Chapter 8 #3
“And the rest, my dear, is history.”
Did he know I was Jewish? Maybe it was time to talk about how much I loved Christmas. “You know, coffee bushes look almost like poinsettias,” I said.
“Not at all, my dear, they only share the same colors. I do love poinsettias.”
“Me, too!” I said, “And Christmas! And Easter.”
Dieter pushed his glasses lower on his nose and stared at me. “You haven’t even touched your coffee.”
“It’s hot.”
“It’s supposed to be,” he said. “It’s coffee.”
I took a very tiny sip. “Delicious.”
He rose from his chair. “Let’s start the tour, shall we?”
Dieter led us into the courtyard, his Italian loafers clicking loudly against the tiles.
The sound ricocheted off the stone walls like bullets.
“Café Bavaria has two hundred and fifty hectares of fields. Currently, only seventy percent are being used. We rotate the fields to preserve the integrity of the soil.”
Dieter opened a low wooden door on the far end of the courtyard and held it open as I passed through.
“The first half hectare of land is for private consumption.” Dieter closed the door and pointed at the garden in front of us.
“We have potatoes, mangos, and chilis.” He snapped off a green chili and handed it to me.
“They’re rather mild. Costa Ricans aren’t big on spices.
” He snapped off another for Adrián. “Taste it.”
What were the negative side effects of eating a chili of unknown origin? Weren’t some of them weapons-grade? I watched Adrián with apprehension.
“I knew a fellow at Oxford who burned eighty percent of his tongue eating a chili,” said Dieter.
Adrián had just placed the tip of the chili in his mouth.
“Tragic, really. He lost almost all of his taste buds.” Adrián stopped chewing.
“You do get some of them back. Follow me.” Dieter stepped onto a stone path that skirted the vegetable garden.
I looked at Adrián, who was discreetly spitting out his chili.
He held out his hand for me and we followed Dieter.
“Watch your step,” said Dieter, who was waiting for us on a flat patch of dirt a couple of feet up. “Don’t want you getting bitten by anything. We have quite a few venomous snakes.”
I stepped closer to Adrián. “What kind of snakes?”
“Too many to list. We have twenty-two venomous species.” He thought for a moment. “And Africanized bees.”
Was there any horror that didn’t exist on this plantation?!
“Here we are,” he said, gesturing. In front of us was a small field covered with short coffee bushes.
They were planted in uneven rows, interspersed with trees.
Small green cherries hung from the branches in thick clusters.
This wasn’t what I expected a conventional farm to look like.
Dieter stepped off the stone path and walked through an unevenly planted row of young coffee bushes.
“This is your first coffee farm?” he asked. I nodded. “You’ll find that this is exemplary of Costa Rican cafetales . One of the finest in the Central Valley.”
“It’s lovely,” I said, snapping pics with my camera. “But how do you cultivate so many hectares in this small family-farm style? This doesn’t look like a big commercial farm”
“I’m glad you asked. Café Bavaria is at the cutting edge in agriculture.
We’re one of the pioneers in returning to natural farming methods.
The slash-and-burn method has been discredited.
It turns out that what’s best for the environment is also best for the coffee.
Which is best for our bottom line.” He gestured toward some trees.
“As you can see, banana trees have been planted along with poró , the short wide-blooming trees that were traditionally used to provide shade for the coffee plants.”
“But genetically engineered coffee doesn’t need shade, right?” I asked.
He turned and looked at me intently. “Someone did her homework.” His voice was tight. He glanced down at my hands. “How quaint. A real camera.”
Was he onto me? “They’re kinda making a comeback,” I said. “There’s a whole Reddit thread about it.”
He looked at me in noncomprehension. “Right.”
We continued through the fields as Dieter chattered on about the minerality of the soil. But something wasn’t sitting right with me. These coffee bushes seemed awfully short, and possibly immature. Matías’s warning was echoing in my head— they’ll only show you what they want you to see.
“This is wonderful, Dieter, but where are the pickers?” I asked. “Aren’t we here during the harvest?”
If Dieter was uncomfortable, he hid it expertly. “Yes, they go field by field. Let me request that one of them join us.” Dieter pulled out his phone and texted. A few minutes later, a tall, bony laborer in overalls and a blue bandana joined us.
“Don Rodolfo, thank you for coming.” Dieter beckoned the scarecrow man to come closer. Rodolfo was very jittery. “This young lady is exploring the idea of working in the coffee industry. Could you tell her a little about your experience here at Café Bavaria?”
Rodolfo shifted his eyes from right to left.
Then he cleared his throat and began to speak in spurts punctuated by deep rasping breaths.
“Café Bavaria is an excellent place to work,” gasp , “because the company is dedicated to producing fine coffee through safe,” gasp , “and environmentally sound practices.” Gasp .
“We have the best wages of any coffee pickers,” gasp , “in the entire country.” Gasp .
“We have full medical benefits...” Rodolfo stopped speaking for a moment to swallow several lungs full of air.
“And sick leave,” added Dieter.
Rodolfo nodded, his irises darting from side to side.
Then he gave the remainder of his speech in one rapid burst. “Housing is provided free was completely remodeled three years ago was modernized equipped with air conditioning hot water we have a recreation center includes a soccer field any questions?”
His voice contained a jagged edge of hysteria, so I decided not to press it. Perhaps his medical benefits did not provide coverage for his agoraphobia meds.
Dieter lifted his hand. “Thank you, Don Rodolfo. Why don’t you go to the rec center and take a break?” Rodolfo nodded and hurried away.
Dieter turned to me. “I hope that answered your questions, Dee,” said Dieter. “You certainly are a curious young lady.” That was not a compliment. “You look a bit flushed. Shall we call it a day?”
“Let’s,” I said, much too quickly. “On account of the humidity. I’m not used to it like you.”
Dieter pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “I’m not sure that one ever does get accustomed to the humidity.” He handed me his handkerchief and started down the stone pathway. “Or the political situation. You can’t imagine how difficult it is to do business here.”
“Hmm,” I hedged.
“It’s quite backward.” I stifled a gasp and glanced at Adrián. He looked like he was chewing glass. “If you want a permit,” Dieter continued, “you have to buy it from a politician. Business and power are hopelessly intertwined.”
“But where aren’t they?”
“Too true,” he said.
Adrián was pissed but had evidently decided it was better not to say anything. So I tried to shift the conversation. “I’ve heard the situation has become more fluid recently,” I said. “That there’s been upheaval with long-standing contracts?”
“Correct. The Rust has put a lot of farms out of business. Many contracts to supply roasters are up for grabs.”
Adrián turned to me. “The Rust is a fungus that is decimating the coffee bushes in Central America. It’s gotten worse with global warming.”
Dieter nodded. “We’re relatively fortunate because we have large corporate buyers. They can extend credit to help through rough patches.”
“I assume you fight the Rust with fungicides?” I asked.
“We use whatever is indicated,” he replied, in a clipped voice indicating further questions were not welcome. We walked in silence until we were back at the plantation house. “Will you be joining us for lunch?” he asked, on the first step of his veranda.
“No,” said Adrián, “we have to get going.”
“A pity,” Dieter said insincerely. He thumped Adrián on the back. “We have to get to know each other better, son. I could use someone like you in my sales department.”
“Yes,” said Adrián, “I could help you understand our backward culture.”
Dieter nodded, oblivious to the sarcasm. “Come back any time,” he said. “After all,” he gestured at Adrián, “we’re family now.” Family. Adrián was related to Nazis. Sure, it was only by marriage, but still. “ Auf Wiedersehen .” Dieter gave us a little wave.
Adrián and I walked down the long drive. When we lost sight of the plantation house, I sighed in relief. I looked over at Adrián. His poker face was slowly melting into a steamy twisted mess.
“Backward?” he spit out.
“I know. Particularly ironic given that his culture popularized genocide.”
“The whole tour was a joke,” he said as we got into the Jeep and pulled away. “I mean, I know the show was for you, but was I supposed to just play along? He could’ve at least warned me.”
“Yeah. That picker was giving us rehearsed lines.”
“And that field? Conventional plantations don’t have shade trees or charmingly uneven rows.
” The Jeep went flying over a pothole, then returned to Earth with a thud.
Without missing a beat, Adrián tapped the steering wheel and we returned to our proper lane.
“Those plants weren’t even mature. That field was just to show tourists. ”
I couldn’t believe how far capitalists would go to cover their tracks! But this meant that there were real fields somewhere else; fields that we could potentially find and photograph. I turned to Adrián. “Do you think we could find the actual fields?”
Adrián fiddled with the radio. Nothing came in but static. “Probably.” It was as if a curtain had fallen in front of his face.
“Do you not want to look for them?”
“Do you mean, do I want to trespass on my cousin-in-law’s farm? The one descended from Nazis?”
“Didn’t you tell me bravery was being afraid of something but doing it anyway?”
He smiled; I had checkmated him. He pulled a terribly dangerous U-turn. “Hope you know some good lawyers.”
“You know what? I do.”