Not all women are friendly. You knew that, right?

I walked along the crater's edge at Volcan Irazu.  There were a few others--they seemed to be Costa Ricans, and not foreign tourists.  I could feel the 11,000-feet elevation in my lungs and in the cooler temperature.  The sun's warmth was comforting as that of a lover's.

Irazu's crater

A guy, who was definitely much older than me, and perhaps in his mid sixties even, was doing a slow jog. Perhaps a silver fox he was, as my friend might refer to him.  Wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a gym tank-top.  Well, I was not that different, with shorts and a thin tshirt, though nowhere near his level of fitness.

A contrast our outfits were to the few girls and women there with their families--they were all in sweatshirts.  I wonder if we men are naturally warmer, or whether we are somehow programmed into tolerating the cold more than women do.  Perhaps the women are programmed to feel cold so that the men would then want to protect and comfort them? It is another way to attract a mate?

As Professor Higgins exclaimed, if only the women could behave like men.  Nah, that will be one boring world then!

I knocked myself into a conscious realization that I was in Costa Rica, at Volcan Irazu, and that I could always worry about the gender issues at a later time.

I continued to walk towards the far edge when I heard the joyful cries of a young woman.  A young man was carrying her across his shoulder, and occasionally tilting his body to one side that then drew the shrieks from her.  Ah, to be young and in love.  As I neared them, I could see that he was a broad-chested well sculpted guy, and she was a petite frame.  Of course, it would not have worked the other way around, right?

Will she always remain petite? A decade later, will he be able to carry her across his shoulders? Will he be as fit as he is now?  When young, we think our youth will be with us forever, and then we age. Seemingly overnight. We wonder then where all that youth went. We worry that we never did all those things when we were young.

He put her down and she clung on to him even as she yelled in delight.  As we neared each other, I looked at her and with my puny arms demonstrating strength I told her, "he is a strong guy, eh."  She chuckled loudly and said, "yes, strong."

Nature does it own landscaping by the crater

I walked around some more before taking the path back to the parking lot.  A lot more tourists had arrived, by the carloads and busloads.  I was glad I beat the crowds.  Better to stay away from them.

I neared the parking lot.  I spotted an older couple sitting by themselves on a bench and enjoying the sights and the sun.

I walked up to them. "English, yes?" I asked them.

"Photo?" asked the man in response.

He thought I wanted him to click me.  But, I wanted to take their photo.

"You two look lovely.  May I take your photo?" I asked them.

The man was very happy.  He smiled big time. He moved closer to the woman. And started to lift his arm as if he was going to place them around the woman.

She then muttered something without even moving her lips and without changing her expression even a little bit.

The man quickly put his arm down. His lips smiled no more.

I clicked.

As she gets older, the young woman ought to continue to be charming and giggly for the sake of the rest of us crabby people. Even if she will not be petite in a few years, and even if her beau won't be able to carry her across his shoulders.  May she continue to delight everybody--her beau, her friends and family, and strangers like me!

Gods must be crazy. Up on the mountains!

Growing up in a traditional and religious Hindu Brahmin family was quite an experience for me ever since I started wondering why things were the way they were.  One of them was about the locations of temples.  Why on some mountains far away from where people lived, forcing the believers to go all the way up the hills?  Why couldn't have the gods chosen more accessible places?

You can see the plumes rising from Turrialba

In the first place, asking such questions was, well, blasphemy.  My grandmothers had a stock response to any kind of question I had about traditions and the religion: "that's the way it is."  No questions needed to be asked.

Or, there were always some stories on how the gods settled on those mountains, or how some chosen humans--often men--were directed by those gods to construct temples on some mountains.  You either believed in those stories, or at least in those gods, or you did not.  I found it increasingly difficult to believe in them.

But, I loved going up the hills.  Come to think of it, walking up the hills to pray to gods was the only hiking I might have done in all my childhood.  We never did a nature hike because we wanted to do a nature hike.

The volcanic crater at Irazu

As I think about those now, it seems as if those hills were designed to encourage people to hike.  Imagine, if you will, a scenario like this: the elders talk to their fellow villagers about the importance of walking and hiking in order to be healthy.  Nobody is interested because, well, we humans have always preferred doing nothing over doing something.

So, the elders come up with an idea to tell the villagers that the gods have instructed them to go pray at the top of a mountain, for which they have to climb a few steps.  If they do, the gods will reward them, and punishments will follow if they don't.

The elders then work out a back-story on why the gods selected those particular locations.

Doesn't it feel like the gods could be up here?

Unfortunately, over time, this elaborate shenanigan became the truth.  People forgot all about the "subversive" health benefit aspect.  They built roads so that one can drive all the way to the top.  They bypassed the hundreds of steps and the workout.  Children didn't grow up jumping and running up and down the steps and, therefore, missed out on muscle and lung development.  Children even started playing video games while traveling on buses and cars that took them to the entrances of the temples.

I like to think that unlike the "religious," who have forgotten those old ways, I am truly carrying on that very old tradition.  I live with mountains always within my eye sight.  I can't seem to go on vacations to places that don't have mountains.  Mountains in France.  Mountains all around in Ecuador.  Mountains enveloping me in Orosi and San Jose.  I am already drooling thinking about a vacation by the Canadian Rockies.

Thus, my back-story is this: I chose all these places because my gods told me that they live on these mountains.  And that I will be rewarded for the pilgrimages I make.  My oracle tells me that the reward is the very fact that I am alive to write about all these.

Ah, my gods must be crazy as we humans are.

The basilica at Cartago