She presses her lips on me, pushing her body hard against mine. I can feel her heat and wetness smear onto my skin. She looks up at me innocently with her pleading green eyes vying for my attention as I work on my laptop. I’m in one of my favorite countries, sitting at a table on the backyard porch of an Airbnb in San José, while the owner’s purring cat is insistently crawling all over me. I love animals but don’t love the fur and slobber sticking to my arms as I type.
There’s something special about Costa Rica. Maybe it’s because of the four years I spent here as a child. Or maybe because it’s one of the few places on earth that I feel accepted. I’m called gringo in most of Latin America and considered Hispanic in the United States. I’m neither here nor there—a drifter stuck in this liminal space. But less so in the land of Pura Vida. I’ve been called Tico (native of Costa Rica) by locals, welcomed as one of their own—something that doesn’t even happen to me in El Salvador, where my mother was born. Whatever it is, there’s an undeniable magic here that I can taste with every breath I take when I step foot on Costa Rican soil.
I feel the plants, trees, buildings, the streets, every corner of this place calls me with a delicate and luring voice. Whether I’m listening to live music in the city, hiking through a cloud forest, or eating vigorones in the shade on the coast while waves crash onto shore, I feel something stir inside my soul. It happens every time I visit as if it was my first time visiting all over again. That initial excitement fueled by adrenaline when you go on your first vacation in years; I hardly remember that feeling anymore. A numbness or indifference has replaced what was once culture shock. I was just in El Salvador earlier this week and although I thoroughly enjoy the culture and getting to acquaint myself with my heritage, I don’t feel the same pull. But like a kid visiting Disney World for the first time, I feel that wave of elation again.
However, playing with musicians in both Honduras and El Salvador recently has given me a taste of my previous life. And this past month, editing my documentary of the band I filmed in Cuba during the fall of 2023 has me yearning for it. A revival of passion. I’ve played gigs all over the world: Europe, Asia, the Americas. Hell, even last year I played a couple in Mexico. Yet, I felt I’d essentially left that part of me behind. But like a deep love that you just can’t quit, that just refuses to go away, I need to allow my soul to lead and embrace its hunger for creative magic. I’m an artist after all!
Trevor Davis is a musician, writer, filmmaker, and cidriculteur traveling the globe teaching the importance of cultural immersion and connecting with artists along the way.
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