Escazu is in the southwest corner of San Jose. It's the fanciest neighborhood I've seen so far - lots of Argentinian steak houses, manicured lawns, skinny babes in yoga outfits and shiny new malls. I visited one so new that not all the stores had opened yet.
I found one from Spain that ironically made fun of this type of neighborhood and the people who live there. I sat at a fancy "third wave" coffee shop and read my book. From time to time, I closed my book and tried unsuccessfully to work out what the previous two coffee waves had been.
At work they're big on recycling so I bought myself a coffee mug. I'd been using other people's mugs and now, with a simple $3 purchase, I would fit right in.
As I've noted before, one of the unforeseen effects of the internet is the speed with which annoying trends boomerang around the world. There was a woman dressed like an 18th century farmer, selling artisanal popsicles from a ice box attached to the front of her hand-made bicycle. In the supermarket, in addition to quinoa, which I only recently learned to pronounce correctly, I saw rows of kombucha tea next to vietnamese noodles and sodas whose prices were so outlandish that I recalculated them into dollars over and over because I thought I'd made a mistake.
I was the only one there - a nervous shop girl followed me around as if I might steal something.
Even the parking lot was over the top.
The dot on the hipster i were the murals every ten feet.
A rusty old beer truck was perched outside the front door like a statue.
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