Last night, Hannah was all weepy and the concert was here in the tile-covered hotel, so I spirited her into the entertaining tardes. We strolled past groups of construction workers getting off work, waiting for the bus. Ticos are so friendly. They always smile and say hello. Then you walk by some American expats/tourists, who look right through you with tense, striving faces. I guess colonialism has always been economically derived, but I think there's also an element of purchased authenticity at work. We all want to have something real happen to us, but even more than that, we want other people to know how well we are fitting in, how the sunset effects us more profoundly than most, and that we are the only ones who understand the lives of the locals. I can identify, I guess, because I've spent a lot of my travel times feeling melancholy and alien, wishing that I had some grasp on a place behind the doors of the regular houses. But that's tourism. When you live in a place, you earn it. You know which plants would be considered weeds, for example. It's better to smile like a dummy and accept your role of interloper.