Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Monday morning, I headed to my call spot outside the Chinese market, which I found covered in green wreaths for Christmas.
I was surprised; the owners weren’t Christian.
But then I remembered my mom’s not-Christmas Christmas lights and suddenly I understood.
It was a way to assimilate. To stay safe.
A sprig of holly to allay multigenerational fears.
I moved under some twinkling lights, feeling a sudden kinship with the shop owners, and checked my phone. I had a few texts from Adrián. I felt a pang of guilt for not responding, but I was still so confused. “Super busy with work,” I wrote. “Call you in a few days!” How long could I push this off?
I mercilessly squashed that thought like a spider in the shower and called Suzanne. I was excited to tell her about Las Nubes. Finally I had achieved something! After very brief pleasantries, I made my pitch.
“I don’t think Las Nubes is a good fit for us,” she said. “If they’re a sinking ship, what’s the point?”
I paused. I had not anticipated resistance. “They’re the oldest, most successful co-op in Costa Rica.”
“We’re not conducting historical tours. This is business.” I could hear her typing in the background. “We’re showing our customers the wave of the future. Think ‘think outside the box.’ Think ‘cutting edge.’”
“Las Nubes is cutting edge! They have groundbreaking services for their members. Yoga and meditation, Suzanne. Yoga . Think about how much our customers would love that. We could do special sessions for them. We could even create a pose: The Finest Grind.”
“I love that! That is creative thinking.” Phew!
I knew yoga would get through to her. Oh, wait, would that be Disneyfication?
“But we could do yoga at any farm we choose,” she said.
“Look, Dee, you have to be practical. If Las Nubes is losing its certification, it doesn’t qualify.
And there are dozens of cooperatives in Costa Rica that do.
By the way, Café Alegre is getting more buzz.
The most recent US Barista Champion used an Alegre single-origin light roast.”
I kicked the gravel with my sandal. “I still think Las Nubes is worth including. They have a super strong cooperative culture; they’re an actual commune!
And putting them on the trips will bring them the revenue they need to renew their status.
Our customers will love feeling like they’re part of the solution. ”
I heard the clackety-clack of her keyboard stop.
“That’s an interesting point.” I could tell that I was now the sole recipient of her attention by the change in her voice.
“I see that you are deeply invested in helping Las Nubes. And I love your passion.” I sighed with relief.
“I’ll put in calls to some small roasters I know.
Maybe I can get Las Nubes a direct trade relationship. ”
“As you’ve said yourself, there’s no regulation with direct trade. We have no way of knowing if the roasters keep the promises they make.”
“That’s true on the macro scale. But some are very transparent. I’m not going to call roasters I don’t have faith in. Don’t worry, Dee, we’re going to try to help them.”
Try?
“But now I need you to focus on your work,” she said.
“And you have a new assignment, on top of your old one, so you really need to dig in. I’m going to be in town next week for the People’s Alternative World Economic Summit.
Many of our donors will be there as well.
So you need to set up a mini Truth Trip for the donors. ”
“In a week?!”
“It’s not the full Truth Trip. It’s just a proof of concept to excite the donors. One farm visit, one social activity, no homestays. I’ll lead the tour, you just set it up.”
“It’s still going to be difficult to pull together that quickly.”
“Fortunately, you’ve already made a great connection with Café Alegre. I’m sure they’d be delighted to be on our mini trip.”
“But—”
“Not the Ziploc again.”
“I wasn’t going to mention it, because I can’t verify it, but I spoke to someone at Las Nubes who thinks Café Alegre stole their biggest contract.”
“ Thinks ?”
“Well, yeah, that’s their theory, and I agree.” As I said it, I realized I sounded insane.
“I think you need to cool it with the conspiracy theories. You’re not in a Grisham novel. You know, after you brought it up the first time, I called someone at Ethical Coffee International.”
“You did?”
“Of course! I don’t want some farm masquerading as organic any more than you do. They said they had just recertified Alegre six months ago. What you saw was for mosquitoes.”
“Oh!” But was that true?
“Again, love the passion, but let’s direct it to the proper channels. And if you want to make allegations against another farm in the future, please make sure you have actual evidence. It makes me look foolish if I call Ethical Coffee International with nonsense. Do you get that?”
“I do.”
“Okay, great chat. Report back soon.” She hung up.
I held the phone to my ear like a conch shell, listening to the emptiness so many thousands of miles away, further from a solution than before the call.
Not only had I not helped Las Nubes in a substantive way; now I was supposed to actively help Café Alegre.
This was a big fail. So I did the only logical thing.
I went into the market and bought two bars of chocolate, a small bottle of guaro , and six different kinds of lotto tickets.
* * *
I spent the next two days trying not to reply to Adrián’s texts and looking for a compromise farm for the minitrip.
I found one called Finca Atenas that was suitable, if a little pedestrian.
But Suzanne was set on Café Alegre; they had the buzz.
I hadn’t made the arrangements yet. If I refused, I’d get fired for sure, and possibly blacklisted from all further employment in the nonprofit world.
But if I did it, I’d be raking in more money for the evil Café Alegre.
When I spoke to Suzanne again, I kept my deliberations to myself.
“So we’re on the same page?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“All set?”
“I’m going through a tunnel. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I made a whooshing noise and hung up. Not very professional, admittedly, but as far as Suzanne was concerned, the tour was green-lit.
I had also spent the last two days thinking of creative lies to tell my host family.
They were expecting me to spend the holidays with them at Luis’s sister’s house in Liberia, but I couldn’t think of anything more excruciating than watching the cold war between Pentecostal Eva and Catholic Luis.
For Luis and his family, Christmas was the religious Super Bowl.
But Eva’s church didn’t think Christmas should be celebrated at all .
They said it was a pagan holiday. And they were right!
Christmas was a rebranding of Saturnalia, the pagan celebration of the winter solstice.
That Christmas tree? A symbol of the return to life as the days get longer.
Holly? Sacred plant of the god Saturn. Santa Claus?
A chubby, white-bearded deity named Odin.
Honestly, Christmas couldn’t be any more pagan if it had an orgy with Hanukkah and Mount Olympus.
I felt bad for Eva. It was her against everyone else.
But I didn’t think jumping in to defend her as a pagan-identifying Jew was going to deescalate anything.
So I told her I was going to Tamarindo for Christmas with some work colleagues.
As a kind of penance for my lie, I helped her pack for Liberia.
“Have you seen Adrián lately?” she asked, smoothing a white blouse.
“Not super lately.”
“Everything okay there?” Wow. She had a mother’s witchy instincts and she wasn’t even my mother.
“We’ve hit a little bump.”
“He’s a catch, Dee. Respectful, sweet, successful.”
“He has an ex situation.”
“Ah,” she said, carefully folding Luis’s pants. “Well, remember, she’s his ex for a reason. What happened with her?”
“I don’t really know.”
“Don’t you think maybe you should ask him instead of avoiding him?”
“That would require conflict.”
“You’re American, Dee. Don’t you excel at that?”
I laughed. How had I not realized she was funny? And she actually gave good advice. “You’re right. I’ll ask. Here,” I pulled out a blue dress from her closet. “You look great in this dress. Pack this for church services. Your church services.”
“They hate that I don’t go with them to theirs.”
“I really respect that you go to your own. Even though they hate it.”
Her smile was so big and genuine, it made me smile, too.
* * *
I still had to figure out what I was actually going to do for Christmas.
I couldn’t hold off Adrián any longer, so I met him for coffee in a classic soda near the university.
We sat on plastic chairs at a little table practically on the street, breathing in the fumes of gasoline and nearby ylang ylang trees.
Instead of backing up and addressing the weirdness, Adrián was doubling down on the future.
We skipped over talking about the party.
No mention of the weird texts, no mention of Lucía, no mention of my confusion.
Instead, he invited me to go with him to the beaches of Manuel Antonio.
“My parents are visiting my mom’s sisters in Nicoya,” Adrián said over his steaming cup.
“I told them Christmas Eve Day was huge at El Río Bungee and that they needed me to work. My mom was really pissed, but my dad was impressed with my work ethic.” Adrián added more sugar to the pre-sugared coffee. “What time should we leave?”