A Sunday in San José

There are wonderful Summer Festivals in big cities around the world. In New York there is Phil at the Park. In Austria there is the Vienna's Glorious Ball Season. In France it is the Versailles Festival. And so on. We can see all those activities by the mass media. They are so far away: music, art, dance, drama, crafts, free courses…



I was really impressed when I spent a family Sunday in San José. In our sad, dirty and rough San José. But something had changed. In the parks there were no more homeless or alcoholic people asking for money.




The Central Park, Morazán Park, España Park, National Park… they were unrecognizable. They had colorful flags waving to the wind. Hundreds of people were walking by the little roads between crafts expositions.



Mimos, boys in street rollers, dancing groups, cheerleaders yelling aloud, street artists doing graffiti, famous writers reading their own creations, a young sculptor teaching his technique to everyone who wanted to learn it. A bunch of artistic expressions for free.



There were a lot of people enjoying the Sunday at the city. Families with little kids. Young couples. People walking their dogs. Teenager groups. I could not believe that it was San José.
Nearby the National Library there was a tent. A lot of people were waiting for something. I went over to spy. Thirty musicians were waiting for someone. An old man arrived with two ladies. He was a famous singer some time ago. His name is Rafa Pérez and he started singing with the San Jose Professional Band. A group of elder people started to dance. They went from boleros to pasodobles. The public clapped.



Suddenly another kind of music appeared. It was another kind of music band: a cimarrona. The parade arrived. El pasacalle had a lot of people dancing and running with big masks. Some kids yelled. There were our traditional characters: la Giganta and the totally red Diablo.


We walked down the avenue. My husband and my son stayed watching street boxing. My daughter and I went to the Book Fair.



In a little tent there was someone telling a story. When we arrived a lady was reading a story about Ratón Pérez. Then she told another one about our changing weather: the responsible was a Escazú Witch who blinks her long eyelashes when she wanted rainy or sunny days. At the end another writer arrived: she was Arabella Salaverry who read some of her wonderful poems about love, desolation, and hope.



The day was almost over. We were really tired. My son was eating a “copo” and my daughter bought some wood jewelry. I was talking to a group of Guaymíes who where selling handcrafted baskets and clothes. I got a doll dress alike the one wearing by their little baby girl who was sleeping in a big basket near to them.


I took some photos and when I looked at them I could not believe that it was happened in my country. The photos reflected the beauty of that summer day. The city buildings were not as sad as they usually are. The parks were impressive. The people looked happy. I wished it happened more often. That wonderful time was: TRANSITARTE.