San Jose

San Jose is

the smell of millions cars poisoning me each day.
the symphony of birds at 5 a.m. that wakes me up with the morning sun.
the streets with no names.
the Pilsen beer on Thursday night.
the children songs I hear every morning on my way to work.
fried yucca, ripe bananas, pneapples and beans.
the colorful intelligent self-destructive yought in front of Rafa’s bar.
poetry nights at the Rayuela.
stunning lush gardens surrounded by high concrete walls.
my lost soulmate
and my dull flame of desire
a bottle of golden rum.
the 40 degrees temperature at 8 am.
rivers of cheap Charlie
the talktive taxi driver.
the poor Nicaraguan children.
thousands of dentist clinics.
MSN and mosquitos
Ida my housemate and friend.
a hospitable local family.
a rainy afternoon.
the (not so) “crazy” beggards in front of la Chicha.
and la Chicha itself
Pura Vida.
the long movie nights.
and the short conversations over breakfast
Area city and New Wave
Carton wine boxes called Clos
Two-storey houses
the beatiful Mountain View on the way to the centre.
the sunset from my terrace.
The fruit market on Sunday morning
Christian music shows on Sunday night at Plaza de la Cultura
all this and much more left to experience in the months to follow

a new meaning of home.