01 feb A loss of tourism threatens Costa Rica’s lush paradise
CELEDONIA TELLEZ DOESN’T recall the year she moved to the Osa Peninsula, or exactly how old she was, but she remembers well why she came: free land. At the time, the peninsula, a 700-square-mile crook on the southern Pacific coast of Costa Rica, was a forest frontier, separated from the mainland by a neck of near-impenetrable mangroves and accessible mainly by boat. Celedonia was pregnant when she arrived with her five children, six chickens, a dog, and 700 colones, about one dollar. She also brought her boyfriend, but he “hated nature, and would run away from insects,” she remembers. So she took an ax and cleared the land herself.
“When I was cutting down the trees, I would think how they must have taken so long to grow, and I cut them down in an instant,” she says. “That’s what we did. We cut down the forest to live.”
Some 40 years later, Doña Celedonia, as she is respectfully called by everyone, still lives on that same tract, in a town called La Palma. When I met her on a June day in 2019, she was wearing jeans and a blue and white floral print blouse. She showed me around her garden and house, and from her confident stride there was no telling that she is nearly blind.