For two whole weeks, my belly has always been full of Costa Rican food. The fish, rice, beans, and fruit that I ate that first night at La Selva have been metabolized and distributed throughout my body. All the yummy meals have slowly worked their way into my tissues, and the many mealtime discussions have worked their way into my mind. But food in Costa Rica is much more than what’s on my plate, it’s tied to the agricultural industry which makes up a huge piece of the economy, the declines in biodiversity, the human rights issues, and the culture here. This blog, I’ll explore this idea of food in Costa Rica. I’ll reflect on the many inspiring or meaningful lessons we’ve had, both planned and unplanned, how they may someday affect my work as an OT, and how they could provide some hope.
We started this unit and week with a lecture on agriculture. It was one of those talks that forces you to rethink a socially constructed phenomenon in a new way; to analyze the familiar until you recognize it’s abnormal. My professor examined the drastic declines in biodiversity that come with large scale monoculture crops, how a forest with thousands of interconnected species can morph into a stale field of a single staple crop and maybe an ant or two. We later saw these barren fields of pineapple and banana while on bus rides through Costa Rica. They reminded me of the golden rows of corn that can at times look picturesque on a sunset drive in my hometown. These crops are highly important, Costa Rica is the producer of 75% of pineapple worldwide—some of which I’ve eaten while gazing at that corn in my hometown—but they also are centers of destruction for anything considered a “pest” and are tied to power and control.
These latent yet glaring themes were revealed during our visit to a local pineapple farm. We were greeted with fresh pineapple juice and a gigantic pineapple statue, then loaded onto a tractor in the pouring rain. The lively guide, sporting pineapple shorts, provided his insight into the differences between conventional and organic pineapple farming. His farm uses organic techniques, such as using black plastic to prevent weeds or garlic and chili to prevent bugs, and fragmenting sections of crop for year round production. Conversely, the miles of pineapple farms surrounding us spray pesticides through the night and day and burn whole fields of crops for more efficient cycles of production. These monoculture farms are required to run blood tests on their workers, bringing into question the health concerns of these pesticides and conditions. For example, a short lecture on the bus ride informed us that pesticides from nearby farms can influence the onset of puberty for girls, an issue riddled with greater social implications. But the small, organic farms simply cannot compete with the big players like Dole, and the communities of Costa Rica need the employment opportunities they provide.
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/pineapple1-225x300.jpg)
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/pineapple3-225x300.jpg)
My biggest takeaway from this experience was that the solutions you create are informed by the goals you set. Companies like Dole are driven by the goal of maximizing profit, thus manufacturing the pesticide ridden plots of uniform plants. Whereas organic farms are driven by the regulations that classify foods as “organic,” or perhaps by a love for the environment, making them incorporate more sustainable practices. In the same way, people can change their outcomes by manipulating the goals they set for themselves. For an OT, this practice includes an essential review of the daily occupations that make up a patient’s life, and setting goals to make these achievable. Similarly, If we want to improve agricultural practices, we have to influence the goals of the companies in control.
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/pineapple2-225x300.jpg)
After the tour, we filled up with piña coladas and dried pineapple, returned sleepily back to La Selva, and then got up the next morning for another. This time it was a banana plantation. We unloaded into a friendly outdoor kitchen, with long picnic tables and cutting boards we would later use to make delectable meal and a version of fried plantains called Tostones. The kind women running the farm gave us some historical context about the influence of bananas in Costa Rica. She started her story with coffee, a coast to coast railway to improve coffee exportation to Europe, and banana production to feed the many workers that requires. This railway and the economic benefits it granted affected the culture and economy of Costa Rica. Engineers and railway planners from Italy, Spain, and China came to the country and influenced the local diet—apparently this is the reason we’ve had rice and beans, but also pasta, for our dinners here. With the production of bananas working well in Costa Rica, this sector was scaled up and today has become dominated by the company Chiquita banana. Because bananas are grown from the branches of existing trees, every plant is a clone of another, generating miles and miles of Costa Rican land covered by genetically identical crop. But the impacts go beyond this bizarre ecological conundrum, the conditions of banana plantation workers can be described, as they were by the banana farm owner, as a type of modern day slavery. Chiquita banana and other huge corporations fool communities with the illusion of choice. They make their own rules and become a second government, because the monetary power of efficient production protects them from Costa Rican policies and regulations. Many people are forced to work in these plantations, despite the low salary and poor conditions, because it is the only job available.
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/banana1-225x300.jpg)
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/banana2-225x300.jpg)
But my time at this organic banana farm did restore a little hope in the future of agriculture. While out inspecting the banana trees, the farm owner’s daughter ran out to say hello—wearing a fashionable robot shirt and bare feet. When her mom told her to put some shoes on, she weaved through the bee boxes, starfruit and avocado trees, and sweet potatoes planted underground. This little girl, and the farm she calls home, represent the possibilities available for the future of agriculture. Growing crops alongside others to restore nutrients in the soil, using natural pollinators like our friends the bees and the birds instead of agrochemicals, and making farming a family practice are all solutions I would love to see widespread one day.
The following day brought yet another farm tour. This time we crossed a long hanging bridge, passed by a sleeping Fer-de-lance snake, and hiked a short trail on the way to the plantation. Surrounded by rainforest, we learned about a food very near and dear to my heart: Chocolate. After we saw the short cacao trees, and the natural predators that compete with the farmers for their fruits—spider monkeys and agoutis—the guides took us through the process of going from seed to chocolate bar. They stressed the importance of the ancient indigenous practices and perspectives on chocolate. Theobroma, they said, means the drink of the gods. It reminded me how closely intertwined food is with culture, and how everything you eat has a long history. They demonstrated how the seeds are separated from the pulpy fruit that tastes like lichee, then dried over many days, ground and made into a drink. We made ourselves little cups of hot chocolate, with Chile pepper and salt, vanilla and sugar. From there the ground seeds could be turned into a paste, and sugar could be added to make a delectable topping on pineapple. With even further processing this paste could be molded and cooled into the chocolate bars we give as gifts to friends or crush in the middle of a s’more. This process revealed how humans, as do many other creatures, have always gone to great lengths to manipulate their food. Yet, with technology this processing has spiraled beyond comparison to anything happening in the natural world. We have the power to turn a plant’s bitter seed into an obesogenic, addictive chocolate bar, and the power to turn miles of complex forest into standardized, sterile rows of a single species.
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/chocolate1-225x300.jpg)
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/chocolate2.jpg)
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/chocolate3-225x300.jpg)
What all of these farms has shown, however, is that we also have the power to change. Using our powerful technology, and some creativity, it is possible to make agricultural practices more sustainable. Growing pineapple can include flavorful seasonings in place of harmful chemicals. Growing banana can be a family, not corporatized, practice. Making chocolate can include a celebration of indigenous ideas and culture, not just an infusion of sugar. What’s more, I know that I had the privilege to visit each of these farms because they also understood the value of education. Including aspects of ecotourism to engage and teach more people about sustainable agriculture is an important part of keeping these farms afloat, and also an important part of circulating these ideas.
After our farm tours, we finished up data collection, packed our bags, and said goodbye to La Selva Biological Research Station. I took photos to remember the library that harbored so many hours of journaling, researching, blogging and bonding, and the next morning after a very early breakfast we boarded the bus to leave. After some long bus rides, then a long boat ride, we arrived at our hotel in Tortuguero. The place was much nicer amenities-wise than the research station, with a turtle-shaped pool and pool-side bar. Yet as we sat down to dinner we found ourselves missing the kind, Spanish-speaking servers from the research station, the ice machine that filled our water bottles, and the homey feel of La Selva. One last experience with a mischievous capuchin monkey in Tortuguero illustrates my final note on food in Costa Rica, and what I’ve learned.
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/library-225x300.jpg)
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/boat1-225x300.jpg)
About halfway through a lunch on the porch of the hotel cafeteria in Tortuguero, we heard a rusting of leaves and saw a curled black tail. We had seen the Capuchin monkeys all throughout the hotel, around the pool and on top of the bar. A post on the porch had a little plastic snake stapled to it, with a sign that read, “fake snake to scare the monkeys.” Obviously, it was well known that the Capuchins in Tortuguero were notorious for stealing food. Still, the whole dining room was surprised when a little “pest” hopped onto a nearby table, stole a piece of key lime pie, and hid behind a leaf to enjoy his treat. Immediately a million phones lit up, capturing the monkey and the eyes and giggles that followed him. But for our table, a silence fell over us as we remembered a lecture only a few days ago in the La Selva classroom. We had learned about a study that tracked the location of Capuchin monkeys, as well as others, throughout the forest. The study showed that in La Selva these monkeys live much deeper in the forest, whereas in other places they much more frequently inhabit the forest edge. The study suggested that the conservation of forest in La Selva allowed Capuchins plenty of access to food, whereas more fragmented forests pressured Capuchins to inhabit the areas closer to humans where they could raid the tasty crops. When I saw that little Capuchin, which some might call a pest, I saw a hungry monkey. I saw a monkey that might be stressed, unable to find food without risking an interaction with people, or a monkey that has learned to perform for tourists to earn a meal. This interaction made me feel guilty. The resort was sitting in the midst of the tropical rainforest, and while this was an amazing experience for the people who come to vacation, the resort was changing the resources and environment of the organisms around it. It reminded me that feeding the planet does not only mean feeding the people here, but feeding the many organisms that contribute to the beautiful biodiversity we need. Costa Rican food is not just food for humans, it also includes the ways in which our agricultural systems and practices impact the wildlife here.
![](https://blogs.iu.edu/ecohealth/files/2024/05/monkeyy-225x300.jpg)
We have to consider these interrelated relationships in anything we study, whether it is healthcare or science or history. The connectedness that I have found in Costa Rica is, in some ways, hopeful. Solving one problem often offers solutions to others; improving one system can be done in tandem with bettering another. I think food is a wonderful example of the themes I’ve learned in my second week in Costa Rica, and as I finish my travels I hope to continue devouring delicious meals, but also continue the understand the history, culture, and systems ingrained within them.
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