Local and Not So Local Color
Wandered into San Jose today to get the tripod and the store was closed. The Plaza de la Cultura was cooking with lots of folks, and it didn't make any sense that the only decent camera store in the city was giving up such potential business. I went to the Canon repair store for a wide lens, and of course, it was also closed.
In between, I knew John was wandering about centro so I gave him a call. He said to meet him at the Hotel Gran Costa Rica on the square "where the gringos hang out." He wasn’t kidding. I felt like gringo grande as I ate steak and eggs, separated from the crowd and the guys hawking Cuban cigars by a meager winding row of flower boxes. There were two bouncers to keep out the riffraff.
What I took to be an Aussie asked to use my lighter for one of the same Cubans, and at the table next to him and his date was a trio of German girls. To my left were three senior citizen Norte Americanos talking about past and present business deals, and an Asian woman was sitting alone just looking out at the crowd.
A pretty pianist was grinding out tunes from American musicals. Musicals like the Lion King and Elton John's sugar pop hit from it. I escaped before the Titanic sunk again. I wandered close to get a look at her and had the urge to save her from such a hellish fate. The look of horror on her face was about as far from the mood coming from the piano that person could get. I can just imagine the schooling and lessons and discipline that went into her development, only to be tickling saccharine crap from the ivory for snooty touristas.
But it was fun nonetheless to play the role and girl watch while I waited for John, and to practice my meager Spanish on the help. I almost got away with the whole shebang until I remembered that I didn't tell the waiter that I wanted my eggs scrambled. I didn't see mine so I flagged down another. By the time my guy got there he thought I wanted to completely change my order and I had to revert to English to straighten things out.
John came and we wound up on a little walking tour looking for the Canon store, and meandered into the back streets on the northwest side of town where the massage parlors and love hotels blend onto the neighborhood. It's good to know these things as the difference between frequenting one of these establishments and picking up a girl at the Hotel Del Rey can be well over a hundred bucks. Of course I would never dream of exercising such an option. It's just color for the book.
