What goes up, moss come down

On Sunday my host uncle and his family invited me to go gather wool for Christmas decorations in a gorgeous location. I jumped at the opportunity to do so, because I have never had the opportunity to shear sheep, or to see it done and pick up the wool afterward. I asked for clarification, because they said we were going to the top of a mountain, and that seemed a rather out the way place to go to shear sheep, but who was I to contradict them? So we headed out after I gulped down coffee (I drink several cups a day, usually two at a time) driving through some of the other training communities, and stopping at my host aunt's familial compound. Many of the Costa Ricans I have met live in groups of houses around an older house where their parents live. I call these compounds, but there is probably a better word out there somewhere, since there are neither fences nor guards.

I was offered Aguadulce which consists of sugarcane blocks that have been shaved and boiled into a syrup, and then added to boiling water until they are nearly drinkable. Sugarcane blocks have roughly the consistency of stale earwax, and the dull brownish-gray of bleached khaki. Its not my favorite to eat or drink.

When we set out again I was none the wiser about our destination, and after several detours down muddy roads to avoid landslides (including picking fruit and vegetables from unattended gardens) we turned up another dirt road, which grew muddier and muddier as it went higher, until we veered off up a very rocky road, and then stopped. We had arrived. There were no sheep.

Attempting to cover my surprise, I smiled patiently while my host uncle handed me an empty sack, and then proceeded to walk off the side of ridge we had ascended in the car. I followed him when my host aunt told me to, and we were quickly descending through pretty dense vegetation. When I ran into a tree trunk with my body, the trunk simply fell away because the trees were so moist. They were explaining that the wool we would be collecting was different here because it came in different colors. I was again confused, but I was no longer expecting sheep. Soon we stopped in a flatter area covered in moss. My host uncle picked up a handful that was both red and green and shoved it in his sack, and then told me to do the same. Quickly revising my expectations, I jumped in with élan, only suffering a fright when my wiggling fingers tricked my eyes into believing they were venomous grubs. That was embarrassing.

It was much more fun than working with sheep (I imagine). There were tons of different types, and many different colors, and apparently families here cover doorways and nativity scenes with lana or musgo. It gives a very nice feeling, if completely different from the Yuletide I was expecting.

On the way back we drove on some of the roads that were destroyed by the recent rainstorm. My host uncle would stop over parts where the tarmac was hanging two or three feet in the air, and his daughters and wife would scream and scream while he turned around and looked at me with a glance of utter delight. This picture is of me standing on a portion of tarmac that had no ground underneath, and you can see the remains of the roadway several meters below.