Marañón

There was something symbolic about the marañón I ate yesterday. It was a fruit I had never tasted before, bright red with a dark nut growing outside of the fruit, hanging from the bottom. The first one I tried was bitter, but the second was as sweet as could be. The texture was new to me. It was very juicy but then its consistency changed slowly, going through phases like gum, but quicker, like hot cane sugar straight from the cauldron. Eventually it became rubbery, until I swallowed it and took another bite, intrigued.

I will surely try many new things and meet many new people over the next few weeks. Some will be bitter at first and sweeter the second and third time around. Then again, some fruits are bitter every time, and some are downright caustic!

Similarly, the first time I rode my family’s horse, Cholo, he stopped to eat some grass and then refused to continue. I pulled up the reins, denying him his leafy goodness, and gave him some heel to the ribs. I even grabbed a stick and whipped his ass but he just wouldn’t go anywhere. When I let up on the reins he would eat, and when I pulled them up he would just stand there. On subsequent rides I was equipped with spurs and a cowboy hat, and I’ll never be sure if it was the spurs or the sombrero that got his respect. The only issue now-a-days is his masculinity and his massive horse ego. Every time he sees a beautiful mare, or a prowling stallion he needs constant prodding to be focused. Pobrecito, who am I to take away his glory and masculinity? A jerk. He has eleven years of experience – how many horse years is that? Also he was involved in an “incident” of sorts. My host father’s oldest son drowned while crossing the river on this particular beast, something I was informed of after I had already ridden him two times. Don’t worry I have no trips to the river planned. So with each subsequent ride he likes me more. I like washing him and talking to him, but as my Tico grandpa, Delfin, says: las bestias siempre son bestias, hay unas que son manzaticas pero todavia son bestias. Beasts are always beasts and they can be extra calm and used to you, but they’re still beasts. Most of the time Cholo and I just trot along because I feel bad jabbing his little ribs hard enough to get to runnin’, do unto others, ya know?