Enga mellom fjella

El playo por la playa

ME:

I daydreamed today about being on the beach in Parismina. Sitting on the sand that stretches north and south to nowhere. Writing about Carlosito, a young man selling himself (both short and for money) in the novella I have titled El playo por la playa. I went down paths noting the houses, the flowers, the people. But mostly I sat on the beach dreaming of the world of a young man who has left his family to come to Parismina.

The scene shifted to me visiting Kimberly in Manuel Antonio.

There we went horseback riding. I explained that there were only two times I got on a horse. Once, in Costa Rica, the horse wouldn't stop; later, back home, it wouldn't go... Anyway I whispered to the short dun-colored horse and it agreed to carry me bareback. Later, over coffee, I had a bird perched on my finger. In my dream it was a hummingbird. I offered it a strand of hair. Before it flew off, a big dog came over wagging her body and placed her head in my lap.

In the story, Carlosito moves to the fast-life of Manual Antonio after the snooze of Parismina. He has to choose what part of himself he will share, what part to kept to himself. One can have fun on the beaches, even make money from tourists, even dream that one of them will take him home to start a new life.

To work, El playo por la playa must make the reader care for Carlosito... regardless of the choices he makes, in spite of what along the way may seem like a train-wreck of mistakes to others.

In real life I know a Carlosito and have met enough young Ticos to know that the sub-culture of the beaches is not always an idyllic life. I am hoping that by writing I may gain further insight into the present day culture and the dilemmas of a place others mistakenly take for Paradise.

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