Nikki Gallen - Osa Peninsula, Costa Rica
Week 9

           I am sitting in the Santa Maria International Airport in San Jose, Costa Rica. Across the room lined with black chairs a man sits and plays guitar. He plays it alone and it is directed towards no one in particular. He does it for himself; to pass the time in a way he enjoys. The typical uptight busy ambiance of airports vanishes. The atmosphere is calm. Nobody judges, they simply quiet and let the sound echo. It floats through the space and meanders under chairs and around feet, reverberates off the high white ceiling. I am intrigued by the notes as he plucks the same tune over again. Yesterday, I walked into a church. I could probably count the number of times I have set foot inside places of worship, but something about my current disposition led me inside. It was not a highly structured building, there was no ornate décor, no pictures or candles: it was Spartan and white, with rows of wooden pews and a cross at the head of the room: Simple. The pews were vacant, apart from one man sitting in the first row; I took a seat in the last. He was speaking aloud, confidently and boldly. Unfazed by my presence; he began to sing; still with poise, but now with a stronger hint of emotion. His melodies resonated and filled the room. It was no longer empty. The airport was no longer crowded and the church was no longer empty.