno was published in 1948 and unfortunately has never been translated into English (or any other language), so the title would be something like The Route of Her Escape which does not sound as good as in the original language. The lack of translation(s) is very unfortunate as it is quite an interesting book. It sometimes rambles unnecessarily as some scenes and dialogue feel repetitive and go over reasonable length, but overall it is a great book, and certainly innovative and fiercely feminist for its time. It is a story of a dysfunctional family – cruel and insensitive, abusive men and voiceless, submissive women. The father and his three sons are either controlling, insensitive and abusive, or weak, or both. One is health obsessed and cold until a significant tragic life event changes his path, one is flegmatic and indifferent (especially towards a woman that for some reason worships him like a dog) and the third is an insignificant wretch who mainly masturbates behind closed doors. Most women lack their own will, being subject to the cruelty, indifference and control of the men around them, mostly surrendering to their unfulfilling fate without complaint. When reading the book, sometimes I was mesmerised by its skillfulness and elaborate language, and sometimes I was frustrated by a tendency to get stuck in the same place. The resolution for me was less satisfactory than I had anticipated, but it was still a resolution. It is an interesting book and I am not quite sure how to rate it and swing between three to four stars in my Goodreads account. It is without a doubt a significant testimony of the patriarchal and misogynist society of the time, and follows a similar pattern as Anacristina’s book which alternates frequently and without warning between the first and third person.
In several sources, the life of Yolanda (the author) has been described to have been divided into two very different phases: the first twenty years of happiness and achievement, and then twenty years of tragedy and challenges. She died at the age of 40 in Mexico. La ruta de su evasión has been described as innovative in its narrative and advanced in its description of the suffocating traditions and the role of women of the time.

En una silla de ruedas, which I think also has not been translated into any other language, was published in 1918. The debut novel of the highly acclaimed Carmen Lyra who according to several sources is considered as the most important female author of the first half of the 20th century. She is a distant relative of FQ which makes reading her even more intriguing. The title translates into In a wheelchair and the basic storyline is about a boy called Sergio who after a mysterious childhood illness ends up in a wheelchair for the remainder of his life.
Carmen’s real name was María Isabel Carvajal Quesada and she was quite an activist; the founder of the first Montessori school in the country, a co-founder of the communist party and also the founder of one of the first women’s trade unions in Costa Rica. She protested against fruit companies, taught underprivileged children and was sent to exile for being a communist in 1948. Denied the right to return, she died in Mexico in 1949 of a serious illness at the age of 61.
The language of the book is beautiful, poetic and descriptive. Some readers have described it as boring and excessive in its descriptions of people and places, and too optimistic in its resolution, but I found the language gorgeous. It is a bit fairytale-esque, but shouldn’t be taken as a social construction but rather as a story, the story of Sergio that is full of melancholy but also affection and small miracles. It would make a very feel-good movie. But more than the story, it is the language that captivates me.
While it has not been translated, let me try to show how some of its narrative floats. This translation is mine so if anyone would like to try a different one, I am happy to replace it:
Para los niños era algo tan indispensable como su madre. La llamaban Mama Canducha. Ellas los quería a todos, pero su cariño por Sergio era casi un fanatismo. Cuando murieron sus hijos y su marido, su amor quedó flotando como una hebra de miel en el espacio; un día se encontró con esta vida triste y delicada y allí se prendió y tejió en torno suyo un capullo de ternura. which would translate to something like:
For the children, she was as indispensable as their mother. They called her Mama Canducha. She loved them all, but her affection for Sergio bordered on fanaticism. When her children and husband died, her love remained floating like a strand of honey in space; one day it encountered this sad and delicate life and there it attached itself and wove a cocoon of tenderness around it.
Or
Las golondrinas atravesaban el encanto de la tarde y volaban sobre el agua dormida. Cuando el crepúsculo era dorado, se ponía el agua de color miel, las golondrinas mojaban la punta de sus alas y al remontarse dejaban caer gotas que parecían abejas de oro. Las ramas de los sauces cosquilleaban el agua que se estremecía. Los cipreses altos, oscuros y terminados en punta parecían husos de donde salían los hilos que tejía el silencio maravilloso que envolvía este lugar. Entre la hierba habían gusanillos de luz.
The swallows crossed the enchantment of the afternoon and flew over the sleeping water. When the twilight was golden, the water turned honey-colored, the swallows wet the tips of their wings and as they rose, they dropped drops that looked like golden bees. The branches of the willows tickled the shivering water. The tall, dark, pointed cypress trees looked like spindles from which threads emerged, weaving the wonderful silence that wrapped this place. Among the grass were little worms of light.

Both FQ and LH have on their list the book Larga noche hacia mi madre by Carlos Cortės, published in 2013. The title would translate to something like ‘The long night towards my mother’ and it is a book about the intense hate that the narrator (Carlos? autofiction?) feels towards his mother (and the search for his fallen father, killed before Carlos’ birth). ‘Hate’ is probably the most used word in this book. It is intellectually interesting and well formed, with interesting psychology of the labyrinthine decadent family (with so many members that the lector loses the conductive thread at times). He is well read and connected with many things and incorporates interesting details that carry the narrative in some parts despite the core message that is the hate towards his mother. There are interesting, captivating parts (although not always easy to follow) but then it is again pages and pages of mommy issues and self-centerism of a man who hates his mother but abandons his own daughters to live in Paris with his young lover. I would like to see the book that they (the daughters) write about him. All that hate hate hate of the mentally ill mother makes me want to throw the book away. When he flies from Paris to his mother’s deathbed he ponders: “Do I hate her? Or do I just despise her? Or do I just not love her? Or what, if not? Is it all the same thing?” and that is the essence of this book. That swinging between the hate towards the mother and complicated stories of family members that at times form a cohesive structure and at times are just tiring anecdotes, and the enigma of the murdered father. Some family secrets yes but we get it, families have issues. I really disliked the first fifty pages, then somewhat enjoyed the following fifty but then the narrator briefly becomes the mother herself which is a bit too much. Then the last hundred pages are again at times interesting but not wholly. The whole book feels like a therapy narrative that the narrator (Carlos?) has written to himself in order to understand his own story but he fails to see how he carries the torch of the neglect forward.

My friend FQ is a great fan of the poetry by Luis Chaves. In a short span of time, Luis has become the leading figure of Costa Rican poetry. His poetry books have won several national and international awards and nominations. Poetry is not my favourite genre (as can be seen from some of the previous Virtual Nomad entries) but I fully trust my friend and I give it a try. Published in 2001, Historias Polaroid is Luis’ third collection of poems and eagerly received by a growing public of fans. He was recently awarded the National Prize in Poetry by the Costa Rican Ministry of Culture.
Now to the book itself. Poetry is not my favourite genre and poems need to be really sharp, rich and stuffed/filled (I am thinking of a Spanish word el relleno, the stuffing, filling something solid with something else) for me to like them. The poems of Luis achieve all that. This is poetry at its best and even if I did not love all the poems, many were beautifully crafted and touching. With poetry, what happens is that they hit you or they don’t, and most of the time stay in the middleground. Most -not all – of the poems in this collection were a hit for me.

As the sixth and last book of the Costa Rican stop, FQ recommends Fieras domésticas (2019) by Maria Montero but I am unable to access it. Therefore my friend LH comes to help and recommends some other authors (and other books from Anacristina and Carlos). I decide to go for Una mujer insignificante by Catalina Murillo, but the others recommended authors are Arabella Salaberry and Javier Tapia which I will now leave for a future occasion.
“Days began to pass. I write this sentence and stop myself. I rethink it. Days began to pass, they say, as if they ever stopped. Better: the days passed us, paying no attention to us.”So, my last book for this stop comes from Catalina Murillo, an award-winning author who was born in a taxi in 1970. Una mujer significante (An insignificant woman), that she also won awards for, is from 2024. It is smart, hilarious, fresh, dynamic, short and very personal. Catalina’s writing is straightforward but poignant, and the language is so effortlessly rich – I almost feel like highlighting some of the thoughts and phrases. Catalina writes about her mother, just as Carlos did, but her writing is different; much more nuanced, fresh, contemporary – and notably less bitter. Sarcastic but never bitter, truthful but never cruel, hilarious but never pretentious, honest but never uncomfortable (well um, maybe just a bit). She approaches the theme of ‘insignificant women’ in such an ingenious way that it affects the perception of the reader. Such a simple but revealing theme – her mother is one of those women who are never considered as individuals but simply mothers or wives, those women that are always there but fade to the background into servitude for others. Her mother lives a life of convenience, following the social expectations of what is permitted, and then for a short period becomes aware and in touch with her own spirit. It is such a simple but effective book that became my favourite of the Costa Rican stop. So raw and ingenious. I have not loved a book like this in a while. ¡Qué bárbaro!
The Costa Rican movie festival
Costa Rica has a growing movie industry, and between 2011- 2017 over 50 movies were produced in the country. But before that, the development of cinema production was quite slow. The first ever directed and produced film in Costa Rica was El retorno (“the Return”) in 1930, but the movie industry did not get active really until the 2000s. In fact in the 1990s, there was only one movie made in Central America (El Silencio de Neto, Guatemala, 1994). But despite the growing production, distribution remains difficult. There are a number of very promising directors in Costa Rica, including a Sweden-born (to Costa Rican and Uruguayan parents) Nathalie Álvarez Mesėn who has a background in mime, physical acting and directing from studies in Costa Rica, Sweden and the US. Another prominent director is Antonella Sudasassi Furness from whom I watch two films from as well as Laura Astorga and Sofia Quiros Ubeda. In the end, I feel very lucky to be able to see so many movies from this dear country, and the Costa Rican Movie Festival includes nine movies and one episode of a Netflix series (due to the fact that the documentary I really wanted to see is not out for streaming yet) which is a sublime treat. They are all quite amazing (well, nine out of ten even if I do have some love for the 10th as well). Despite broadly appreciating everything I saw, if I do have to pick my favourites (which is difficult), I would say Princesas Rojas by Laura Astorga and Ceniza Negra by Sofia Quiros Ubeda. And maybe Tengo sueños eléctricos by Valentina Maurel: uncomfortable and unsettling but memorable.

Clara Sola (2021) by Nathalie Álvarez Mesėn belongs to the powerhouse performance by Wendy Chinchilla Araya, a Costa Rican actress and principal dancer for the Costa Rican National Dance Company. Wendy has a strong physical presence in the movie as a 42 year old Clara who lives in a remote Costa Rican village under a repressive rule of a religious mother. Clara is a “special creature by nature” with a skewed spine and visited by the spirit of Virgin Mary (according to her mother). A child-like Clara struggles to understand the emotions she is having, including sexual awakening and slowly understanding the patronising and repressing environment that she has been forced into as a ‘freak of nature’. Understated and slow, the movie has great performance overall and is very powerful in portraying the effect religious moralism and control has on individual lives.
Both Nathalie and Wendy have a background in mime or physical theatre, and that shows in the poetic, visual language of the movie shot beautifully by Sophie Widen. More is said about how people move and look at each other than the dialogue that is used. Just how Clara stands in different scenes is important. The humid Costa Rican rainforest is a strong part of the story, and the connection that Clara feels to insects and nature around her. It is not probably a movie for everyone but I found it quite magnetic, similar to La Sirga (William Vega, 2013) that I watched for the Colombian entry; more is said in the silences and glances than in the spoken word. An amazing debut by Nathelie and I cannot wait to see more of her work (she has another movie under development).

Memorias de un cuerpo que arde (Memories of a Burning Body, 2024) by Antonella Sudasassi Furniss continues the theme of repressed female sexuality, this time through a real-life narrative of three women around the age of 70, interpreted by one 65-year-old woman. They reflect their sexually repressive youth and their current life. One of the women who happily announces that she is not dependent on anyone, also reflects on the loneliness of old age that is symbolised by things breaking down in her home. The narrative floats between the loneliness of old age and the memories of growing up as a girl in an environment of taboo and secrets. It is not groundbreaking in the depiction of the repression of female sexuality, but it is refreshing in giving voice to older women and their sensual regrets and desires. It feels a bit long, like a flow of memories. The sexual awakenings feel less interesting than the description of the domestic hell that comes later in the movie. The conventions of the time, the lack of opportunities and the later will and push to move things was for me a deeper and more interesting theme, even if I think it is great that the movie brings attention to sexuality in an older age in a society that worships youth.

El Despertar de las Hormigas (the Awakening of the Ants, 2019) is another movie by Antonella Furniss. Antonella says about this movie that she wanted to “reflect on those small actions that teach us every day to please, serve, care for others, be married, be mothers, be there for others; inherited teachings and demands that do not arise from bad intentions, but from habit.” It has a similar energy and pace to the first movie I saw from her. It unfolds almost like a documentary and feels intimate which is great and not so great at the same time. It is great because of the subtle and personal portrayal of gender expectations through a very real and effective performance by Daniela Valenciano. It is also a burden because not much happens, even though the beginning of the movie is fantastic and says so much in little time. The main character is preparing a cake surrounded by her mother-in-law, sister-in-law, husband, children, etc. and the subtle and small interactions are ‘all-talking’. It is a small and quiet, well executed movie with a strong docufiction atmosphere, but not much dramatic development.

One of my favourites of the Costa Rican Film Festival is Princesas Rojas, (Red Princesses, 2013) by Laura Astorga. Laura’s parents were involved in revolutionary activism in Central America in the 1970-80s and she spent her childhood in Nicaragua, Cuba, Costa Rica and Miami. This could be why the movie has such a strong personal presence – it is a story of a Costa Rican pro-Sandinist revolutionary family who flees Nicaragua back to Costa Rica, thus placing the family under danger of political persecution and family breakdown. The two girls of the family (aged 9 and 6) are adjusting to life in Costa Rica while needing to hide the ‘red’ past and navigating a difficult situation with the parents, who could face prison if revealed to be Sandinistas.
The ideological tensions between tradition and building a new life for the family is brilliantly portrayed through the two girls. Their parents go missing from time to time and so many things are left unspoken. The chaos and confusion is well documented through the eyes of the girls, still just children adjusting to a new life with its challenges and longing for the red pioneer past that was so familiar. The acting from the girls is top notch, and the ending is superb, albeit devastating. It is also a movie in which the use of light seems to have a great importance – there is warm light in the interior scenes and nearly pastel light in the exterior shots. This is very different from the crude lighting of Tengo sueños eléctricos that I also watched for this stop.

A dream-like Ceniza Negra (Land of Ashes, 2019) by Sofia Quiros Ubeda moves in the territory between reality and magical realism. It is a movie about transition: between childhood and adulthood, life and death, reality and mysticism. Wide-eyed Smashleen Gutiérrez as the 13-year old main character Selva (which means jungle, forest or rainforest) is a perfect choice for her role. She is loved by the camera. She is mesmerising and magnetic in a static film that relies on the mystical atmosphere of the coastal rain forests of a Caribbean sea beach village in the Province of Limón – where most of the Costa Rican Afro-descendent population lives. The nature of the region is strongly present, introduced as a cradle of magic, spirituality and connection with the unknown. It is a beautiful and peaceful movie with stunning photography and location. The actors are non professionals but very natural, very present. It is a beautiful, nearly haunting film in which the real and spiritual worlds overlap peacefully and moments are full of symbolism, calmness and ethereal stillness.

El Sonido de las cosas (The Sound of Things, 2016) by Ariel Escalante, is a small movie about grief, or the inability to express grief. The blockage that some people have when faced with grief and loss, even if surrounded by well-meaning others. It is a small movie basically about that; an emotional blockage and finally the way to release it. It is an interesting, understated and intimate movie. Nothing spectacular or profound but I still enjoyed it. It follows the Costa Rican cinematographic tradition, that I have now seen in the previous movies, of long silences and long takes. The main character is often filmed standing on a quiet street smoking, walking down stairs, looking out the window. It is a skillful portrayal of understated grief.

Tengo sueños eléctricos (I Have Electric Dreams, 2022) by Valentina Maurel is a movie that is ‘cruda’ (raw). It is an effective but uncomfortable portrayal of ugly parenting. After her parents divorce, 16-year-old Eva wants to live with her father. Her mother is renovating the house to erase all reminders of her challenging ex-husband, and Eva’s dad drifts between friends’ couches trying to find a place in life. The movie is at once harsh, moving, disturbing and uncomfortable. Eva’s troubled parents are very real people, and the adult life shows its unstable and unsettling face while she navigates the challenges of growing up. It is an uncomfortable movie about uncomfortable themes, but filmed with much sensitivity and care. People are ugly (not physically but in their actions) and lonesome. If growing up with dysfunctional parents was difficult in Laura’s Princesas Rojas, in this one, the soft nuances are gone and people and situations are raw and vibrantly unpleasant. The movie won several international awards and shows how unsettling and chaotic it is to grow up with parents with mental health struggles.

Las Hijas (Sister & Sister, 2023) by Kattia González continues the theme of dysfunctional families and difficult fathers – and it is the 4th Costa Rican movie of this stop about two sisters. In this movie, the sisters travel from Costa Rica to Panama to look for their father whom they have not seen since they were small.
It is a vibrant small movie about adolescence, summer holidays, relationships and a beautiful location of Panama. It is not exceptional in its portrayal of youth – kissing, drinking, dancing, worrying about aesthetics, sexual awakenings. The storyline with the father feels secondary to all the rest of teenage life. Compared to some of the other Costa Rican movies with sisters and family dynamics, it feels more shallow. There is nothing particularly wrong with it and it is entertaining enough, not just particularly memorable.

El Pȧjaro de Fuego (Bird of Fire, 2021) by César Caro Cruz makes the noble intent similar to the movies of Colombian director Víctor Gaviria (see Vendedora de Rosas – the Rose Seller (1998) and Rodrigo D. No Futuro (1990) of the Colombia Virtual Nomad stop), using amateur actors from low-economic high-risk urban areas to tell a story loosely based on real events. It does not fully accomplish this task and rise to the level of its intentions, but is successful in filming life in La Carpio, one of the most populated, poorest and challenging neighbourhoods of Costa Rica and Central America, where 40,000 mostly undocumented immigrants are packed between two polluted rivers. The beginnings of La Carpio are in the immigration floods fleeing from poverty, natural disasters and the Nicaraguan civil war in the 1980s, and nowadays it is estimated that approximately half of the population in La Carpio is from Nicaragua or descendants. In Rodrigo D. No Futuro, the main character tried to find a way out of a high-risk criminal life through heavy metal and drumming, in this one the main character Tony wants to become a rapper and break dancer. But a plane full of cocaine falls into the neighbourhood (“a bird of fire”) and finding a way out of the spiral is challenging.
The story itself suffers from a predictable, unoriginal plot that drags unnecessarily, honest but thin interpretations and a confusing ending, but the description of La Carpio and real surroundings are interesting. After all the amazing movies watched for the Costa Rican stop, this one falls flat and does not rise to the level of the other movies.

The 2025 documentary El monaguillo, el cura y el jardinero (The Altar Boy, the Priest and the Gardener, 2025) is not available yet for streaming so I will have to wait to see it. It is a documentary about two men who take to court the priest that sexually abused them as children. Instead, I watch episode 3 of the Netflix series Live to 100: Secrets of the Blue Zones. The Blue Zones are five regions with the highest rates of living centenarians in the world (Okinawa, Japan; Sardinia, Italy; Ikaria, Greece; Loma Linda, California and Nicoya Peninsula, Costa Rica). Nicoya is situated in the Northwestern part of Costa Rica. The episode follows the secrets of healthy centenarians in Nicoya which include diet, dancing, continuous movement and family connections.
The warm silk of Debi’s voice

The national instrument in Costa Rica is Marimba which has its origin in African instruments. Marimba is also the national instrument of Guatemala, Nicaragua and Mexico. But when it comes to contemporary music, which is more interesting for our young Virtual Nomads, Debi Nova is probably the most successful Costa Rican artist. She started her career as a backup singer for several national and international artists until 2004 when she released her debut record. Debi is the most followed Costa Rican artist on Spotify and Apple Music, and the only one to have been nominated for a Grammy. She is the founder of Círculos 3:33, an all-female platform of support and empowerment. There is a beautiful clip on youtube of Debi Nova live at Paste Studio on the Road: LA that – in a stripped production and unplugged – really showcases her warm vocals. Her version of Juan Luis Guerra’s Bachata Rosa is also magnificent.

Next stop: Côte d’Ivoire
Thank you for your proofreading dearest L!










































































