I leaned forward and asked the cab driver, in broken Spanish, “Why are the sewers on fire?”
Without missing a beat he said that the sewers held a lot of methane gas.
I squinted at the rubble all around us where a city used to be.
“What happened to … everything?”
He again replied matter of factly, “Well, there was the earthquake, the civil war and, of course, the hurricane…”
I, like the protagonist in Frost’s poem, did not want or need a fence. I liked the idea of sharing the greater area with our neighbors and letting all involved politely roam free — as we have for the past couple of years while we rented the house.
I had read an article somewhere about how Monteverde had a robust program, but what existed in print didn’t seem to have any signage, or basis, in reality. I again slowed my car and asked another Tico walking by something that probably equated to, “Where be the trash?”