Sunday, November 30, 2008

OVER THE RIVER AND THRU THE FOG

Thanksgiving Day wasn't one I enjoyed a lot, spent searching for the lost dog and all, so to be invited for dinner at a 'nearby' expats house the Sunday after was something I was grateful for.  Peg and Jim live a few ridges away...well maybe several few ridges away.  Turns out there was a shortcut, and I might have taken it if the day hadn't been so foggy but the directions Jim gave me from Grecia were just great so I followed those instead.

Looking for the road to Sarchi was easy-it was the 1kM after the bridge stuff, as the car I drove measures miles not kM's.  Jim gave me lots of things to NOT do in his directions---wow I did appreciate it...
If I go to the top of the main road it is too far; don't take the San Luis turn, notice several muertas (whatever they are); don't take the San Miguel turn, notice the churches--well they are everywhere so it's hard to not notice them, continue up, up, up, up, up to the top of the hill-lovely view if it hadn't been socked in fog
<an image would be inserted here if my connection wasn't so poor--so just imagine a very foggy day ok?>

At the top of the hill I turned a sharp left onto an oxcart road and began to look for an orange house.  Rust colored?  No thats a barn or something.  The fog swirled around the car and I drove down the bumpy winding road hoping for that spot of orange--and off in the distance, thru the overhung trees and clouds, there it was:  a corner of a maybe orange house.

<insert pic of corner of orange house here>


Being the good old telefoneista that I am/was, I backed down the steep driveway cursed at myself for wearing pumps as I climbed back up the steep driveway and clacked up to the door.

Jim greeted me with "You have to move your car because I'm leaving."
I knew then we'd get along just fine.

<insert pic of Jim and Peg here>

Soon Peggy came out and Jim fixed some of his home made nacho chips and bean dip-muy bueno, and asked what I'd like to drink-offering cola or cervesa or whiskey purchased for Don Jose, the Tico family patriarch that thy hoped would come.

I took a shot of whiskey, which turned out to be 'agua de vida' AKA scotch-and a very nice one for being purchased in Costa Rica.

Soon after, part of the large family of Tica friends came by, sisters, husbands, young adults and grandmas, along with another nice expat who spoke fantastic spanish and helped translate for everyone.

This was the first American thanksgiving for the Ticos.  One of the kids told the usual pilgrim/indian story that we all have learned, the Costa Ricans eyed the gravy (salsa) and jelled cranberry with some suspicion but we all chowed down on the turkey and mashed potatoes, and of course Pumpkin Pie with Reddi-whip.  Peggy had brought the Libbys Pumpkin back from her trip to Hawai'i a month or so ago-thats planning for ya,

picture of Lucille and Eudardo here

Insert Pic of Dinner table here>

Everyone sat around the table and we all talked, though we didn't always know what we were saying, gestures and laughter gave the general meaning.  I especially enjoyed Lucille, one of the sisters, who was there with her husband Eduardo and I think a couple of their children.  She was a laugher-she had an infectious hoot at our Spanish and our inability to speak it. We all greatly enjoyed ourselves.

After great laughter and conversation, it was time to leave the mess with Jim and Peg-I took Lavinia back to Grecia-she is a great woman and lives here on minimal social security wages, right in town in an amazingly inexpensive house.  She convinced Peg and I to come to the conversation cafe at the Municipal Center Saturday at 4 to speak English with a large class that was coming for practice.  She does what I would like to do here-volunteers all over; schools, hospitals, speaking English etc and does a great deal of good.

Made my way thru the dark fog back to Bevs Ridge and though MY family hadn't been there, I felt that warmness that being around a family gives me--and a good time was had by all.



COSTA RICA - GOTTA LOVE IT....uno

And I do, love it that is.  I really do.  For the most part, the locals are kind and considerate to we turistas.  Especially if we spend money and don't always know what the exchange rate is.

Yesterday was feria day-the farmers market where Bev took me my second day here, still suffering from jet lag, and expected me to be able to understand the speedy spanish of quantecierotsincoetersetcmil colones for 2 kiwi.  I just held out my hand full of coins and let 'em pick out however much quanteciero etc etc was.  It sure sounded like a lot to me, especially when ended with mil.  It was usually about 40 cents american..just a really long name.

So I have gotten better at it-listening carefully, repeating the word, holding my hand behind my ear like I am deef..."cuanto es? Despacio por favor" How much?-slower please.

So my third shopping trip to the feria, bags in hand, purse full of change y shopping list in hand I started in.

In the middle of the feria, they post the amounts per each or per kilo of each item available.  No one charges more than, or undercharges his neighbor.  All the produce comes from different farms in the area or from different importers if not available here.  So I know how much to expect-if I knew how much a kilo was.

Side track rant here.  

Why hasn't the US changed to metric?  Why do we insist on our antiquated difficult way of measurements when the rest of the world, with few exceptions, has managed to get by just fine.  I have felt very handicapped not intrinsically knowing how far a kM was or how much a kilo is.  It is a kM and kilo-I just haven't been trained to think that way.  We do our children a real disservice by not incorporating the metric system into their everyday use.

Ok, I feel so much better now.

So I bought a pina (pineapple), 4 kiwi (kiwi), 4 aguacate (avocado), a bag of papa (potatoes) about the size of the kiwi, several puerro, which isn't several dogs but several leeks.  I learned that one quickly!  Dog is perro.  A bag of cebolla (onions) etc etc (etc etc).  Then to the poultry part for chicken and to the bakery area for the wonderful baked goods available.

At the stand where I bought kiwi and avocado, I forked over a 2000 note (about 4 bucks).  I thought the guy said setenta colones, which should have given me 3, 100 colones coins and a 1000 note in change.  I got the 300 colones and he looked at me-in the eye-waiting for me to say something.

"Cuanto es?" 

:"Setentamil colones" he replied.  1700 colones.  Thats not what he said the first time.  I looked for the prices again-most of the stands have them posted in front of each item, but he didn't.

It was a waiting game.  I knew I had been overchanged because I was a gringa.  I was really unsure of what to do-I didn't have the linguistic knowledge to call him on it, and later thought I should have just set the kiwi and avocado down and asked for my money back-see what he would do.

Instead I took the chicken way out and just left..knowing I had been bilked out of 2 bucks.  OK OK no big deal.  But it still ticks me off to be taken advantage of.  Or was I really..damn I don't know.  Maybe I misunderstood what he said the first time.  In any case..Caveat Emptor works here also. Or however thats spelled-my Latin isn't that good either.

After the Feria I went by a zappata to see if they had gotten the size diaz shoes I wanted in.  I'd looked at them a couple of weeks ago, but decided against for a couple of reasons-the obvious one was that not a lot of Costa Ricanwomen have size diaz feet.  They are petite women for the most part with delicate little feet whereas I beat out Clementine with her number nines.  They had to be ordered from someplace else if available at all.

The other reason was, though the shoes looked great, they were hecho in Chin-made in China and I couldn't actually read the material they were made from.  

A couple of years ago I'd bought Brazilian pumps from a shoe store in Multiplaza Escazu, but hadn't been able to get back to Escazu this trip.  Besides I am an advocate of shopping and supporting local stores, or at least trying to.  Anyhow the Brazilian shoes were all leather and muy bueno lindo.  And I want more.  I am a shoe slut-no doubt.

So my friendly zappata salesman encouraged me again to try on the size nueve shoes-and I again was not persueded that my feet had magically become size nine simply because I was in Costa Rica.  And also the shoes cost 2000 colones more.

Costa Rica has a great system of salary payment, considering that the average wage here is about $4.00 an hour.  Every employer has to contribute to what is called the 13th month wage, given the end of November or the first of December.  It's equal to a months wages and other things that are part of a salary.  For example if you hire a maid to come in once a week and pay her say 30,000 colones for the time she is at your place, plus you provide her lunch then you have to pay her 120,000 colones PLUS the equivilant of 4 purchased lunches..about 2500 colones a meal at a soda.  A pretty good deal for the workers I'd say but a point of confusion for the expat community most of whom scrape by on Social Security anyhow.

The stores, in order to take advantage of this new found money happily participate by hiking their prices shamefully up at the end of November.  And everyone knows this but they all agree it's ok.  Obviously not many Scotsmen have settled in Costa Rica, because it kinda ticks me off.  

I, myself, were I here full time would just do my shopping before the price hike and thats it..but ya gotta love Costa Rica.


More Ya Gotta Love ----to come


Saturday, November 29, 2008

THE RETURN OF THE WANDERER

As I was just trying my hand at fixing plantains this afternoon, 3 young children brought Dobbie back. 

 They had a rope around his collar and just undid it and left.

I said "Muchas Gracias ninos, muy bueno.  thanks so much."  
I didn't get any answer, just big serious eyes in very Indio faces.  The children were dirtier than the usual Costa Rica child so I assume they were the kids of the pickers, well actually pickers themselves.

Dobbie wasn't hungry so he had been fed and because he is a big eater, it may be that was a turning point for the family...another big mouth to feed.

In any case, they knew where he had come from, so the borrowing of him was intentional and not because they thought he was a stray.

I have not emailed my hostess about this and guess I had better, because the whole neighborhood knows he's been gone. 

I am, to say the least, very relieved about this..and the dog stays on the lead, in the garage or (horrors and not allowed) in the house at night.  I'm giving him a bath and brushing him off really good right now so he is clean enough to come in.


Friday, November 28, 2008

NOT SO THANKFUL TODAY

Part of my house-sitting gig is dog care.  The first week I had both Dobbie, my hostesses dog and Suzy, his compadre and amiga in running around.  Now that Fred the neighbor is back however, Suzy sticks closer to his house and Dobbie usually hangs around here.

Usually.  He is, however, a boon companion to any other dog he sees, any person going for a walk, the butterflies he chases, the hawks he tries to catch, even the hummingbirds.  Dobbie loves everyone and does not know the meaning of stay.

Because of this, I have had to leave him on a long lead the mornings I take off for San Jose.  After the experience of the first day and his being a wanderer by nature, Dobbie has to be kept tied up.  He hates this.  Usually by the end of my trip (maybe 6 hours) Dob-ster has wound himself around some bushes or trees and is left panting, in no shade and without water, waiting for freedom.  Needless, though perro stupido, he has become pretty clever at not coming when he thinks I'm going to leave.  

I've been holding his morning kibble and stuff for just before I go, so I can coax him up on the patio, pet him and feed him, make sure he has water and give him "good doggies".

Wednesday morning the Nicaraguan coffee pickers came through early, as is their usual habit. They had a pack of dogs with them and Dobbie went over to check them out.  I'd just gotten up and watched this from my window.  I went to the patio and called him, as the pickers hiked over the fence, their dogs scooting under.  "Dobbie," I called, "Kibble, kibbke kibble."

Dobbie gave me a "See Ya" dog smile over his shoulder as he went off with the new buddies to run in the coffee fields for the morning.  

That was the last time I saw him.

I went around my daily getting ready, fixed his food, fixed my breakfast, etc and went out on the patio to call him.  He didn't come, but I could hear his bark amongst the others in the field.  I didn't worry because this is a pretty frequent happening....if I'm here (most of the time), Dobbie and I take walks or he pretty much runs with Suzy and the new pack that forms for the day.

At quarter to 7 I put his food out and freshened his agua and called him.  Usually after a run or walk, he is content to wait for me to feed him..Dob-ster likes his chow.  If I have a spare few minutes to drink some coffee and watch the sun move up thru the clouds, he is sitting right ON my feet.  However, since he didn't come, I decided to walk down the road.  The gate had been opened for the tractor that hauls bags of coffee beans back up and I followed the barking and talking of the pickers but though I found some dogs, I didn't find Dobbie. I decided to catch a later bus and continued to walk thru the steep coffee fields, calling.   I kept at it for a couple hours, walking the fiercely slanted fields in my Birkenstocks, not the best shoes for hiking thru brush.

I called and hiked some more.  Finally I walked back up the canyon and e-mailed the dentists office that I wasn't coming in that day.  I know it's no problem.  Little is a problem here.

Several times during the day I walked the coffee and sugar cane fields calling and coaxing and generally getting more and more worried.

Late Wednesday afternoon, Dobbies amiga Suzy came over and finished off the dog food I'd left.
I decided to take Suzy for a walk thru those fields one more time at dusk...we walked until dark and I called and listened.  All quiet except for the calling of the hawks riding the thermals as the sun set.

Yesterday, Thanksgiving, I had made plans to go into San Jose to the dentist, take a mall trip with another woman also at the dentist, then several of us were going out for Thanksgiving dinner.  I decided to stay home again and look some more. I didn't feel very much like either shopping or celebrating and I was worried even more.

No sign of Dobbie and no sign of the pickers from the day before either.

Again this morning I walked the fields, no pickers-the fields look pretty cleared out actually, the top two feet chopped off to allow the lower beans to get sun and ripen.  No sign of Dobbie today and now I have no idea what I should do.

How the heck do I tell my hostess that her beloved dog has gone missing on my watch?  I haven't seen him for 3 days nor heard his bark.  I know that bark having listened to it many times the past 2 weeks, when he was running with his amigos after something in the surrounding fields.

So while I personally have many things to be thankful for, I can't help but feel very bad about my friends dog and am in a quandry about emailing her this problem..after all, perro stupido could show up. Right?

Well, not so much according to both the neighbor and the builder, Marcos, who came by this morning to fix the water line again.  Fred thinks the 'Nico pickers" have killed Dobbie for being annoying and Marcos thinks they have just decided to take him with them to the nexr field, where ever it is.  Either way, he may be gone for good and my hostell is going to be very upset with me.

Bummer, true bummer.

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

LIVIN' ON THE RIDGE and WALKIN' TO THE BUS

This is a really beautiful, if rustic and rural place to be living.  Mornings are either very foggy, rainy or fantastically sunny as this 6 am photo shows.  It's looking west across the top of the coffee fields at the road I walk down every morning to catch the bus to San Jose.



Contrary to what my hostess said, I cannot actually catch the bus at the end of her mile long driveway, but instead walk down the hill-which is actually down and up and down and up several hills to get to the bus stop for the trip into the town of Grecia, where I catch another bus into San Jose.

She also mentioned it's about a 45 minute drive into San Jose.  By car maybe, but by bus it's at least 90 minutes on a good day and since most of my appointments at the dentist are for 9AM and it's a First In / / First Out philosophy there that means I have to get up about 5:30, just at sunrise, to get ready, fix breakfast, feed and play with the dog and make the walk to the bus.  But I'm not complaining at all.  I've had a few rainy days of walking but I'm an Oregonian and the rain here is, at least, warm.  Usually it's foggy and misty or sunny for these early walks and boy are my leg muscles getting built up!

The mile to the road is a winding one with coffee fields on one side and sugar cane on the other

At the end of the driveway is the auto repair shop and pack of dogs that greet me every morning and evening


It's also the Costa Rican address for the house..1.5Km oeste Taller Alan 5Km norte Santa Rosa de Poas. Costa Rican buildings don't have actual street addresses as mail isn't delivered to houses here.  Everyone has a Post Office box someplace where they go to pick up their mail.  You find businesses and residences by directions from the nearest main building or landmark.  However since these buildings and landmarks might have changed names and/or come down, it can be confusing to say the least.  The main bus depot in the capitol city of San Jose is called Le Coca Cola Terminal, as in another life it was the Coca Cola Bottling Company-it then became a bus depot and then was demolished and turned into a parking lot, but it's still called Coca Cola in tour books and bus schedules.  It's good that taxi drivers know almost everything about the areas they work in, though the first time I took a cab to the house on the ridge, the taxi driver was sure I was wrong with my directions.

Sunday, November 23, 2008

NOVEMBER 23..YIKES!!!! I FEEL THE EARTH MOVE UNDER MY BED

It's a bit after midnight and I'm all alone-well I have the dog pushing against my leg, wimpering, but basically I'm all alone.  And there was just a big earthquake, which woke me up out of a sound sleep brought on by a day spent walking the streets of San Jose.

I bolted from the bed, stepping on the water glass which had crashed and broken on the floor when the quake tumbled it off.  I was under the bedroom doorway before I was even totally awake-Dobbie at my side shaking as hard as the house.

It was a sharp quake, not a roller.  One that caused the house to thump up and down like a monster was stomping on the ground outside.  My youth, spent in Los Angeles, served me well as my body knew just what to do..get under a doorway.

I haven't been here very long and don't really know anybody well enough to think they might check on me.  Or I might check on them.  Fortunately my #2 son, Russ, was online and I was able to chat with him as I decompressed from the shock of the quake.  I am so glad he was there as I am on the verge of freaking out!

I know there are lots of quakes here in Costa Rica.  My sis told me about one she was in that made her run out of a hotel in her PJ's only to discover she was the only person who did so.  I just can't be blaze' about earthquakes though..not after so many of them in my childhood.

Freaky-I doubt I'll get much more sleep.

edit  I did get back to sleep and was just a bit late getting into San Jose.  No one on the bus was talking about the quake at all-not in San Jose.  I checked the quake reporting site and discovered the quake epicenter was just 10 Km away which is pretty close.  Near the Volcan Poas it seems.

Hmmmmmm.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

TATTOO


I had been thinking about getting a new tattoo to celebrate this trip to Costa Rica.



In many ways, this whole experience is a new horizon for me to approach and cross.  Though I love to travel, I've not done much by myself, at least not for about 45 years.

The trip has been a way of personally checking to see if I can keep myself entertained, get by with minimal language in a foreign country, cope with pain of the dental variety, travel by bus and generally not pack too much for a one month trip.

I've been pretty successful on all but the last challenge-and packing too much remains a problem that I have to solve some trip in the future.

So back to tattoos.....I already have two of them.

The first is a memorial for my husband Russ.  As he was cremated I have no grave to visit, no marker to talk to when I want to talk to him.  So I got a tattoo, designed by our grand daughter, Christina, on the first anniversary of his death.  It's beautiful-a feathered dreamcatcher with 53 beads, one for each of his years.  The feathers symbolize his love of birds and his free spirit.  The center of the dreamcatcher is a peace sign-Russ was always a peace advocate.

On my 65th birthday, I got a large lower back piece of the three phases of womanhood..the triple moon aspect.  Half moon maiden, full moon mother and half moon crone all supporting each other.  It is another beautiful piece of artwork.

This time I didn't go for beauty so much as for symbolism - of Costa Rica, of my own growth.

I considered the toucan, the dolphin, even the mystical quetzal-the Costa Rica national bird.  I finally decided on a phoenix.

A very special phoenix.

One that is seen on signage all over the country and is instantly known for what it represents-the best of Costa Rica.

I traced this particular phoenix off the Imperial beer can onto saran wrap very carefully the morning of my appointment.  Because I'd changed my mind on what I wanted after making the appointment, I knew the artist wouldn't have time to find it himself.  Then I grabbed the 9:10 bus (for my 9 AM appointment-I am truly on Costa Rica time now) and went into Grecia.

What a beautiful day it was- Saturday and the town was full of people with the beginning of Christmas joy and their '13th month' bonus in their pockets ready to spend.  The stores had been decorating, after all it was the end of November and the weather was warming up-just in time for the faux icicles, heavily dressed gringo Santa pictures, tinsel and fake snow in every window and an amazing number of Merry Christmas candy cane colored posters.  Costa Rica has embraced the commercialism of the norteamericano Christmas Spirit with enthusiasm.

Reindeer and sleighs made out of straw were being sold out of car trunks on corners and Feliz Navitad played loudly out of stores everywhere.  And the shoes I'd priced 2 weeks ago for 9865 colones now cost 12,000 colones.  They still didn't have a size 10 americano or 41 UK though.

I made my way thru the crowds to the tattoo and piercing shop-it's called "Tattoo".  David was ready for my toucan when I told him about the change of theme-he totally broke up!

"Imperial?" (EEm-per-ea'llll?)cervesa Imperial?"

"Si, David...." confusion here his name is pronounced Daveeee'd, but he did like Dave as  nick name, as names here never end on  hard sound and Dave is muy unusual-just right for a tattoo artist.

Dave had invited his friend Antonio, who spoke some span-glish to act an interpreter and photographer.  'Tonio did a really good job as did Dave and the small tat on the lower part of my neck was soon done, pain being dealt with by a can of the beer in celebration for all of us...I'd brought an ice cold 4 pack with me of course.

Turns out Dave is a man of many talents.  In his dingy looking but quite clean shop he also does chiropractic, massage and acupuncture as well as piercing and his primary job of tat artist.

Thing is, Dave isn't really creative.  He does very little of his own design..mostly flash from the internet or magazines, copies of other tattoo artists work.  'Tonio said Dave wishes he could draw better but just does not have that hand eye coordination unless a maquina tatuista (I swear this is what he called it) is in his hand..then he is a master.  I had sketched out a toucan in flight for him the first day we met-it wasn't very good but I had painted toucans before and I had the idea..he kept it for his files as a muy bueno toucan.

I hope no one ever wants a toucan in flight-or maybe when he gets it on skin, the ink will become magic.

I asked Dave to place my tat on the part of my neck right below the hairline-I wanted to cover up an old surgical scar.  He totally refused to ink over the scar.  "No-no." then went into a fast  barrage of spanish to 'Tonio about the location.

"He no" shrug.  "Not that part. " Slapping his neck and shaking his head.  

"Por que?"

"No have de ink"

Hmmmm-no have the ink.  He's not out of ink-I see it right there. Tonio reached around and han his finger along the scar.  "No have de ink".

The scar won't take the ink?  I know it will-cause I have ink over my other back scar.

"Si si" I said, hiking my shirt up and my jeans down and showing these young guys more 65 year old flesh than they ever wanted to see.

Lots of talking in spanish, out came the camera and several pictures of my Triple Aspect were taken.  However Dave was firm.  He wouldn't ink over the scar.  Someday if I ever really get able to speak spanish I'm going to ask him why, but for now, we agreed to  a slightly lower location and he went to work.

I have to say-he is good and he is fast with a maquina tatuista in his hand.  I don't think it took an hour total.  From prep with (ug) lysol on my skin, to application of the carbon to finish.

I really like it.  Actually it's perfect, both being the phoenix and the Imperial logo.  I don't think too many people will even know thats what it is when I get back to the states-it's just a truly cool phoenix and I feel the rebirth every day now, as the skin itches and flakes off. 

 I sure wish I'd brought A & D ointment with me though.  The closest I could find was a Diaper crema con vitamin E y aloe.
 

Thursday, November 20, 2008

COFFEE BEANS uno

My morning walk, about a mile to the road, meanders thru coffee fields which are in the process of being picked.  It's coming close to Christmas time here and the coffee plants are truly typical Christmas colors of bright red and holly green.  Only the red beans are picked the first time thru-it's all very manual labor intensive too.  

Coffee is picked by Nicaraguan families-men women AND children who, along with a pack of dogs flood the fields down the road every morning at dawn.  Which is about 5 AM.  I have no idea where they sleep, but I think it's in the fields someplace.  They all haul plastic bottles for water to drink as, although the mornings usually start out foggy, by 10 AM the sun is up and quite hot.

My hostess, Bev, was quite concerned about the 'Nicco' pickers.  She cautioned me to make sure the doors were locked and to not talk to them-as though I could.  She also said to bring the hose into the garage so they wouldn't use it to fill their bottles with her water.  She did not want them on her property and was quite upset that they had a right-of-way down her driveway and along the front of her yard..but she chose to build in the middle of a coffee field, so I figured she sort of needed to accept that the laborers would be coming every year at picking season.  One of the reasons she chose to go back to the states this time of year was to be away during picking season...she has a very real fear of the pickers.

I, OTOH, don't.  As far as I'm concerned, allowing them to take the water from the hose is simply a polite way of behaving.  As I am up feeding the dog every morning as they come thru, I greet them with a 'Buenos dias"  and gesture towards the hose saying "?Agua?"  Some of them use the hose and some don't.  The dogs greet Dobbie and sometimes he gos with them to the field, if I don't chain him up first that is.

This sort of casual waves, good mornings and so on continue as I walk the mile thru the field towards the  road to the bus stop.  All of the workers look gaunt and work their tails off, filling big bags full of the red beans, then hauling them to the driveway for a tractor to pick up.  The kids have just as large of picking sacks as the adults do..sort of  slings that go over one shoulder and form a large pouch at their waist or knees, depending on the size of the picker.  Their hands move so fast-there is a limit to the number of green beans that they can pick..every green bean is a coffee bean that won't ripen and they are penalized for it.

After the upper couple of feet of plant have been picked several times over a couple of weeks, another worker comes along and lops off the top couple of feet from the coffee plant to allow sun to reach the lower beans.  The trimmings are gathered up and used for campfires in the field and they always smell like roasting coffee in the nights when they are burning.

Watching the process has given me an appreciation for the cost of coffee-especially since I know that the average worker here makes $2.00 US a day as a picker and the kids are not allowed to go to school as they aren't citizens.  There are no houses for the workers, nor medical either.  Most of these families have come from villages where their houses have been torn down or burned out by drug lords.  They cross the border by night and work on the sly in Costa Rica.  It seems that we aren't the only country with illegal migrant workers.  Most Costa Ricans would not do the stoop labor these families are willing to do either.

I believe from now on I'm going to buy Free Trade coffee only-where I know the laborer has been paid a living wage.

NOVEMBER 15-AGUA NO ES

Or something like that.

Got home from a long day at the dentist and equally long bus ride home to discover there was no water service to the house.  Good news-I had a few bottles in the 'frige/bad news-it's not enough for a shower.  So I went out the next morning and stood in the rain with a bar of soap, washing off as best I could and using the bucket under the down spout chain to rinse with,  Needs must and all that.

Back in San Juan, I used the phone at the dentists office to call Bev, she directed me to a list of muy importante  peoples phone numbers, one of them being the contractor who built her house.  Fortunately he spoke english somewhat and promised to come out in a day or so and find what was wrong.  A day or so without water wasn't really appealing for me to go without, even though I began carting gallons of water up the ridge every night-it's a long walk carrying a gallon of water in a plastic bag.

Today being saturday, I decided to go into work mode and look for the broken line.  Carlos, the builder, said the meter was on the street by the kids bus stop and the water line went cross wise thru the field of coffee plants.  On top of the dirt.  It was a long rubber like hose.  It appears that things like buried water lines aren't necessary here.  I walked down to the water meter, roll of duct tape, several towels hose clamps I found at the ferretaria and a couple of pieces of hose to try and do a sort of a fix.  After all, I worked for Ma Bell for 35 years and can repair a buried drop line-and I can fix my sump pump output hose too so I ought to be able to fix whatever is wrong-at least temporarily.

Walked up and down, found the hose then lost it in the brush.  Found it again and lost it again, all the time expecting to find a big puddle of water..a hose break ought to be obvious.  After 5 hours of tronping thru the coffee fields, I gave up and decided this was another opportunity to gain patience.  Costa Rica is full of those opportunities for norteamericanos.

A few days later I came home, expecting to take another spit bath, to find a note saying Agua OK.  OK Great!  And it was.  I had a very long and very appreciated shower, I'm sure it will be appreciated by everyone on the bus also!

Carlos came by later to say he thought the coffee pickers had broken the line to obtain drinking water.  It seems it's up to them to supply their own water for 12 hours of picking in the hot sun every day-the come with plastic bottles and look for a place to fill them up.  I guess if there is no obvious place, the do whats necessary.  I get that.  Bev was pretty adamant about my not allowing the coffee pickers to get water from her hose, but I think offering to let them do that is a better alternative to having 5 days of no water to the house and her paying to water the coffee plants 24/7.

I ended up getting buckets of water from a neighbors hose line-he's gone for a while.  Seemed the best alternative for washing and cleaning water.  I did get a bit tired ot taking showers when it was raining in my bathing suit, I have to admit.

Monday, November 17, 2008

ROOSTERS AND FERRETERIAS AND MORNING-oh my

I am not, willingly, a morning person and retirement has allowed me to sink gracefully into my own circadian clock, which indicates that early morning is about 9:30am and should be followed by an hour of lazy abed time with newspaper or book, a cup of excellent coffee and a lovely pastry brought to me by a maid.  However, as I live on 'the sociable security', I have no maid and my coffee and day old pastry is prepared my non other than myself.

My hostess, Bev, IS a morning person.  She says all Costa Ricans are morning people..
early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy wealthy and tedious, in my opinion.
But as the sun sets at 5:30 and rises 12 hours later, deviating by maybe 15 minutes during the year (being on the equator does that to the sun), there are no leisurely long winter nights in which to bundle up in my quilts and snooze.

My first morning her, after a 13 hour red eye flight and the day spent looking over the lovely town of Grecia, I in fact WAS ready for an early bedtime.  Early to me was about 11:30.  Bev however hits the sack at 7PM and wakes at 5:30am and apparently my settling in kept her awake that night.  She encouraged me to try and go to bed much earlier so I can get up much earlier....we'll see it that happens, and I will try to be more quiet in the evenings.  Since there is no TV here, I brought a raft of movies to watch and theres always the computer, even though the connection is iffy.

Next Day:  Got up around 7, after the chickens which woke me up before the sun came up, as I had to get the bus to San Jose for my first dentist appointment.  Bev waved me off and the stupid dog kept me company on the entire walk to the bus stop-which is not-contrary to Bev's understanding-at the end of her driveway but several miles down the hill at the corner grocery store.  I spend the whole day in San Jose, had an amazing experience trying to get home and collapsed into bed, wishing I had some form of strong drink to stop the shaking.

Next Day:  What the heck?  It's dark out and there are dogs barking and chickens making peck peck pock sounds and roosters crowing and what sounds like an 18wheeler idling outside the front door.  Oh it is an 18 wheeler, come to drop off the coffee picking stuff for the upcoming picking season.  Don't these people ever sleep?  Don't these animals ever sleep?  No wonder Bev goes to bed at 7PM!

I drug myself out of bed, took a cold shower (had forgotten to turn on the water heater) and grumbled into a cup of excellent coffee while watching the fog lift on the opposite hillside.  Bev was already working in her garden, her packed bags were at the door and she reminded me she had to be at the airport at 11AM for her flight to the US.  After dropping Bev at the airport, I went back to Grecia, had a very nice lunch and spent the day looking around at stores.  I need/want some new shoes and checked all the zapaterías, and found a lovely pair of pumps in size nueve.  However I am size diez and no matter how hard I try, I have not lost a shoe size on my trip to Central America.  Juan Carlos promises to try and find me the correct side if I will return in a few days.  I will.

I also had to see what a ferreteria is.  I have a business of ferrets at home and am fascinated by the mental image of a ferreteria...a cafeteria for ferrets?  A business run by ferrets?  No it's a hardware store, the likes of which I have never seen before.  Run more like an auto part store, you don't browse down aisles like I do at my local ACE Hardware, picking up a length of sump pump hose, a couple of hose clamps, a roll of duct tape and one of black vinyl tape, a bag of tie wraps and a couple of wire connections.  Here you have to ask for what you need at the counter and they bring it to you.  You better know exactly what you need-no idle wandering here.

I needed a 30 foot cable for my computer-Bev does not have wi-fi nor does she want it even though I offered to install a wi-fi airport for her (and my) use.  Her existing cable doesn't reach my bedroom and if I sit at the kitchen table I keep her awake.  Besides I'm the lay in bed and play on the computer kind of person.  Thus the need for a longer cable.  Pronounced "Cab-la" I was directed to a computer store several blocks over-where I asked for a 30 meter cab-la instead of 30 feet.  So now I can take the computer onto the back porch also.

About 4PM it started to rain so I gathered up my purchases, having hit the grocery store as well as the mercado and wound my way up the ridge for my first night alone in Costa Rica.  No phone.  No radio.  No TV.  Thank the goddess of the inter-tubes for computers..my lifeline.

Friday, November 14, 2008

POR FAVOR, DONDE ES EL AUTOBOOS A GRECIA, SENOR


Written 11/14/08

The first day I used the bus system here was not totally a positive one for me.  Although I had done a lot of research online, walked the road to the bus stop, read the schedule at the abastecedor (small general market and sometimes soda) at the corner of some road and another, (roads here are seldom actually named) I didn't really have a good take on the actual process of bus riding

Since my first dentist appointment was for 10AM, I decided to get an 'early' go at it and left for the bus at 8, thinking I'd be in San Jose in an hour or so.

Foolish me.  I know it takes twice as long to get anywhere here, and I was making bus connections.  Hope springs eternal don't it?

I walked down the hill to the sheter, where several children were waiting for the bus.  Gaily and with more confidence than I felt, I smiled and waved "Hola!, Buenos Dias".  The boys flashed their killer eyes, the girls giggled and Victoria, a cute 3rd grader, asked if I was Senora Beverlys amiga.  Duh.  The only gringa on the hill, I guess I'm her friend.

I asked, carefully reading what I had printed out the night before, "Donde is el autobus a Grecia?"

The kids all giggled and waved and pointed me down the hill.

 The bus came, the kids got on and I tried the "donde is" phrase again.  The driver waved down the hill. Kids pointed down the hill. 

 Obviously this wasn't my stop.  

The bus turned around, all faces looking at me to see if I was going to wait or go down the hill, so I went.  Down the hill is a figurative phrase, as it's also up the hill then down then up several times to get to the Abast. San Jose.

On my walk I was joined by a neighbor, Juanna who also asked me if I was "Amiga de Beberly?"  Si,yes I am her amiga.  Juanna chattered all the way and we walked to the sort of bottom of the hill.  About 10 minutes later, the bus came from another direction but 'Grecia' was in the window and I got on, paid my 290 colones (about 60 cents) and rode to Grecia feeling pretty smug.  I can do this.

Shortly we arrived in Grecia and I got off on La Parada de Autobus and looked for the connection to San Jose.

I changed the end of my phrase.."Donde es el autobus (autoboos) a San Jose?"  I must have been getting better as no one giggled-but the waving remained I followed and there they were-two busses marked, amazingly, "San Jose".  I paid my 730 colones, took a seat and settled in for a nice ride.

Wrong.  

They pack the busses full here....even though the bus leaves for San Jose every 15 minutes during busy times, everyone wants on the first one.  If I had been able to get out, I would have gone to the next one, but really, it would have probably been just as bad when it left.  

 The windows didn't open and I had worn a long sleeved shirt with, apparently, insufficient deoderant for the cramped space, warm wet outside air and friendly people..actually most of the riders had insufficient deoderant...still more riders joined the cramped quarters at each stop down the road thru the end of town.  The ladies were waving their hands at their faces, makeup was running everywhere and the air of musky bodies permeated the bus.

I understood, after all, I was most likely the only person who had had a hot shower that morning.  Most Tico houses have only cold showers, as we had discovered on our 2006 trip here.   Still, as the temperature rose and even more people got on we all were sweating up a storm and there was a definite funky smell to all of us.

We finally entered the Autopista- a road similar to a freeway but with bus stops at every collection of buildings.  We stopped at every bus stop-some lucky costaricaense got off, more got on.  I discovered we also stopped at the aeropuerto-something good to know-and a group of kids loaded surfboards and backpacks into the lower storage of the bus and joined us.  Everyone backed up towards the end of the bus and I discovered that the blond blue-eyed surfer dudes were from Australia, having just gotten in from their personal flight of hell, lasting 47 hours!  Their eyes were total pin points and I didn't have much question as to how they had been able to stay up so long.  

We exchanged a couple of  "Hi'ya mates" and their aroma added to the buses general smell, which amazingly, I had become used to in only one hour.  Yes, faithful reader, one hour from Grecia to the Aeropuerta.  20 minutes by car, one hour by bus.

We continued down the Autopista towards San Jose and the road became more like a parking lot.  All the traffic had been crowded over into the far right lanes, leaving the center lane in both directions clear. Perhaps, like my home town, Costa Rica road department had decided to do road repair during rush hour?

 Of course there was a radio playing, bus drivers choice of station, so this was talk radio, and the speaker was going on about 'el Presidente de Chin' and I got the general idea that they had shut down the freeway for el Presidente, who had come to Costa Rica to donate lots of money for a futbol stadium, which endeared him to all Ticos.

Soon, a parada of cop cars, motorcycles, limos and asssorted photographers vehicles zoomed by the halted traffic.   I figured we'd soon get on our way.  And about 45 minutes later, we did, pulling into San Jose only two hours late.  Bet everyone was happy they'd gotten on the early bus...I know I was.  I took a chance and got off on Paseo Colon, the main drag, at the second stop.  The map had shown me that the area I wanted was close to Parque La Sabana.  Besides I wanted OFF that bus!  I'd rather walk in the warm air than sweat in close companionship to my new mates.  Exiting, I went to the side of a building, got out my map and oriented myself and took off briskly back the way the bus had come.

I soon saw the landmark I'd been looking for, made the correct decision about which way to walk and after a few errors in street counting (the cities, not mine) found la dentista Dr Marco, only an hour and a half late.  No problema.

I spent a long time at the dentist, but more about that later. 

 Leave it to say that I didn't get out of San Jose until after 4:30PM.  I'd walked back to Paseo Colon only to discover that the outbound busses didn't go down that street-so I wandered around looking for the bus home.  It wasn't quite as easy as in Grecia.  The bus does not head out of town on the main drag, as it does on the way in and different intra city busses leave from different street corners, none of them marked of course.  After asking several people, one of the many rent-a-cops walked me to a corner and pointed back the way I had just walked saying  "Dos callas, macha"- two streets, blondie-. After determining to find a beauty salon to get my hair dyed red again, I walked back to almost exactly where I had come from-turns out the dentist is only a block away from the bus out of town for me.

Again it was a long ride back into Grecia and we got there close to 6 PM.  I'd  looked carefully at the street designation for my bus  up to Bevs ridge, but I didn't see it anywhere in the estacion.  At the time, all I knew to ask for was Santa Rosa de Poas and Taller Alan, the auto repair shop whose property sits near the corner of Bev's driveway.  I had no idea how to pronounce taller or Alan for that matter so I got shrugs from all the drivers.  I did know that Bev's house was in the canton (county) of Poas and I finally found a bus that said Poas on it.  So I got on, and in a while we drove off into the night.

I had nothing but the landmarks I'd learned during the day to guide me and it was a dark and stormy night at 6:30, an hour after sunset.  We headed in the right direction at least and passed some of the places I recognized but again the bus was crowded and noisy and I was on an aisle seat, unable to check outside for the landmarks.  We rode along stopping at every corner to let someone off.  I had timed the trip into town that morning and figured it would help me decide where to get off, but I could tell that it was taking a lot longer to get to the sticks where Bev's house was.  We careened around corners, passed cars turning left by riding in the ditch at the side and generally just had a fun time, similar to Mr Toads Wild Ride at Disneyland, as we went home.

Gradually the bus emptied and I went to a front seat and asked the driver, "Donde es Taller Alan?"  He rolled his eyes at me and shrugged, shooting a glance at the cute young woman sitting on the jump seat by him.

"Taller Alan?" I said, again, and got the shrug again.  Finally we made a sharp right turn, something I was expecting as there was such a turn to go up the road towards the ridge.  I did the "Taller Alan" thing firmly and louder and the driver snickered at me, as did the girlfriend.
Finally I asked "Autobus to Santa Rosa de Poas?"  

"Si Poas" the driver said, not exactly what I wanted to hear.  But close.

Finally I thought I recognized the school Beverly volunteers at and decided to get off the bus.  If, in fact, it was the school, then her driveway was a downhill walk of maybe a mile.
I went into the little store where the bus stopped and asked "Santa Rosa de Poas?"  and the clerk gestured further on, the way the bus was heading.

Great, I was even closer if we hadn't made it to Santa Rosa de Poas yet.  It must be just down the dark road with no sidewalks.  I decided to call Bev and tell her I wasn't far and see if she would pick me up, having not brought my maglite so I could se where I was walking.  She'd given me a phone card, as the phones here don't take any coins, just cards. 

 The card was expired.  I couldn't call her.  Oh, well.  No matter.  I just knew were I was and even though it was dark as the proverbial well diggers ass, it was still early-sort of-and I wasn't in San Jose but in a small rural town, and surely there was no threat to little old me was there?  Of course not.  Besides her driveway was just down the road a bit.  I was sure of it.

So I started walking out of the light from the soda and the store and into the dark.  Cars, trucks, motorcycles flashed by and I carefully-or quickly in some cases-stepped off the road and onto the dirt at the side.  A bus went the other direction and slowed for me but I waved him on.  Silly me.  I know now that I should have gotten on that bus and gone back to Grecia, called Bev from there or just taken a cab to her house.  But that first day I was determined to be independent and courageous.  I was also very dumb, but didn't yet know it.

I continued walking into the dark, just knowing that the next corner would bring the lights of the auto shop.

I came to a small group of businesses.  A bar, with a pay phone, a store and a Ferreteria.  Since the bar was open I went in and asked if they sold phone cards.  They didn't but the bartender kindly  pointed out the pay phone for me.

I continued walking downhill into the dark.  I passed families out for their post-parandial walks and visits.  "Buenos noches" I cheerfully called.  "Noches" they sometimes said back, turning to watch the gringa walk into the dark.

A motorcycle came by and paused by me.  "Hola macha"  said the helmeted voice.  "Wanna rode baeebee?

"Gracias, no."  I replied, quickening my pace then turning into the pulparea.  "Quierro comprar tarjeta telefonica."  I want to buy a phone card.  Por favor.

"No senora, no telefonica tarjeta."

"por favor, ustedes telefonica?"  I had totally forgotten anything I knew about spanish, but I wanted to use her telephone, if possible.  Please, pretty please.

"No. No telefonica."  A shrug.  "ICE" (ee-say, the telephone/electrical and tunnel department of Costa Rica) A shrug-a you know what I mean-she hadn't ever had phone service in her store.

Seeing as 'Bay-bee' has left, I said 'Adios' and continued into the night.

Came to another bar, or cantina this time, an open garage turned  into a soda and a gas station.  No one sold phone cards. and when I asked "Necessito telephono?" I was pointed to the pay phone.  His cell phone was right in front of him, but it wasn't offered.  Ok, thats ok.  I just have to walk a bit more and I'll find the place.

Back into the dark I went, around some corners almost being hit by a big truck who was taking up more than his fair amount of the road, and again came upon a group of small but open businesses.

The store did carry water, so I bought a bottle and drained it, and asked about phone cards or if I could use the owners phone. I was starting to panic.  Where was the well known Tico helpfulness?  Why didn't any of these stores cary phone cards  and why wouldn't they let me make a call?  Did I just look too competent?  Inside I was beyond beginning to worry and into almost full panic, was sure I'd made a huge mistake by getting off the bus or even getting on the plane here.  

I realized I could have just ridden the bus back into Grecia and at least been in a town, with some light, instead of wandering backroads at--holy cow--it was 8:30 now!  I'd been walking for over an hour.

I was well and truly lost.  No bus had passed my way for a while, no taxi or friendly family out for an after dinner walk.  No one seemed to wonder why la gringa macha was wandering around their community-or if they did they opted not to try and help her.  I was pretty amazed at this because I had read everywhere about the Tico being so friendly and all.  Maybe I looked crazy?

I continued my trek, inquiring at bars, cantinas, abast., pulpareas and sodas for the auto shop or Norteamericano Beverlys casa or Santa Rosa de Poas for more miles and more hours.
The later it became, the fewer places were open. I had just about decided to stop at the next cantina and just get a beer or ten, pick up a friendly Tico guy and maybe have a place to spend the night, perhaps get a ride back into Grecia.

OK, OK I though. No need to get carried away.  No need to pick some guy up just for a ride.  Just keep walking and eventually I'd end up back in Grecia anyhow.  It was only 6 kM from Bevs-however far a kM was.

I passed several little towns, a larger one and finally off in the distance I saw a...Christmas Tree?  On top of a building?  I staggered, sweating, into the store and asked in english-"Does anyone speak english?

"Sure-what do you need?" Santa asked.  Not really Santa, he felt like it to me.  He actually understood me and answered me in excellent english.  The clock behind him read just going on 10 PM.  I'd been walking for almost 4 hours and was close to totally losing it but I'd been saved by a Christmas Tree.

Juan Carlos got me a beer from the cooler, sat me down and dialed Beverleys number on his cell phone.  She said "You're WHERE?"

"Coopevictoria", I said. " I thought I'd gotten off in Santa Rosa but I didn't.  Please come get me. I've been walking for 4 hours totally lost."

The next day, we drove from where I thought I'd gotten off the bus to Coopevictoria-a distance of about 9 kM, how ever far that is in miles..I don't really want to know.  What I do know is that Juan Carlos is my best friend forever and heres a picture to prove it.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

NOVEMBER 13, 2008-THE SCHOOL

One of the nicest things I read prior to coming here was something a group of norteamericano and other ex-pats have been doing for several years--encouraging touristas to bring books for the schools.  Just a book or two tucked in the luggage and donated to a primary or secondary school is greatly appreciated.

Costa Rica, which does not have a standing army and hasn't had for 60 years in order to support a national health plan and education for almost every child does not have many books in the bibleotecas-libraries-in the schools.  I dunno why, it simply is the way it is.  What is there usually pertains to religious reading.  So when tourists bring books they are devoured by the kids.

My largest suitcase, which I lovingly call R2D2 as it's about that big, was stuffed to the gills with books I volunteered hours in exchange for at the Hillsboro and Tanasbourne Libraries.  Some in spanish, some in english.  Additionally I bought Harry Potter in both languages, Scooby-Do in both languages and a raft of comic books.  And art supplies, which I had looked for my last trip and never found...kids type tray watercolors, paper, pencils, sketch books and so on.

Today we took it to the escuella in Santa Rosa de Poas where Bev goes every week to read, in english, with the kids.  It's a great opportunity to spend time with children and I hope to avail myself of the opportunity.

The books, mostly discards from the libraries, were greatly welcome by the children.  The classes here are not especially large..about 20 kids per class..and a couple of classes came thru the library every half hour to look over available books and choose one to take home and read.  The older kids glommed onto the comic books-the boys to action heros and the girls to Betty and Veronica, who still dress like they did in 1960!  Harry Potter was an instant success for the older kids.  Everyone wanted the first book, even though most of the kids have seen all the movies, reading the book seems much different to them.  Both the english version and spanish copies were quickly gone.

I was introduced to half a dozen children whose teachers felt they would appreciate the art supplies and handed out the watercolors and paper, sketch books and fine line sketch pens I love, watercolor pencils and brushes to these beautiful kids, one of whom catches the bus just down the hill from Bevs house.  I see her every morning and have wished I could draw faces-she is so beautiful.

All in all, I feel the tariff I paid for R2D2 being overweight was worth it.  If you come to Costa Rica, slip a few books for school age kids into your luggage and ask at the hotel or B&B to be directed to the nearest school.  It's a good thing to do.

I'm looking forward to taking her place here in the weeks to come.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

NOVEMBER 11, 2008-I ARRIVE

Red Eye is what the flight is called and red-eye is what I am...a 13 hour all night flight from PDX to ATL-a lovely 4 hour layover after all the restaurants are closed-and a midnight flight to SJO, arriving at 6AM.

6AM is not the crack of dawn in Costa Rica...most people get up prior to sunrise, which is about 5:30 most of the year, being at the equator and all as it is, and my lovely new friend Beverly was there at the aeropuerto to pick me up just like she said she'd be. For which I was very thankful as I didn't sleep well on the plane. Two words. Crying baby. "Nuff said?

Bev wanted to show me the town, her town of Grecia, before we went up the hill to 'The Ridge" where her "casa noretamericana" is located. I wanted to plea sleep deprived, but I figured that would be a poor sport and besides I was starving. A bag of peanuts do not a dinner make.

Santa Elena is a short car tide down the autopista (freeway) from the airport. It's a world away from the capitol city of San Jose however. Everything surrounds a 2 block parque which sits in front of the town Catholic church. The park is called what every main park in every city in Costa Rica is called-Central Park. There may be other parks, but the main one by the church is Parque Central.

About a 4 block radius around the park is the main shopping area, bus depot, primary mercado, library and many other stores. The blocks quickly fade into housing and almost everyone walks.] into town if they live within a few miles. Gas is running about $5.00US here still and though there are lots of small cars, foot power is the main type of transportation.

We went to the cafe where the local ex-pats hang out. I met a few nice people and had a wonderful breakfast, but decided I was more interested in meeting locals and not ex-pats if I had the option. Bev doesn't know many of her non norteamericano neighbors, even after being here for a couple of years. Not sure if I will fare better, but I plan on giving it a try.

We stopped in at the market that sells norteamericano foods for a box of Cheerios, which is a primary breakfast food for me-but I doubt I'll be buying another one. It was $5.00 for a small box. Costs a lot to import, plus everyone knows all we ex-pats are rich and all.

Bevs house is magnificent. It truly does sit on a ridge above a coffee plantation-or rather in a coffee plantation with hillsides covered in coffee plants just starting to turn red. Opportunity for photography is everywhere. Her driveway is almost a mile long, wandering thru the plantation, up and down hills, to the semi-main road. She says I'll be able to catch a bus right at the end of the driveway to San Jose and that it is about an hour drive. Thats just a bit longer than I understood it to be, but just means I'll have to get up earlier. I'm looking forward to the walk through the coffee beans, and it's a great place to walk her dog-a mutt named Dobie-every day.

After unpacking, we took another drive up the hill to the very small community of Santa Rosa de Poas. Poas being the nearby volcano-and I do mean nearby. It's clearly visible in the distance, rising from the next ridge of higher mountains. Mt. Hood it isn't-no snow-but it is lovely in the sunset.

Tomorrow I take the bus to San Jose to meet my dentist. Though Bev has a car and is leaving it here, I won't be driving it into town. She fears theft-I fear the drivers. The bus is fine with me and an hour bus ride is no big deal.

Sunday, November 9, 2008

TRAVELING BY MYSELF

My husband and I loved to travel and we planned our retirement to include trips to Europe, Australia and New Zeeland, Asia and more excursions through Central and South America.

We alternated our winter vacations between Hawai'i and Mexico.  Never did decide which we liked the best-though after he caught a rough case of Montezumas Revenge, be eating and drinking in a little town outside Puerto Villarta, I think he leaned towards Hawai'i.

A place we talked about a great deal was Costa Rica.  The idea of a fairly close, inexpensive tropical country where the expat could live nicely on retirement wages really appealed to us both.
Russ especially liked some of the national policies, such as no standing Army since the late 1940s, national health care and education.

I had the good fortune to spend time in Costa Rica in 2006 and fell in love with the country, the people and the customs. 

 People are polite there.  Politeness is instinctive in the culture of the Tico.  Inquiries about your reason for being in the country, what you have done, what you want to do, how much you like what you have seen, how cute your granddaughter is, how tall your daughter is and how well you rested were common during our stay.

Many  Norteamericanos go to Costa Rica for dental work and cosmetic surgery.  I am one of them.  In November, 2008, I am going to have extensive dental work done.  For some reason, this year I lost 3 teeth and had 2 root canals.  While I do have dental insurance, it was quickly eaten up after the first root canal, examinations, cleanings and so on.  The second root canal was totally out of pocket.  They were over $1000.00 each, not including the crown which priced out at about another thousand dollars each.  The pulled teeth were only about $150.00 each, but I was left with gaping holes in my mouth and looking at a total cost of over $12,000.00 for the implants and crowns and bridges I needed to get my teeth looking normal.

There are lots more fun things I can think of to spend that much money on, if I even had that much money.  I thought I would, until the economy took a dump and plans to sell my house became nothing more than a dream.

So I decided to check out Costa Rica for dental work.  And I am going to do it.  Along with the dental stuff, I'm taking a week of intensive spanish, which includes salsa dancing in the afternoons, as well as outings to local dives to show off our dancing and linguistic abilities.
On top of that, I was asked to house sit by a woman I met in an online forum about Costa Rica, so I have a place to stay for free, near the bus line into San Jose where the school and dentist are.  Things seemed to just fall in place for me. 

I travelled a lot by myself when I was a young adult.  The early 1960s were notorious for teenagers and young people in their VW's, heading down the highway to the next concert or place to hang out, beach or cabin in the mountains where everyone crashed on the floor.
I travelled when I had one child too.  We went everywhere together in my VW Bug, top down, surfboard sticking out the back.  This was pre seatbelts and I am appalled at the thought that we both could have been tossed easily from the car in an accident.

As I got older, had more children, got an actual job that I had to show up to every day, traveling ceased to be as important as it was.  The freedom of the road didn't call to me too much, though the kids remember times we'd just get in the car and go someplace for the weekend, sleep in the car and explore a new city or new beach.  We even had a truck and camper for six or seven years and went all over the Northwest, as well as a long and fun filled trip to Southern California.

I remember all those travels and wonder what it will be like to be by myself again.  I don't mind my own company, I like to read and listen to music, I'm taking my computer and hope there will be internet access for me, but if not I can always write or watch movies on the computer.  Where I am house sitting, there is no TV and thats ok with me as I don't watch much TV now-I was hooked during the run up to elections but that's over and the TV has been quiet here at home for almost a week.