When\u00a0we pull up to his Escaz\u00fa home,\u00a0Gerardo\u00a0Montoya hits play.<\/p>\n
Parade sounds\u00a0fill this sleepy neighborhood in the hills overlooking\u00a0Costa Rica’s capital city. Crashing cymbals and\u00a0snare drums\u00a0punch off time as we walk down the driveway towards a garage\u00a0workshop where our host awaits,\u00a0dancing\u00a0among the monsters he’s created, many of them\u00a0large enough to swallow a man whole.<\/p>\n
He cuts the music and announces:<\/p>\n
“Meet my second family!”<\/p>\n
There is el Chupacabra the blood sucking goat killer, just chilling next to\u00a0Martina the spunky abuela. There are grinning diablos crowding long-nosed brujas, witches in cahoots with their equally hideous boyfriends, the brujos. There\u2019s the hot pink-cheeked Rosita, a fat Spanish\u00a0madam who spends most of her time with the hairless, tirelessly ambitious el Calvo. There’s\u00a0la Segua<\/a>, half beautiful woman, half dead horse. Her hobbies include hanging around water and scaring the pants back on unfaithful husbands. There\u2019s Pancho the humble rancher, El Chino the racial stereotype and in the back there is\u00a0Gerardo, a mask modeled after its maker, the likeness\u00a0uncanny.<\/p>\n The “real” Gerardo Montoya beams\u00a0as he explains the family history. His grandfather was Pedro Arias, one of the most famous mid-century Costa Rican mask-makers or mascareros, who\u00a0defined an aesthetic style still used all over the country to make these paper\u00a0m\u00e2ch\u00e9\u00a0 “payasos,” beloved guests at\u00a0every\u00a0popular festival or celebration, prone to spontaneous dancing and the chasing of children.<\/p>\n