Unsettled

The blog is back (somewhere else)....

2012-01-21T18:54:00.000-05:00

Check out http://www.nicolemichauddotcom.wordpress.com/ to follow Unsettled again...

100+ days later

2011-04-25T16:12:00.001-04:00

A foreclosure + an FHA loan + an appraiser named Mr. Tickle = more than 100 days of homelessness for the Michauds. Fortunately, we aren’t really homeless. We have friends that have fostered us and family that have allowed us to literally “make ourselves at home.” We’re extremely grateful to them, but we’re still homeless in our hearts.

We can’t help but be annoyed seeing as we started this whole process on January 9th. We were excited, anxious and nervous but with each month that has passed, so have those emotions. Now we’re just irritated. Our original closing date was February 15th, followed by our first extension request, followed by an early March closing date and another extension request, followed by an end of March closing date and another extension….I think you’ve figured out the pattern. Had we known the process would take this long, we would’ve started it prior to our Costa Rican adventure.

With each weekend of lounging on couches that aren’t ours, cooking with borrowed pans, and picking clothes from stacks or suitcases – our irritation grows. Our someday-to-be home needs some cosmetic work and the minutes wasted waiting to get it done just frustrate us. We’ve contemplated breaking in just to get a head start.
And so now we wait for our next (and hopefully final) closing date of May 2nd. While it looks like we’re really reaching the homestretch this time, I just can’t bring myself to get excited anymore. Seems like each time we’ve rounded third base, we’re tripped up and have to go back. I’m now of the same opinion as Mike has been all along, “I’ll be excited when they hand me the keys.”

Until we drop them in the sewer before we reach the door…

The coolest thing I've done since I've been back

2011-01-06T15:13:00.000-05:00

So, the title's a stretch. But really, would you have read this entry if it was called My Day at Jury Duty? I didn’t think so. I think I can correctly assume that no one really enjoys their own jury duty, never mind reading about someone else’s. You probably wouldn't have made it this far yet. But now you're committed so why not just finish reading.

Seeing as this is the fourth time I’ve been randomly selected to perform my civic duty – I think I’ve served my share. I'd prefer they give someone else a shot. But even though I wasn’t enjoying any moment of my day, I actually was hoping to get selected for a trial. The $20 a day reimbursement sounded pretty nice to an unemployed struggling writer. It was $20 more than I made yesterday and $20 more than I’ll make tomorrow. And if I was lucky enough to get a really long trial (anywhere past 5 days) it’d be $50 a day. Sign me up.

But I waited. And waited. And wrote a blog entry. Started an article. Wrote a cover letter. Texted some peeps and checked FB about 14 times. In between all that, I just watched other people – the most fascinating of which was the guy who didn’t do anything the entire day (he beat out the one that practiced yoga moves at the front of the room that resembled a slow motion version of the Staying Alive dance). He literally brought nothing to keep him entertained. No phone, no iPod, no laptop, no iPad, no book, to crosswords, no walkman, no paper or pencils. Heck, he wouldn’t even check out the free newspapers or magazines. I was mesmerized by him while he was mesmerized by the Restroom sign. I almost asked him to proofread for me just to give him something to do.

At the end of the day, neither he nor I got hired as a juror. I got teased by being called into the interview session only to be dismissed after a settlement was reached. Eh. You win some, you lose some. Guess it wasn’t really my dream job anyways. Maybe next time...cause I have a feeling there will definitely be a next time.

Could it be?!?!?!

2011-01-03T16:17:00.001-05:00

Could the self-proclaimed “unsettled” couple actually be settling down? It’s true…

It only took a few days of apartment hunting for us to realize that renting a small home we can’t call our own will be ridiculously expensive. After some advice from our gracious friends (who are fostering us until we find a place), we decided to look into owning. Heck, if we’re gonna spend a boatload, why not own the boat?

So we searched and, rather quickly, found the place we hope to call home. I don’t want to jinx it so I’m not giving any details. Let’s just say it’s a house that’s made for us – a little different, a lot of character, in good condition and has loads of potential. I’m just asking you to keep your fingers crossed. Real tight. Like, almost break them if you can.

Who would’ve thunk huh? The unsettlers are settling. To be honest, we can’t wait. We’re more excited than we ever thought we’d be at the prospect of owning our own home. Regardless, settling is a state of mind. So while we’ll be settling into a home (hopefully), I’m sure there will still be plenty of unsettled moments…stay tuned.

Coming home...

2010-12-17T14:20:00.000-05:00

With a sick Matt in tow (who believes we brought the germs off the plane) and his slobbering, snorting English bulldog, Molly, we're beginning our drive home in a matter of minutes. It should take us anywhere between 14 and 16 hours if all goes well. I haven't checked the weather forecast for the East Coast but from what I've heard from family, we'll be accompanied by storms or racing them. We have our fingers crossed that it'll be a very boring, uneventful drive.

ETA: Saturday morning, probably around 7 or 8. If Mother Nature doesn't delay us...

Where did we land?

2010-12-15T16:43:00.002-05:00

Oh the places we've been...

So, the weather outside is frightful. Alright, maybe it's not there yet, but seriously - we're dealing with a 60 degree drop overnight - have a little sympathy for us ;) Really though...we are in the South right? I heard it's only in the 30's in Florida. What the heck is going on with the weather? We weren't equipped for this. Mike stepped off the plane in cargo shorts, flip flops and a t-shirt. That didn't really cut it for 26 degrees...thank goodness for four extra t-shirts in his carry on that he proceeded to layer on, and of course, the beard.

Speaking of, we successfully made it through America's security after a suspicious review of Mike's passport photo (the JFK Jr. version) and a "that's you?" I informed him that we just spent three months in Costa Rica without a razor. He laughed and added that Mike reminded him of Tom Hanks in Castaway.

After a two hour trip to Matt's house, I got my fill of driving. Stupid me, decided to call shotgun on driving the first stretch of our road trip to CT when we were still in Costa Rica and driving was something I missed. Mike and Matt haven't forgotten. So I guess I'll get an overdose soon....

Day 89: Blogging from the sky

2010-12-14T19:00:00.000-05:00

It's was smooth sailing getting to the airport and has been a pretty decent flight with the exception of our takeoff. It was a little bumpy and I told Mike I hope it wasn't a sign that the flight was gonna follow suit. He reminded me that this was a Costa Rican runway. I should be happy it's paved.

So I'm blogging from the sky right now (courtesy of Delta's free in-flight wifi until January 2nd) with about 45 minutes left of our flight before we touch down in Georgia. The pilot informed us at takeoff that it's a cozy 32 degrees in Atlanta. Welcome home. Well, almost...

Day 88: Some final recognitions...

2010-12-14T18:53:00.000-05:00

When we walked into Adobe, we were personally greeted, literally, by the rental agent that’s always there when we rent our cars. He called Mike by name and asked how he could help him and seemed to be as disappointed as us that he couldn’t provide a car that could be left at the airport for only one day without charging us for three. Seeing as Adobe is a much smaller company (I’m pretty sure their fleet maxes out at six cars) they would need to charge us the additional amount to cover the cost of the driver and gas to pick the car up from the airport to bring back to Quepos which is about a three hour drive and over 150 miles away. We had a feeling he would’ve hooked us up had he been the only one in the office, but with a supervisor and another employee present, he was defeated. Thanks anyways Carlos.

It was probably better for us. The Jimny sat in Adobe’s driveway just waiting for us to take it on another journey and we don’t have Matt here to fix it when it decides to be stubborn. Alamo had a much nicer and less stubborn looking Toyota Yaris waiting for us that has proven to be the smoothest rental ride yet.

Before we picked up the car, we headed to our favorite Quepos café, El Milagro and was recognized by the waitress that speaks fluent English but likes to ask us questions in Spanish to see if we’ve gotten any better. I would have impressed her by ordering my coffee in Spanish, but all I had to do was nod my head and respond with a “si” since she already knew what we wanted and how to make it. I was a little saddened that we couldn’t take her home.

With a final trip to Jaco for some last minute souvenirs and we quickly got the heck out of there, after a decent lunch at Restaurant Espanol, and headed back home. With everything already packed and cleaned, we really had nothing left to do except wait. So in a matter of 24 hours of writing this, we’ll be back in the States - God willing US customs allows Mike back in.

Day 87: Cleaning house

2010-12-13T12:14:00.001-05:00

We’ve decided against the car service to the airport seeing as renting a car, getting lost, and barely making our flight are worth the amount it would cost to bring us to the airport. Through our various road trips throughout this country, we remembered there’s a different route to the airport that avoids the confusion of San Jose’s hectic one way streets. So tomorrow, we’ll catch the early bus to Quepos to pick up our final rental car…fingers crossed it’s better than the Jimny.

We decided to clean and pack today so we can enjoy the freedom of the rental car on our last day here. I’m sure Gary will agree that the place is in better condition than when we arrived. Everything is clean, including the refrigerator, the garbage is out and we’ve added to the collection of minimal kitchen utensils. And we didn’t leave a bullfrog behind the toilet.

I’d say I’ll miss this place, but after last night’s party till dawn, I’m pretty happy to be heading home to catch up on some much needed sleep. We woke up about every hour to the sound of applause, cheers, drums, music and yelling. Around 5am, I gave up thinking it would end. We tried to use our earbuds as ear plugs to help block the noise but it didn’t work.

I guess we're feeling our thirties. We were just amazed people can actually stay awake for that long. We didn’t even go to the party and we're exhausted.

Two more nights to go…

Day 86: 'Twas two weeks before Christmas...

2010-12-13T12:10:00.001-05:00

And we laid on the beach. (I thought of continuing the rhyme but it seemed really cheesy so I thought it best to not.)

Anyways, we made it to the beach for the last time of our trip and of the year for that matter. We extended the summer for as long as we could. Now it’s time to return to the cold, harsh reality that awaits our return. Rather than focus on that, we’ve been listing off things we’re looking forward to; family, friends, Marley, kitties, hearing English, dryers, my Keurig...

Mike listed off the restaurants we'll be hitting up in no particular order: Pizza Shoppe, The Whistle Stop, Osaka, Buffalo Wild Wings...I’m sure the list could continue but he stopped there. Other than pizza, the only craving I’ve had is Indian food. I’m looking forward to some tikka masala and garlic naan from somewhere and plan on it as soon as we land. Matt’s convinced the south doesn’t have Indian food, I’m convinced I’ll find one.

It's a little nerve racking but still exciting to return to the unknown. Our employment, our home, our next step, is all up in the air. (Don’t think we haven’t been working on it, but I have a feeling it’s gonna be a bit easier when we’re home.) I’m convinced it’ll work out. We had good intentions with our trip; to take advantage of the opportunity that probably wouldn’t be around for long, to add to our travel and life experiences, to enjoy each other and ourselves, and for me, it was to explore a personal goal I had pushed off to the side and regretted with each day that passed. With 200 pages worth of blog material (book pages, not 8.5 x11) and 233 pages of some other stuff, I’d say the inspiration was found. I’ve committed myself to daily writing and I don’t intend to stop.

So I’ll leave this entry by screwing up a quote I once read. I can't remember it verbatim but you'll get the point.

"If you wait until the right time to do what you want to do, you’ll end up doing a whole lot of nothing…"

Made sense to me.

Day 85: A Farewell Note to Costa Rica

2010-12-10T14:57:00.002-05:00

Dear Costa Rica,

It’s gonna be sad to say goodbye but we knew this wouldn’t last forever. At least we had enough time to get to know each other pretty well. I hope we can still be friends even after we part.

I was a little overwhelmed in the beginning. It had been awhile, things were foreign to me. I’ll admit, at first I didn’t think we were gonna work. After a few days, I was ready to leave. You were way too hot and our relationship required way more work than I expected. We barely understood each other. I’m glad we worked it out though. After a few adjustments, we figured it out and got used to each other.

It annoyed me at first but now I like that you’re the no frills type. You could care less if you keep up with the newest technology or latest trends. You’re simple and don’t see the need for extravagance. That was kind of a nice change - except for the times I just wanted to check my email and you wouldn’t let me.

Anyone who has been lucky enough to spend time with you thinks you’re amazing and beautiful. They’re right, you are. There’s more to you than just your looks – you’re cultured, you value your traditions and family’s important to you. You have every reason to flaunt yourself. I spent a lot of time just looking at you.

There are some things you could work on though. You could take better care of yourself in some areas. And you’re a little bit dangerous sometimes…kind of unpredictable. We went down a fair share of bumpy roads and only got real shaky once. You only got really destructive during your most intense outburst. But you made up for it with some warm embraces afterwards. You kept me from being bored, that’s for sure. I never knew what I was gonna wake up to or what little present I might find. Other than being a little loud sometimes, I was pretty relaxed when we were together. Even if you wouldn’t let me sleep in, at least you know how to make a great cup of coffee and stellar breakfast.

I’m glad we got to know each other. I was tired of the same old and was looking for something different and you most definitely came through. I’m sorry I got a little heated sometimes and a little frustrated when I found myself in some sticky situations. For the most part, I’d cool off after a bit. Our moments were exhilarating, breathtaking, and relaxing. I liked that I could be lazy with you and just lounge around for as long as I wanted, just getting lost at times.

There was a warmth about you, Costa Rica, that I have a feeling I’m really gonna miss…

Pura Vida,

Nicole

Day 84: Out of hiding

2010-12-10T14:50:00.003-05:00

I woke up last night to the sound of wings flapping. I woke Mike up, but since this is the fifty third time I’ve done that since we landed here almost three months ago, he grumbled something and rolled over. I wasn’t too adamant about waking him up since the sound was under us and our door was closed - we were safe.

When I woke up, I tiptoed into the kitchen but realized it would make more sense to bang around pots and pans and scare the thing into staying put. I’d rather it rot in the cabinet than fly around our house again. Throughout the day each room got a full inspection before I’d enter. Mike convinced me it must have crept out through a hole someplace…maybe the same way it came in.

He was wrong.

As I was peacefully sitting cross-legged on the couch with the coffee table pulled all the way to the edge so I could use it as a desk while writing, my peripheral vision noticed a flying shadow. I barely had time to look up before it was a foot from my face, blindly headed for my head (really it was interested in the window behind me but my head was in its direct path). In a matter of a split second, I crawled over the coffee table, knocked over a full mug of hot tea during the crawl, and locked myself upstairs in the bedroom. Mike stayed with it while it flew from window to window trying to escape until it finally made it out the door.

I came out of hiding when it was gone, cleaned up my mess and refilled my mug with wine.

Day 83: A few last wake up calls

2010-12-10T14:46:00.003-05:00

We woke up to something that sounded very similar to gravel crunching around our roof. For about two seconds, I thought we were mid landslide and rocks were dumping on us until the sound was followed by squealing. After two more seconds of sleepy reasoning, I erased the natural disaster that was playing out in my mind and replaced it with a wheelbarrow. Why was the pool guy working so early? It wasn’t even light out yet. It was….(roll over and get my cell phone) 2:38am.

After listening for a few more seconds, we realized the pool guy hadn’t been overly ambitious and some creatures were throwing a party somewhere between the roof and our bedroom ceiling. Iguanas? Maybe. But after the third bat entered our living room tonight, I’m thinking they’re the late night party animals.

Mike attempted to scare them by turning on the lights but it didn’t work. He went outside on the balcony and stared but that didn’t do it either. So he took the first thing his groggy eyes could find - my change purse filled with American coins - and threw it at the ceiling. I guess you could say it worked. We didn’t hear the noise for the few seconds it took all the change to clang on the wood floor - which also happened to be loud enough to startle the yipper into doing what it does best.

As for the third bat, he drunkenly swooped into the living room, dove into the ceiling and crash landed on the floor with a thud that sounded fatal. He was either knocked unconscious or did a really good job at faking it since he didn’t move when we shined the flashlight on him or walked over to him. Let me rephrase that, Mike walked over to him. I assumed position in the bathroom.

It came to and started crawling in the opposite direction of our front door so Mike decided to let it out the back. It creeped down the short hallway, into the middle of the kitchen, where Mike left it for all of three seconds to shut the front door before another decided to visit. When he returned, it was gone and he couldn’t find it. Knowing Mike’s not the best at finding things because he’s a guy (I’m sorry but I don’t even blame you guys, I don’t think you can help it), I bravely joined the search.

This thing is seriously good at hide and seek. We spent ten minutes checking every crevice of our kitchen. Apparently it found home base. And we have no idea where that might be.

Day 82: Remembering the highs...

2010-12-08T12:05:00.003-05:00

Lots of highs amid the annoyances of the lows:

Parrita’s beach, moving to Dominical, ziplining in Monteverde, reuniting with TV and a washing machine, La Fortuna’s hot springs all to ourselves, Matt’s visit, iguanas outside of our house, pastel sunsets, the first ten minute walk to town after a month of two hour walks, every sunny day, no more than 15 people on the beach at one time, a peek at Volcano Arenal, paved roads, scenic landscapes, fried plantains, mountains and valleys, free samples on our coffee tour, beach monkeys searching backpacks, street signs pointed in the right direction, the view of Tamarindo from our upgraded suite, gallo pinto, our regular spots: Café Milagro, Maracatu, Café Delicias, a new favorite: Dominical Sushi, lounging on hammocks, our first rental car, every book I finished reading (well most of them), every page I finished writing, and every day we had to ourselves to do whatever we wanted.

And Mike’s beard (guess who added that one).

Day 81: Forgetting the lows...

2010-12-08T12:01:00.002-05:00

We'll start with the lows and leave with the highs. Here's what came to mind:

Bugs, bats, bullfrogs (although they brought a bit of entertainment), crabs of all sizes, earthquakes, rainy days, two hour walks to town, broken bicycles, bruised butts, gallons of sweat, iguanas in our ceiling, getting caught in torrential downpours, losing Matt for five hours, unpaved roads, amputating the gecko’s tail, power outages, the flood, landslides, crowded buses, the Jimny Cricket rental car, hand washing clothes, sliding on mud, getting lost on 95% of our road trips, knowing every day we’re a little bit closer to wind chills and freezing temps.

And Mike’s beard :)

Day 80: He's Batman.

2010-12-08T11:57:00.002-05:00

Matt’s departure made room for another houseguest. I invited Bat #2 in by leaving our bedroom balcony door wide open (we get a good breeze and no one believes in the power of door screens here). We heard rustling but since we live in the jungle amid lots of leaves and animals, rustling is normal, even when we heard it the second time. But when the third time was accompanied by a flying shadow, I ran to the bathroom and shut the door.

Mike wasn’t happy about having to shoosh another bat out of the house but they don’t put up much of a fight. He landed at the doorway and sat there until Mike nudged him a few times with the broom. He walked on his own out the door. And then I opened the bathroom door.

Even though Mike feels like an old pro, I can assure you that neither of us will miss the bats.

Day 79: It's the final countdown...

2010-12-06T14:34:00.002-05:00

10 days to go.

Day 78: An unfair travel comparison

2010-12-04T16:02:00.000-05:00

Each day we get closer to coming home, we think of something else we’re looking forward to (aside from family and friends and our Marley). Today, Mike mentioned how glad he’ll be to no longer have lint on all his clothes. It’s the little things.

He also admitted, surprisingly, that he was more disappointed about leaving Japan than Costa Rica. I agreed even though I was blinded by my excitement to come home after eight months on the other side of the world. We felt a little unfinished with the country and have seriously thought about another visit.

Instead we opted for its complete opposite. We went from Japan’s advanced technology to Costa Rica’s lack of electricity. From roads so clean I’d eat off them, to some tables I refuse to put my plate on. Transportation in Japan was like walking out the school doors and seeing your mom waiting for you, on time and ready to go. Here, it’s like waiting around for your stoner brother for a half hour before you give up and start walking. Most importantly, in Japan, I would walk to and from train stations, work and home, even in the dark, and never had a hint of worry about my safety or my bags or my keys or any of my belongings. Everything was well lit and well traveled and well…mannered. In Costa Rica, The Lonely Planet guide offers this routine warning for each of the towns we travel through: Take your sh*t with you or it’ll be gone when you get back. Locals have tried to soften the thievery by saying it’s just a misunderstanding. If you leave it behind, it must mean you don’t want it. They’re just helping you get rid of it. Riiiiight.

It’s not fair to compare the countries though because they’re so drastically different and aren't meant to be the same. I’m sure Costa Rica has no interest in surrounding its beautiful beaches with concrete jungles. And the laid back surfer life just doesn’t coincide with the fast-paced work-hungry Japanese. In the end, both countries treated us well. Both gave us our share of tough times. And both have left us with experiences we’ll remember forever.

But man did Japan have good food. We’ve actually contemplated enduring that 18 hour flight just to eat there again someday…

Day 77: A noisy vacation from our vacation

2010-12-04T15:58:00.000-05:00

We don’t know why, seeing as we’re well into the dry season, but it’s been raining since we’ve gotten home. So we’ve done a whole lot of just laying around which is actually nice after being consistently moving for the past week. We finally have an opportunity to have a vacation from our vacation.

Good thing we got the majority of our rest during the day. Little did we know, the Villas Rio Mar had a karaoke night planned to begin at 8:30pm. By 9pm, with all the windows closed, we gave up trying to hear the TV. It was so loud, we were convinced a neighbor was hosting the party but after hearing the DJ and the cheers, we knew it was from the resort bar which is only a two minute walk from our house. It sounded as if the tone deaf singers were caroling in our driveway. I can’t sing at all. But I can honestly say, I’d be one of the best singers amid tonight’s poor display of vocal talent. It was bad. And extremely loud. If they couldn’t hit the notes, they’d just sing louder. The louder they sang, the louder the crowd cheered ‘em on.

We laid in bed sharing the iPod, a bud in each ear with the volume cranked, but it couldn't compete. I don’t know how but we managed to fall asleep anyways. I vaguely remember waking up about an hour later and it was still going on but my subconscious wouldn’t allow me to fully awake and expose my ears to any more. I have no clue when they finished…I’m just glad they did. And I pray this isn’t a nightly event.

Day 76: Home sweet home (away from home)

2010-12-04T15:54:00.001-05:00

It was nice waking up in the bed we’ve gotten used to surrounded by the noises that we’ve grown accustomed to. It was nice not having to search for the next restaurant for our food, which often ended up being overpriced and under portioned.

I haven't even checked the weather for CT. I don't have to. I’ve seen your Facebook statuses. It's cold. It's chilly. It requires a big beard. I've been dreaming of breathing some crisp cool air again, but now I'm starting to rethink that. It's been about eight months since I've felt cold air. I'm pretty sure my memory is purposefully blocking out the shivers, chatters, and uncomfortableness of below freezing temps. I'm even more concerned seeing as we've bypassed fall. No prep here for the winter. We're trading in the muggy 80's for the frigid 20's. Can't wait.

We said goodbye to the Cricket today which may end up being the last rental car we use. We’re thinking of having a car service bring us to the airport so we won't get lost for a third time on the same roads. They can drop us off and we won’t have to worry about dropping off our vehicle before heading through customs and boarding our plane. With so many things that could go wrong, I just prefer not take the chance. I’m confident that if any delays occur, a Tico driver will get us by with either his knowledge of the terrain or sheer insanity.

Until then, we have no plans for our final two weeks other than to deepen our tans and do as much of nothing as possible before our intermission concludes and life resumes.

Day 75: Back on the road...and in the air.

2010-12-02T14:03:00.000-05:00

Tipico breakfast. So typical that lots of places don't offer menus.

For some reason, we've been meeting a lot of kitties.
Many of them happy to pose for Mike.

A rare photo op. Ice skates found in a Caribbean coast thrift store.

We were on the road by 6:50am, eating desayuno by 7:30am, and rolled into the airport without any delays at 11:40am. After some hugs and goodbyes, we headed in opposite directions after thirty days of traveling and lounging together. We were sad to see him go. He was sadder to have to leave. But in two weeks, we’ll be hugging and hello-ing in Georgia when he picks us up.

With four hours down, we had four more to go to get back to Dominical. We stopped for a bite to eat and to stretch before the next half of our trek. While Costa Rican food is pretty tasty, it can’t be described as diverse. It’s the same food, same selection, same menu almost everywhere you go. Restaurants advertise “tipico” meals and they couldn’t be any more accurate. Rice, beans, chicken, beef, fish, plantains, cilantro. Yes, it’s all good. But without the help of my own cooking to break up the monotony, I was in need of something…anything….else. Hello Denny’s.

With not many roads to choose from, we drove the same route home as we’ve done on a few occasions now and after a few hours we were as bored with the scenery as we were with the food. As it has on the past few occasions since we’ve traveled, we were welcomed home by rain that got stronger as we got closer. Fortunately, we didn’t return to disaster like we had when we picked Matt up.

We were also welcomed by a cockroach in the sink and four dried turds on the bed. Later in the evening, while I was on the phone with my sis, I interrupted her when a gecko snuck out of the bedroom. He popped up from behind the headboard and scurried to his escape from the room. He was clearly more afraid of me than I of him. Had he not already pooped on our bed, I’m pretty sure he would’ve left a trail of something behind. She asked how I was so calm about it. She couldn't see me but I shrugged when I told her that I'm used to it at this point. I was just glad he finally left our bedroom aka, his bathroom.

Day 74: Tamagringo is a fitting name

2010-12-02T13:51:00.001-05:00

Matt got to experience his first crepe.

This must be an ancient leaf bug. Still just as creepy as the youngins.

The view from our balcony.

We tried 'em. Really, they were equivalent to one cheek.

It was dark out when we booked our room (all three of ‘em), so we had yet to see the view from our balcony. When we woke up, we realized it was worth every penny of the extra $80 we weren’t paying. We could see miles of mountains, ocean, beach and sky from the comfort of the cushioned bench and rocking chairs.

Most of our day revolved around eating, walking and window shopping. Tamarindo is the most developed beach area we’ve seen in the two and a half months we’ve been in CR. From discotecques to Chinese takeout, sushi bars and hot dog joints, the place has most of what you’re looking for. The beach was beautiful and waves could be classified as calm - no where near the dangerous things we've been battling on a regular basis.

Our hotel is also home to some serious gangs of leaf bugs. We were surrounded by the monster bugs that looked exactly like a leaf mated with a praying mantis. I hate them more than any of the other bugs that I’ve had the pleasure of meeting here. Matt does too. Mostly because they are extremely large and, we think, blind. They fly around aimlessly without caring what they bump into or attach to. After Matt was attacked by one giant that refused to leave his leg, he refused to walk the same path again. His torture didn’t end there. As we walked up a different path to our room, Mike grabbed a real leaf and tickled his ear. I’m surprised he didn’t do some damage to Mike after violently flinching and slapping in his direction. I’m even more surprised that he didn’t punch him in the face when he realized it wasn’t really a leaf bug.

I stocked up on two more books for our last two weeks. Seeing as we have a lot of bookshelf sitting somewhat empty at home, I'm committed to bringing all worthy reads back with us. But I'm starting to get a little nervous that suitcase space may be an issue. Not only have I accumulated a number of books here, we’ve also done some souvenir and Christmas shopping. I guess that’s the positive side of the mold infestation. Anything growing spores will be left behind to collect as much green and blue fuzz as it wants. Seeing as our comforter, sheets, pillows and long pants will most likely remain on a permanent vacation, I think we’ll be alright...pending I don’t find any more book stores.

Day 73: No offense San Jose, but we can't stay...

2010-12-02T13:36:00.000-05:00

The trip back to San Jose took less time than we expected. Within about 4 hours, we were yet again lost on the familiar one way, congested streets that encase the airport. We’re pretty consistent with our guesses seeing as we ended up at the same intersection we were at almost one month before, asking a stranger for directions. We re-enacted the event and navigated our way down the same roads that led to the airport.

The drive made us realize that with two nights left before Matt’s flight, San Jose didn’t really appeal to us. It stinks of pollution and the cages that surround the businesses and homes just aren’t very inviting. Since we were halfway to the opposite coast, a place we had yet to see but really wanted to, we decided to just do it.

Google anticipated our ride would be 3 hours and 22 minutes to Tamarindo, a very Americanized surf town known as Tamagringo. I was nervous Google used a high speed tank with monster truck tires to get that estimate but seeing as we had nothing else to do and refused to head home, we went for it. A little over four hours later, we were greeted with the bright lights of funky restaurants (a number of them serving sushi that the thought of made us gag after our all you can eat fest), vacancy signs and souvenir shops. First order of business? Find some beds that are up to standard.

Since we couldn’t find the two I had selected from the LP guide, we decided to wing it. We stopped in a few and looked at a lot - one of which came with a peepshow. As we tried to figure out how to enter the property and where the reception desk was, we scanned the glass doors. Mike stopped on one in particular.

Mike: That lady’s rubbing her boobies.
Matt: Nuh uh.
Nicole: Shut up.
Mike: Swear to God. Look.

With a high hat spotlight pointed directly on her topless half, she enthusiastically examined herself. Until she saw her audience - two very hairy guys with a squinting chic (I didn’t bring my glasses for the occasion). The show then turned into a disappearing act. Oh well. People with glass doors shouldn't stand naked in front of them.

For the sake of ease, we settled on familiarity at the Best Western. While the entire debacle that gave us our room took about an hour, it was worth the wait. The first standard room she put us in was still occupied but she only realized this after we completed the paperwork and got the keys. No more standard rooms were available. She felt bad, so she upgraded us to a suite for only $20 more versus the $50 it was supposed to be. When we walked in though it was clear it hadn’t been cleaned from the last occupant. With no more suites available and no staff on hand to prep it, she was forced to upgrade us to an apartment style suite with an ocean view for the same price. To her, this was such an absurd upgrade that she had to get her boss’ approval. Seeing as it was 9pm on a Sunday night, he appeared to be less interested in the money and more in being left alone. Approval took all of 20 seconds. So we got ourselves a cozy one bedroom apartment with a full kitchen, two daybeds, two air conditioners and a real hot water shower that didn’t threaten our lives – all for the same price as a “small” standard room as she described it.

We took a brief stroll around the new town only to find most places closed. We forgot. It’s Sunday. The day of rest. We ate at one of the only open restaurants before deciding that’s probably what we should do too.

Day 72: Puerto Viejo and bellies

2010-12-02T13:25:00.000-05:00

The agreed upon hotel - after several disagreements.

Yes, the turd that landed on our sushi plate.

Mike found some Christmas presents for himself here.

The belly dancer's finale.

An advertisement mural for Puerto Viejo businesses.

You can't tell from a polaroid...but she could shake it.

Getting to Puerto Viejo was a bit more difficult than we had anticipated the paved road to be. It appeared as though someone went jackhammer happy and drilled various sized potholes, both in depth and width, for miles into town. Dirt roads with moguls are tough but pothole-riddled pavement can do a lot more damage to a car so we had to trudge along with care.

Unfortunately for Matt, the sushi hotel didn’t live up to my requirements (nor his, but he’s gotta tough it out for the sake of his brother who claims they can both sleep on palm leaves in the jungle should the need permit). I could tell that declining a room that was equivalent to last night’s with a bit more feng shui was a relief to him (even though he won’t admit it). I could also tell that after about fifth hotel, when I found an affordable one on the beach with A/C, TV, pool, jacuzzi and breakfast included, he was equally as happy as I was.

Just because we didn’t stay at the sushi spot, didn’t mean they barred us from enjoying the all you can eat sushi special, which we promptly did. Our first plate was barely smaller than our table and loaded with sushi rolls selected by the chef. Seeing as we liked all the options, we didn’t care and proceeded to wolf down the entire plate at an impressive rate before we dove into plate two, a smaller portion of the same selections that started to fill us up.

Fortunately, we had finished all but three of the rolls before we got a special side. Mike noticed that something fell from the ceiling onto the edge of our white ceramic plate that looked very similar to the tiny pellets we’ve discovered on our bed - except with a moist freshness to it. Our premonition was confirmed when we looked up and found a gecko positioned directly over our heads. We can leave the house, but can’t escape being pooped on. I was just glad it didn’t land in the black pool of my soy sauce where chunks of rice and wasabi could easily mask a fresh turd swimming around. Just in case, I emptied it before refilling for our third and fourth rounds.

After four giant plates, we couldn’t bear the thought of putting any more food in our bellies and headed to Chile Rojo to watch the Spanish belly dancer bare hers. We threw away most of the flyers that were handed to us as we strolled in and out of vendor booths and souvenir shops, but we hung on to that one and we clearly weren’t the only ones. Her show was a big hit with the men and women that lined the bar while she jiggled and jingled through the crowd. I was jealous of her skills (and a few of her other assets) but thoroughly impressed.

With her show ending around 9:30pm, we were spent. We’ve succumbed to the fact that none of us are the party animals we once were. Making it past 10pm without snoozing is one of our biggest challenges here. Not that we need the extra rest. We have a long day of sitting planned for tomorrow since we’re headed back to San Jose to enjoy some city life before Matt’s flight home.

Day 71: Taking it slow in Cahuita

2010-11-27T12:17:00.001-05:00

Baby sloths eating their lunch.

I’m often surprised that when Mike bleeds, yellow and green don't flow as well and I'm sure that most of the time his heart beats to the melody of Natural Mystic so Cahuita was a destination that wasn’t picked by accident. We didn’t stumble upon the place adorned with Bob Marley flags, stickers, tapestries, and t-shirts that plays Legend on repeat for 20 out of 24 hours a day. From the Natty Dread coffee shop to the Reggae Bar to the houses painted Rasta colors, you couldn't escape Bob's presence.

I felt like we weren’t in Costa Rica anymore. While the suffocating heat and blazing sun were the same, the Afro-Caribbean’s look and language are much different than the Ticos we’ve come to know. Rather than translating Spanish, we were deciphering broken English with a Jamaican accent – something Matt and I admittedly suck at. Speak Spanish with a Jamaican accent? Fuggetaboutit.

There’s something else this town had that Mike adores, that I’m sure is news to all of you – sloths. He has a affinity for the goofy wide-eyed, perpetually smiling hairballs. When we drove by the Sloth Sanctuary on the way to Cahuita, we knew it wouldn’t be long before we made a U-turn and pulled in their driveway. Of course, that was if we could get out of the hotel parking lot. Yet again, the Jimny thought it was too hot to go anywhere and refused to start. Fortunately, we had a mechanic piled under all the cargo in the back so we dug him out and put him to work. He could only think of one solution - something to do with resetting the battery - and when the fob instantly worked we gave him all the credit.

The sanctuary was founded by an American woman who rescued Buttercup, a now 19 year old sloth. It's a well known and well reputed haven for sloths that have experienced any kind of trauma at any age. So if you ever travel to Costa Rica and stumble across a hurt or orphaned sloth, this is the place to bring it. I'd recommend not trying to care it yourself after it appears to be as complicated as having a mogwai.

After a canoe ride and informative video, we got to see them close-up. Since sloths normally lounge high in the trees, they just look like blobs of shadows whenever they're pointed out by guides so this was cool. We got to come as close as three feet of these very, very slow moving creatures and even closer to the babies where we were just in time for feeding. Tiny sloths laid flat on their bellies with their heads in their plates of veggies and dog food chopping away. They were super cute. The only disappointment was that we couldn’t hold them. Something about germs and biting…whatever. What about our needs, huh? We paid good money for this.

From there we decided to check out towns further south along the coast. Puerto Viejo is expected to be even more Jamaican-ized than Cahuita and also has a hotel with all-you-can-eat sushi. So Matt’s already decided where we’ll be staying.

Day 70: Caribbean bound

2010-11-27T11:41:00.001-05:00

Possible electrocution - the price you pay for hot water.

Sweet ceiling fan.

We got an early start on the road this morning seeing as we don’t know how long it’ll take to get to the Caribbean coast and according to the map, it looks like the furthest trip that we’ve attempted to take so far. After loading the Jimny Cricket with all of Matt’s stuff (since this trip will end at the airport for his flight back home) and our trip gear, we barely fit. Each time we stopped, we made sure the car was parked near us. We weren’t so afraid of anyone breaking in, but rather, a couple of guys picking it up and carrying it away.

Our route required us to climb the same mountainous roads into the clouds that we had previously taken to San Jose with the exception of a detour to the east before we hit the congested city. From there it was a pretty direct route with little need for signage. We refueled with food and gas a few times and made it to our destination of Cahuita in a little under 10 hours.

In a place with no Best Westerns, I’ve learned an important hotel lesson – don't commit to anything until you see your room. After looking at Tito’s Casas, our first stop, I was glad I did. We were brought to a pink room with a double bed and a twin bottom bunk. Amenities included a mosquito net.

Apparently, the Jimny thought it was a fine place to stay. The sun set while we tried to start the car. Since we couldn’t keep the windows down because of the mosquitoes (dusk is feeding time), the windows fogged up, Mike’s shirt slowly became a darker shade of gray with each minute, and Matt got claustrophobic and decided to the battle the skeeters than be trapped in the Cricket (that was after he contaminated the little air we had by farting). Mike’s mood went from irritated to infuriated after 20 minutes and peaked at about the 30 minute mark when the car decided to turn on.

We drove to the next lodge, Hotel Belle Fleur, and while it was as minimal as option number one, the white walls and sheets made it look cleaner. I wasn’t on board, but after the stunt the Jimny pulled, Mike wasn’t in the mood for me to be picky so I sucked it up for the sake of his patience.

Our room was equipped with a desk fan mounted to the ceiling (which worked surprisingly well with the exception of a loud click every time it made a rotation) and hot water heated by some dangerous looking wires connected to the showerhead. None of us chose to use it. We felt survival was more important than a comfortable shower.

After settling in and calming down, we ate some Caribbean grub and caught a glimpse of town. Seeing as it was dark, we figure tomorrow will be better for experiencing the diverse town that’s painted red, green and yellow an accompanied by an endless reggae soundtrack.

Day 69: Rental Car #4 and some local travels

2010-11-27T11:25:00.001-05:00

That's it. The Jimny Cricket.

Today we picked up rental car number four. Seeing as the agent only had two cars in the driveway and only one of them was four wheel drive, our decision was made for us. We are driving around in style with the Suzuki Jimny – an “SUV” the size of a Smart Car. Matt described it as driving around in a roller skate. It does the job though and gets us from point A to point B which will be the Caribbean coast come tomorrow.

Before heading there we made one more trip to Parrita so Matt could see our first place. Fortunately, it’s been dry for the most part and the area looked better than last time when it was submerged in several feet of water. We made it to our old digs and Matt was equally amazed at the vast ocean that was once our front yard. It was even prettier than I remember (probably because when I lived there I was blinded by all the unattractive things like cockroaches and crabs). We also caught up with Clint who's on his second week of drying out his mattress.

From there we brought Matt to the tourist area of Jaco which we’d dubbed the poor man’s Miami. It’s just not a pleasant location and I don’t recommend a visit there if you are headed to Costa Rica. I assume it’s high on the tourist lists due to the number of restaurants, bars, and shops. But there’s equally as much sleaziness on each street corner as well and you can barely walk a few feet without a being asked what type of drug would enhance your visit.

The Jimny Cricket wanted us to stay in Jaco a little longer than necessary when it decided to not start. Rental cars here come with a company installed security feature - a magical fob. On our previous rental cars, you had to rub the fob on the key ignition before it would start. This one requires you to rub it somewhere along the steering column. There isn’t a specific spot, which means you just have to keeping rubbing it between the ignition and bottom of the steering column until the lights turn on. It took a good fifteen minutes with each one of us trying our luck before it worked. Maybe it knew we were in Jaco and needed some extra security.

It appears as though our rental cars get increasingly worse as we get them. Our first was awesome. Second, perfectly fine. Third had a leaky door and squealing tire. Now this one. It's the most uncomfortable, the least smooth and apparently the most stubborn. This doesn't sound like a good combination.

Day 68: Traveling muralist and more sushi

2010-11-27T11:13:00.001-05:00

These are the two bums that follow me around everywhere I go.
Can't get rid of 'em.

Sun is shining now pretty regularly.

We met Jaime the artist today. He asked through the window if we had a tire pump. He got a flat from the next town over in Dominicalito while riding here to visit his friend, the pool guy. After the pump failed to help him several times, Mike offered the next best thing – his bike. Granted, the handlebars suck and tire leaks, but he could at least get home to get his patch kit. And regardless, if he stole it, well, one less thing we need to leave behind.

Jaime told us that he used to live in the house next door – the one scheduled to be a bar and restaurant someday (most likely four years from now given the tropical work ethic). The interesting thing about him was that he lived there rent free in exchange for his talent. He painted the seascape mural that wraps the bottom of the house. After that, he lived rent free with meals included at the Villas Rio Mar resort while painting their concrete fence. He’s a wandering muralist looking to marry an American lady to get his green card. His only problem is that he falls in love too quickly with each Gringa he meets and has been left by them all after their first time under the covers. Personally, I thought that was a little too much information for a first encounter and probably something he might want to tell close friends (or no one at all). Eventually he left and returned with Mike’s bike, patched his tire and invited Mike to a waterfall (he declined) before he headed home.

While Mike was learning intimate details of Jaime’s love life, Matt made the executive decision that he required one more sushi session before saying goodbye to Dominical. I headed to town earlier than the guys and secured a spot at Maracatu, a reggae bar with big cups of coffee and a solid internet signal, to upload blog entries and look for jobs. That meant Mike and Matt had to come get me regardless of the rain that started about a half hour after I left. You haven’t experienced rain until you come here. Walking through some spurts is as blinding and vicious as getting dosed with a fire hose. Mike took a detour to buy me my own umbrella for the rest of the walk to Dominical Sushi. I told him that was very husbandly of him until he admitted his purchase was purely selfish. He wasn’t sharing his umbrella.

We headed to the restaurant after the rain downgraded to a downpour only to find it closed. Of course. Matt’s boycott list is now cursing all of us just for associating with him. We asked a neighboring business if they knew what time they’d open but he couldn’t help. We waited ten minutes before deciding that the rain was light enough to leave. As we turned the corner, we were face to face with the pretty Tica sushi chef who asked for five minutes before inviting us to her dinner table. Within an hour, we were rolling in salmons and tunas and shrimps with all the right fillings. I have a feeling they won’t ever be on the receiving end of Matt’s boycotted restaurants.

Just an FYI, day number three of poop in the bed.

Day 67: Our very different fitness routines

2010-11-22T17:59:00.001-05:00

It's still there.

Even though I’ve boycotted the only fitness routine that has the potential to hold my attention, Mike and Matt have been going strong with their daily workouts. Matt grunts and gives up only to do one more set after Mike taunts him. I told Matt I’m pretty sure this is Mike’s way of bullying him as an adult. When they were kids, he’d pin him on his back, knees holding down his arms and smoosh peanut butter cups on his face. Now he’s forcing him work off peanut butter cups he doesn’t even eat anymore.

My fingers get the most workout while I assume position behind a computer screen which I’m pretty sure is responsible for my recent bout of migraines. I glad to say I’ve managed to avoid migraines my entire life even through the rare times life and work were too hard on me. How I end up getting them here, while taking a timeout from both, is beyond me.

The recent lines in my vision were immediately followed by two things; a headache and a very near anxiety attack when I assumed I must have a brain tumor. Fortunately, with the help of Dr. Web MD and his nurse, Google, I found out I was far off. Apparently, I’m one of the low percentage of folks who get auras before migraines. I feel clairvoyant. I’m actually thankful now for the string of tinsel that dangles in mid-air a foot from my face. It’s my cue to take some aspirin, minimize bright lights and avoid sudden movements.

I’m assuming the computer screen is the culprit but maybe it’s also the extensive reading that my eyes aren't yet accustomed to. My reading list has grown to include some really notable reads: The Time Traveler’s Wife, Running with Scissors, White Oleander and The Kite Runner. I would add Almost Moon to that list but I can’t since I only almost finished it before I left it on our last bus ride. For those of you who took my advice and read the Twilight series (although there’s nothing wrong with indulging in a little guilty pleasure of immortal teenage love), please let me redeem myself and ask you to read The Kite Runner (read it, don’t rent the movie).

I’m still averaging about a book a week and it really has done some good. I’m a better reader now and can see the change in my writing. I didn't believe it but now I realize it's true, a writer’s best teacher really is someone else’s book. I have to admit though, after reading The Kite Runner I’m feeling extremely inadequate as a storyteller. I can't say enough good things about that book.

So what if I’m not exerting as much physical effort as Mike and Matt’s workout routines? I’m definitely keeping my brain as fit as their muscles. I’m sure that can hold me over until we return to our treadmill, which I’ve vowed to spend more time with when we return. For real this time…

Day 66: A mystery pooper and phantom bugs

2010-11-22T17:46:00.000-05:00

Something has been pooping in our bed the past two nights. No, it’s not Matt. Seeing as I’ve become familiar with lizard turds, I know what type of creature they’re coming from at least. And I’m pretty sure I know exactly which one. One that’s angry with me. One that’s seeking revenge. One that doesn't have a full tail. Little does he know, he’s pooping on Mike’s side of the bed.

I didn’t know but Matt is something of a gecko expert seeing as he’s had them as pets back in the day. He told me a story about the time his gecko’s tail had also been removed by a woman – although in a bit more dramatic fashion. Against Matt's wishes, she took the gecko out to play but it had other plans. When it ran away, she grabbed for it…only to be left pinching a squirmy tail with no body attached. Matt assured me the gecko was fine and the tail grew back.

So I’m now convinced that the gecko may have survived after I severed its tail. And to add to that, I’ve seen a handful of geckos suctioned to our windows with either no tails or new nubs sprouting up. I have a vested interest in their tail growing abilities so I examine them pretty closely through the glass. I’m thinking it might have had a chance although Matt didn’t recall his gecko being unable to climb, flopped on its back or convulsing after the incident. Maybe this little guy was a bit was dramatic.

Not only is there a ghost pooper on the loose, I’ve also been battling an unidentified species of phantom bugs. They may go unmentioned in all the guide books I’ve read but they can’t be ignored. At times I can sit quietly while writing and see or feel nothing until the itch kicks in and announces the arrival of the new bites scattered from my shoulders to my ankles. No bugs in sight, no tickles of little legs, just pink swollen itchy bumps left behind as proof they exist. On other occasions, I will swat and flinch at nothing for an hour swearing I feel something crawling on my knee, my neck, my arm. I never find what it is, never able to see anything. But I’m always left with new tiny red lumps begging for my fingernails. I have yet to be free of bug bites since Day 1 in Costa Rica. I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s just a normal part of life here. I just pray that none of them are carrying any souvenirs for me to take home in the form of a disease and I try to keep scarring to a minimum by prohibiting scratch sessions. But really, if you’re gonna bite me, at least show your face. Coward bugs. That’s all I ask. Well, that and what’s pooping on our bed?

Day 65: It's Pool Time.

2010-11-22T17:36:00.001-05:00

A villa at the Villa Rios Mar resort (our neighbor).

The pool and hot tub.
Matt was convinced this was a pee pool since the water was as warm as cold pee.
According to him, it served no other purpose. Hmmm....he was sitting in it for a few minutes.

Crying water fountains decorate the pool.

We almost didn’t go to the breakfast buffet today after Matt’s restaurant curse began before we even stepped in the door. A few days ago, curious and hungry, he had asked to see a menu from the restaurant. He was told by the resort concierge that there was no such restaurant. He didn’t argue because he didn’t know what we knew – there’s a rather large restaurant in the back near the pool past their desk. Surprisingly (and only because we really wanted pancakes and waffles and anything else a breakfast buffet could have) he went back this morning to find out what time breakfast started. The concierge was yet again helpful as always and told him they didn’t know, maybe 7am, or 8am, or 8:30am. He knew it was hopeless but asked when the buffet ended anyways. This time they couldn’t even guesstimate times after their "I don't know" motto.

He came back with a recommendation - hire a couple of monkeys for the concierge desk and put a board next to them with a list of answers they can point to. He’s convinced this would be much more helpful than anyone currently working at that desk. You can always count on Matt to chime in with words of wisdom. Like when he saw the medical clinic for the first time, he made sure we knew that should he get sick take him to the airport before even thinking of taking him to that place.

We decided that we still wanted waffles. Instead, we got pancakes with stale edges, soggy French toast, warm OJ, and diluted fruit. BUT, it did come with a nice side of in ground pool usage a hint of free internet (if we could find the spot) so that made it worthwhile. We spent about four hours there this morning amid the rest of the resort guests. We still don’t know if what we did was allowed seeing as we were just patrons of the restaurant but no one seemed to mind. The only time an employee approached us poolside was to ask if we wanted anything to drink so I’m pretty sure we had nothing to worry about. Even so, if we did get kicked out, we’d just have to walk all of a minute back to our house anyways where a much better breakfast is served on a daily basis.

Day 64: My own personal boycott

2010-11-22T17:23:00.000-05:00

With each restaurant that makes Matt’s boycott list we tease him for being stubborn and not allowing for minor, forgivable human errors. But, I should talk…

Being somewhat bored over the past few weeks, I got excited when I saw a sign outside of Bamboo Yoga – a place that has been closed for the rainy season. It announced their grand opening for group yoga sessions and after reading the description of the class, their yoga meditation combo sounded exactly like something I needed. I’ve been really interested in meditation lately and seeing as I literally had nothing better (or else) to do, why not give it a shot? I planned on purchasing a ten class card and psyched myself up.

I gave up on solo yoga a long time ago. I wasn’t motivated to stand in a sticky room by myself doing postures without the guidance of a real instructor or mirror. It’s difficult without the momentum of the class carrying you through each posture. So this was the perfect way to reunite with my yoga mat (if I can pry it from under Matt seeing as it’s recently become his couch – he refuses to sit on cushioned wicker anymore cause it makes his butt go numb).

But the plan went downhill after a new girl came to town. With such a small population, faces are familiar and new tourists are pretty easy to spot. While her face was new, I could tell she wasn’t a tourist. She knew her way around, talked to local vendors, and bargained for coconuts on the side of the road. She also carried herself in a way that highly annoyed me.

Her posture was so good it was actually bad, like she hadn’t fully come out of a back bend before she decided to walk. Her tank top was rolled up to her nipples displaying the floral tattoo that decorated her ribcage. She swayed her hips while parading down the street. She flaunted.

In my head, I did the math. The dramatic posture, the recent opening of the yoga studio, the familiarity of her interactions…she could very well be the yoga instructor. I hoped I was wrong but on my way to inquire about the first class, my premonition stood correct. She was outside of the studio, dressed in formal yoga gear which covered more than her previous outfit, rewriting the studio specials that had been washed away from the rain. I kept walking.

Now, I know how shallow and petty this sounds and I hope you think no less of me because of an honest confession. But I’m confident that my 31 years of interactions have supplied me with a solid foundation to determine compatibility, even if based on only a few characteristics. I couldn’t picture her guiding my mind to stillness. Especially when I have a feeling she probably stretches her words and pierces her Ss.

I guess I can thank her for allowing me a free dose of self-realization though. I like to think of myself as open minded, welcoming and warm. But I guess I can be easily led by an intuition that might be a little critical at times…even a bit hasty. Maybe we can work on that but not with Little Miss Look At Me. I stand by that decision however silly it sounds.

Day 63: Food’s revenge on Matt.

2010-11-22T11:56:00.000-05:00

Matt may have escaped some things from home with his vacation here but he’s apparently unable to shake his bad luck with restaurants. His patience with wrong orders and poor service is as non-existent as half the buses we try to catch here. Take too long? He’ll leave and not come back. Mess up his order? He’ll stay but vow to never return.

So far, two restaurants in Dominical have suffered the fate of never getting to feed Matt again. One of which is our regular hangout, Café Delicias, after they forgot to get his coffee. It may not have been so bad if we hadn’t been the only customers in the place but seeing as we were, he took it personally. Now, while Mike and I are at the café, Matt will return home, go grocery shopping or take a stroll through the neighborhood since he refuses to revoke a boycott for any reason.

The second place, SuRaza, disappointed their way to his boycott list by teasing him with an appetizing picture of lobster only to be served a miniature lobster tail with a side of unseasoned white rice. Even though his stomach is smaller now, it still didn’t come close to filling him up and severely let him down. His wallet was left equally as empty after he paid the $20 bill – big bucks in a place where meals typically cost around $3.

The next to go is most likely Rum Bar as I’m sure they’ve missed the list only because they show NFL games on better TVs than our own. After trying to order three different appetizers, he was told they were out of all of them and that about 75% of their menu wasn’t really in stock either. What did they have? Dough, cheese and sauce. And maybe a few slices of pepperoni in the back of the refrigerator if he was lucky.

Fortunately, Matt saved his pizza craving and opted not to eat our freeze dried astronaut version when we were in San Isidro. Seeing as the Rum Bar had the ingredients, he ordered one to go. A half hour later they handed him a Styrofoam takeout container with individual slices of pizza stacked between pieces of foil paper. When he got home, he put them together like a puzzle that was clearly missing a few pieces. Looks like the chef stocked up on some slices for break time.

He hasn’t officially boycotted them but I have a feeling after this Sunday’s Giants vs Eagles matchup they will be added to Matt’s ever-growing list of restaurants that have lost his appetite. Even in Costa Rica, he’s destined to be a frustrated diner. Maybe that’s just food’s way of getting back at him for eating healthy now. Since he’s ignoring them, they’re ignoring him.

Day 62: San Isidro (aka Shoe Capital of Costa Rica)

2010-11-18T17:54:00.000-05:00

The first Christmas decorations we've seen.

Surprisingly not a shoe store...but surrounded by 'em.
Mike thought the name of the store was fun.

Matt and I enjoying real cushions.
We spent a little longer than necessary here.

I ordered a tortilla con queso.
I got a cheese pancake (aka instant heart attack).

With 45,000 residents, San Isidro is referred to as a “big city” in comparison to places like our home that boast about, oh I don’t know, 45 residents? So we decided to take a day trip to check out big city life.

It didn’t start as well as we thought it would, of course. Mike dragged me out of bed before 7am (I’m proud to say I’ve actually been able to maintain a steady snooze until 8am most mornings) to catch a non-existent morning bus. With the next bus not being until 1pm – so happy about that unnecessary wakeup call – we opted for a taxi ride. It took under an hour to drop us off in the city filled with nothing but shoe stores.

When we had driven around the complicated city streets on the way to pick up Matt at the airport, we didn’t pay close attention to what was shelved behind all the windows of the stores that lined the streets. We expected cafes, restaurants, boutiques, shops, souvenirs, etc. Instead we found shoe store after shoe store after shoe store. Matt was in luck since he needed new flip flops. At least our trip now had purpose.

The stores range from thrift store selection to Steve Madden knock-offs and amid the unrecognizable stores there was even a Payless. Matt had strict rules with his shoe purchase. They needed to be comfortable, durable and no employee could come within a foot of us (no pun intended). Apparently each store’s security system consists of immediately greeting you upon entering the door and then tailing you while you browse. It annoyed Matt enough that he almost immediately left any store when approached by an employee. They could have had the flip flops of his dreams or offered him a 99% discount and it wouldn’t matter. They irritated him therefore they would not get his colones. After about the 17th store with the same selection under a different name, he finally found his pair. And that concluded the need to stay in this big city any longer.

We headed to the bus station an hour early to catch the 1:30pm bus home only to find out it was also non-existent. With a three hour wait for the next one, we headed to an internet café and surrendered to our recent urge for pizza after their menu seduced us with a tantalizing photo. Unfortunately, the picture of the pizza probably tasted better than what we were given to eat. As Mike so accurately described it, it tasted like it was freeze dried for a few months and meant to be shipped to soldiers overseas. I’m now craving East Longmeadow’s Pizza Shoppe pizza even more than before.

San Isidro did make me smile as I got my first glimpse of Christmas decorations. It’s beginning to look a little like Christmas…which doesn’t feel quite right while walking around in shorts and tank tops and searching for the perfect pair of flip flops.

Day 61: No pool for us.

2010-11-18T17:40:00.000-05:00

A coati. Similar to a raccoon. Found anywhere there's food.

The pool was supposed to be completed and ready for a swim yesterday. Seeing as it looks no different than the picture that was posted a month ago, we won’t waste the space posting another one. There has been very little progress made. After talking to our landlord, he informed me that his employee called him and said the weather had been bad for several weeks and he couldn’t work. We’ve lived here for a month and I’ve seen him a total of five times. Sure it rained for a while, but 25 days? No way. I kept my mouth shut though.

Our landlord, Gary, is a talkative surfer dude in his mid-forties who lives someplace in Costa Rica with his Tica wife and baby. He told me he was going to be starting the deck and tiling for the pool while he was here for a week but after several days of lounging on the hammock, I think he really just came to collect rent, catch a few waves and take a break from life. Other than a few pieces of wood tossed next to the pool, there’s no sign of any type of deck being built or any tile laid.

Mike was proud of his electricity monitoring skills when Gary congratulated us on having a power bill half as much as a normal one. He didn’t know how we did it but we must really be conserving electricity somehow. Here’s the trick - after Matt or I leave a room Mike walks checks it to make sure we’ve turned off the fan and light. If he goes upstairs after one of us has come down and we hear our name called out, we know we left something on. We’ve nicknamed him the Light Nazi.

I’ve resigned to the fact that we won’t be swimming steps from our house. Now I’m working on convincing Mike and Matt to go to a breakfast buffet at the resort next to us. I could care less about the eggs…they let you use their in ground pool after you eat for as long as you want. That’s my kind of breakfast.

Day 60: Could it be?!?!

2010-11-18T17:30:00.000-05:00

When Matt landed amid buckets of rain, he asked if we knew when the rainy season is supposed to end. I pulled a date out of my butt and said November 15, 2010. Seeing as today is that day and we spent the majority of it bathing in lots of sun under cloudless skies, I’m thinking I might be psychic. Welcome dry season, glad to finally meet you.

But when we got back from the beach, our landlord warned us that storms are brewing in the Caribbean again which means we’ll get dumped on for a few days. That is not good news. Our road is still a muddy mess no matter how dry it is and they just re-secured our power lines and cable. The trees have been cleared and the river is back to green. After the kind of day we had today, it just wouldn’t be right.

From what we’ve been told, certain roads are still not repaired from the last storm and I’m sure plenty of people are still displaced. After we became aware of the flooding of our first town, Parrita, we contacted Clint to extend an invitation to stay at our place if needed. He responded today, after several days of waiting, to thank us for the offer but he had gotten rid of the 20 inches of water in his home. His mattresses are no longer floating and the house is finally dry. His mom also told us that they couldn’t risk leaving their home for an extended period of time as theft has increased drastically due to the condition of the neighborhood. For several days, Parrita was without electricity, water and was severely flooded.

We haven’t often wondered if moving was a good thing. We knew it was. Now we know for sure that we made the right decision. And are so thankful we did.

Day 59: Daydreaming about our first day back...

2010-11-18T17:21:00.000-05:00

Today marks one month until we are back in the United States. We’ll be landing in Atlanta, GA on December 14th and will be staying at Matt’s until the 17th when we begin our drive to CT. Here’s a preview of what I plan to do on my first day back.

After waking up in a nice, comfortable king size bed (Matt graciously offered his) I’ll shower with familiar products and scrub my face no less than four times to rid my pores of any mold residue. Then, I’m going to dry my hair. I brought mine here but I have no desire to blow hot air on my head for ten minutes. It's been used once as a clothes dryer. Not only am I going to dry my hair, I’m going to actually DO it. Here, I have two hairstyles; up and up, either in a bun or in a ponytail. Then I’ll apply makeup. Not much. Just the normal routine that I had to abandon here for fear I’d end up looking like Gene Simmons after my mascara mixes with sweat.

Then I’m going to get into my car and drive to a coffee shop. Sure we’ve spent hours in internet cafes. And yes, we’re in the land where coffee began. But they don’t share it as much as we do at home. They don’t do big coffees here and they don’t do takeout. For avid coffee drinkers like us, it takes all of three minutes to finish our teacups (they can’t even be described as mugs). Matt attempted to get a coffee to go and got a small amount poured in a plastic white solo cup set in a Styrofoam cup used as the sleeve. So I’m going to drive to Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts or both and get a giant coffee to go.

And then maybe I’ll get a little lost driving…just to be able to drive again. (Although, I’m sure that I’ll have enough about four hours into our seventeen hour drive home.)

During coffee runs and driving around, I’ll still be relishing in the fact that I’m wearing jeans. I have yet to wear pants for fear that I’ll never be able to peel them off or I’ll pass out from overheating. Even though it’ll be unnecessary, I think I might even wear my high heeled ankle boots (after I scrape the mold off of them). I’ve been only able to wear functional, destructible shoes since we’ve been here and I plan to functionally destroy them before we leave.

From there, I’ll make a stop at the Red Box and rent a new release. Repeats of Conspiracy Theory just aren’t cutting it. And last night’s new HBO movie, Ghost of Girlfriends Past, prompted a more amusing debate about the demise of Matthew McConaughey’s career than it entertained us.

With enough coffee in my cup to keep me happy, I’ll call Verizon and finally get off this ridiculous international plan and reactivate our internet card. And I will immediately call someone and talk for as long as I want without a delay and without being interrupted by calling card robots counting down minutes before it abruptly disconnects. Of course, I’ll be stationed on the couch for the duration of this call, only to move to take off my heels - maybe.

Before starting the movie, I’ll flip through the channels, all of which I can understand. I’ll even use the digital cable guide and trust it’s telling the truth. And I will open my laptop and go online without being forced to eat or drink at the same time. I’ll check my email, scroll through some Facebook statuses. I’ll even look for a job. All without being rushed by a draining battery and no power source.

And then we’ll go to the mall to most likely start and finish Christmas shopping. I’ll get my fill of the decorations and the songs and the Christmas cheer that I'm already starting to miss. But after a half hour of shoving through stores and standing in lines, i'm sure I’ll be satisfied until next year so we’ll head to the grocery store. I promised Matt I would attempt to make sushi while at his house so I’ll need ingredients. I’ll spend way too much time in each aisle, not because it’ll be like a scavenger hunt, but because there will be so many options I won’t know which to get.

We'll return home, mud-free, with full grocery bags carried only a few feet from the car to the house which is a good thing because I’ll probably have to juggle my second coffee of the day. I’ll be able to put the grocery bags on the counter without stretching and start cooking without standing on my tiptoes.

And while I’ll be excited that I made it through the day without breaking a sweat or swatting a bug, I’m sure I’ll be reminiscing about the beach that was once 10 minutes from my house and missing the warmth that was always breathing down my neck. I’ll be wishing my tan wouldn’t fade so fast and that the sun was around to help it stay a little bit longer. And I’m sure, while dozing on the couch watching a second movie, that I’ll be wondering what happened. How did the vacation I once considered endless come to an end so quick…

Day 58: Matt's sixty mile joyride.

2010-11-14T15:10:00.000-05:00

Hopefully Matt’s butt will heal in time for his return flight in two weeks so he can sit on the airplane seat without wincing. About 15 years since his last bike ride, he decided to hop on today and go for a little joyride that got a little too ambitious – a sixty mile journey to and from Quepos - without sunscreen (on the sunniest day he’s seen yet) and without remembering how painful several hours on a bike can be.

Having a few bike rides of our own under our belts, we knew Matt was in for a rough night. We clearly remembered the ache of our legs, the bruised buttocks, the inability to sit comfortably and the overwhelming exhaustion. We’ve also had our share of moments forgetting sunblock. Combine both, and we bet he’d be in bed by 5pm and in pain until Monday.

He first set off at 6:30am with my bike. Even though it’s a boy’s bike, it doesn’t have the same problems as Mike’s loose handlebars, perpetual leaky tire and overall poor construction that made everything break. After getting about five minutes down the road, he turned around and came back. He couldn’t take his knees hitting the handlebars every time he pedaled. He might not be as tall as Mike but he’s definitely not as short as me. He decided to push his luck with the lemon.

He returned around 1pm, and we found him shirtless, groaning after each sentence and sleepy. While we were discussing one of my infamous rides, I was pretty sure he fell asleep standing mid conversation. The tan he was working on, well….it’s now going to need some creative work with sunblock in order to even him out since he was smart enough to protect himself with the only thing he had and kept his t-shirt on. Now he looks like he’s wearing a flesh colored t-shirt. The back of his neck, his forearms and face have lots of color – tinted towards the red hue which I’m sure will deepen through the night. He put a hurtin’ on himself.

Fortunately for him, next week marks one week until we get another rental car to take us exploring. We’re planning on going to the Caribbean side of Costa Rica where the beaches, people and food are supposed to be very different from what we’ve grown accustomed to here in the Central Pacific. In the meantime, we’ll stick to what we’ve been doing: lounging on the beach and around the house while Matt explores himself into exhaustion daily.

Day 57: No escaping the creatures

2010-11-13T13:40:00.000-05:00

The three of us are each struggling with our share of creatures that irritate or freak us out. I’m definitely not the only one. This was apparent today when Mike did a nice little jig in the living room after he found a spider swinging from his shorts. He claimed it was “giant” but it was actually smaller than his fingernail. He explained that it seemed much bigger dangling very near his unmentionables. His pictures look much more intimidating than the itsy bitsy spider did in real life. We learned another valuable lesson here though: check not only your shoes but your shorts as well. Never know where these buggers decide to build their homes.

Matt has been prohibited from a few areas of the house due to the creatures that are annoying him. An army of wasps have taken over the balcony adjacent to us – directly aligned with Matt’s. Swinging in his hammock results in two things: the ssssssssss of the Raid can followed by footsteps to the stairwell asking if he can use our hammock.

Since his balcony is not an option and the back steps are in the path of worker ants that could care less if you’re in their way as they walk on you, around you and over you, Matt has resigned to the front steps for his smoking breaks. But the creature that annoys him the most rests there: The Puppy. His visits are daily now, probably encouraged by Mike’s afternoon treats of crackers and fresh water (of which he takes two laps, dumps the bowl and uses it as a chewtoy). Matt’s attempts at relaxing have now been interrupted by keeping The Puppy from eating his cig.

I, on the other hand, have now been haunted by dead creatures. A few days ago, I was the lucky one whose eye spied a mud covered carcass that I refuse to admit looked very much like a cat. I was inches from stepping on it (and in it). Today, I happened to come across a much less cuddly looking giant bullfrog that appeared to have thrown up his insides. Again, seconds before I stomped on it. I’ve done a decent job at remembering where these creature shells are and change my route on the way back to avoid any mishaps. That’s if the vultures don’t relocate them to the other side of the road, as they did with the cat-like creature. Each scream lets Mike and Matt know where not to step.

And even The Puppy has been annoyed by a snake that slithered up to our steps. He’s of the opinion that barking incessantly in the snakes face will get it to leave. It didn’t appear to be working.

Fortunately, there was one visitor that wasn’t annoying but nice to look at. A large butterfly that doubles as an owl's face landed on our kitchen window screen and hung out for a while. We all let that one stay. No swats, no dances, no slaps, no shivers, no screams, no Raid…for once.

Day 56: Sushi fix found

2010-11-13T13:23:00.000-05:00

Matt finally got his sushi craving satisfied and I’m happy to say it was a surprising treat. I’m tentative about sushi from an unknown place. I need my sushi to be recommended by someone. I’ll only try a new place if I’ve heard from a valid source that it got their stamp of approval. We can’t really do that here, so we had to wing it.

To Matt’s relief, Dominical Sushi wasn’t closed for the rainy season as some other places are. It’s always been closed because we’ve been checking at the wrong times. It’s only open for dinner starting at 6pm. We’ve determined this must be because it’s owned by a young Costa Rican couple with day jobs. Their sushi was pricy but I doubted it could support them and their eight year old son (I was proud of my ability to understand the Spanish exchange between the owner and a customer that asked his age). They might be able to swing it had their restaurant been able to hold more than eight customers at a time.

We liked the intimate, cozy atmosphere though. It was the size of a sunroom in a house in the US and had a purple velvet cushioned bench that lined two walls accessorized by throw pillows and tree trunk tables. They set the mood with table tea lights and a few funky hanging lamps. It had a small bar area behind which was their kitchen with a regular four burner stove, countertop and cabinets that housed sushi plates and sake sets. They played background music from their cell phone. Our server, a pretty young Costa Rican woman, was also our chef. Now I was even more skeptical. I realized I’m kind of a sushi snob and expect that sushi should be made only by those of the same culture in which it originated.

I was extremely glad to find that I was very wrong. She made large rolls of sweet rice and tender seaweed filled with fresh salmon and tuna, cream cheese and cucumbers. Her sushi not only mirrored that of any Japanese sushi chef’s skills I’ve sampled, she also added a flare of Costa Rica with some unique extras like jalapeno and mango. Let’s just say it not only satisfied our desire for sushi but made us immediately want to eat there again tomorrow. And the day after. And the next day.

In the meantime, I’m still working on perfecting some more Costa Rican cuisine. Patacones (fried unsweetened plantains) are coming out alright – they taste exactly like the ones we've ordered at various restaurants but aren’t as pretty…kind of deformed. Mike attributes it to not having the right cooking utensils. When it calls for a rolling pin to flatten them, I’m smooshing 'em with an empty wine bottle. Hey, I do what I can.

The most recent house favorite is a rice mixture with palmito (Heart of Palm). This rice blend of mushroom soup, seasoned white rice, heart of palm and a few other ingredients make the best rice dish we’ve had here (and it wasn’t even served in a restaurant). As Matt said, it’s “banging.” His stamp of approval has been on every meal so far seeing as he hasn’t thrown up once, not even a gag, and he’s actually finished everything on his plate, even going back for seconds.

My next attempt is ambitious – homemade sushi. I was inspired by this Tica. She made me realize that I don’t have to be of Asian descent to be able to make a mean roll. I may have found the inspiration but I’m not sure I’ll be able to find the ingredients. Now that’s gonna be the real challenge.

Day 55: National Emergency Update

2010-11-10T13:53:00.000-05:00

Figured I’d provide an update on the National Emergency that devastated an area of San Jose last week. The nasty weather has finally stopped. It’s been nice, breezy and dry with periods of sun (of which Matt is sure to be standing in after more than one probably equally as pale New Englanders have commented on his pastiness).

On a sad note, the death toll has totaled 23, ranging from 18 to 80 year old victims, with 1 still missing. Newspapers printed memorials to the victims and showed coverage of the funerals that took place over the weekend, during the two designated Days of Mourning the President announced. We didn’t need to understand the language to grasp the devastation to the community. Over 10,000 are still displaced and roads in almost all directions are still closed. One of our favorite and first locations we visited in Costa Rica, Manuel Antonio, is in severe danger of collapse as it residents and businesses are built on mountainside threatening to crumble. They have been encouraged to evacuate until a geologist can confirm the mountain’s safety.

We ran into our rental agent last night and he informed us that he’s bringing his wife and toddler to his home country of Canada for a month as they’ve been without water and electricity since the storms. They live only 10 minutes from us. I guess we’ve been very lucky. And we were complaining about no cable.

Our road has been cleared of the power lines, trees and debris that covered it last week. The river has returned to a low level and the current speed has slowed. The ocean has also returned to normal with the exception of some extra branches washing up on the shore. I doubt our road will look the same again though. It was relatively smooth as clay-like dirt grouted the rocks into a sort of pavement. Now it’s just the bottom of an aquarium with the water dumped out which makes walking without twisting an ankle a chore. Areas where our views were once blocked by giant palms and trees are now completely open. I’d say in a few years, this road won’t exist. A few more seasons of rain like that and it wash into the ocean along with the rest of the chunks it just stole.

Note to anyone interested in purchasing property in Costa Rica: visit first during the rainiest months of the year. Only then will you really know what you’re buying. A land or swamp? House or submarine? And if you think that you’ll save yourself from the floods by purchasing in the mountains, be prepared to vacation one year and search for your home the next.

Day 54: Our new houseguest - The Puppy

2010-11-10T13:33:00.001-05:00

The crotch nipping puppy has found out where we live. He no longer stalks the bushes waiting to attack with his curious needle teeth. He just sits on our steps and waits.

Matt got to meet him for the first time the other day. Mike forewarned him to pick up a stick, which The Puppy continued to chew all the way to our house. That night, he slept on our steps, guarding our door like a watchdog. He had a few scraps with some neighborhood dogs. The bigger one made him yelp for a minute straight which made me not want to see what he looked like when he got back. He got braver when the little yipper stepped approached him. He tried to scare the yipper off, but he forgot whose territory he was in.

Mike played with him a little bit before we went to bed. Which looked an awful lot like an attack as he snapped his jaws at Mike’s face (I think he didn’t like the beard either) and pawed his shoulders while Mike cowered and protected himself. After the playful abuse, we went to bed while he remained on our steps for who knows how long.

We didn’t see him the next day so I guessed he was grounded for staying the night without telling his parents. That was until this morning when he followed Matt, not equipped with a stick, and nibbled his toes all the way home. He attempted to come in the house to find his new chewtoy, Mike, but we didn’t allow that. He was welcome on the stairs, we even moved our shoes and umbrellas for him, but he could do some damage in the house.

After a couple of hours at the internet café, we came home to find him still waiting, laying on the steps. He hurried to greet us and got some love from Mike. I’m not particularly afraid of him anymore. Although he plays viciously, he’s still just playing. There’s more strength behind his large paws and prickly teeth than I like but there doesn’t seem to be any intent to do damage. I’m still a little concerned that he’ll get a little overexcited though.

Fortunately, he’s wearing a collar and even though it doesn’t have information, it does mean that he belongs to someone. Thank goodness. Especially since Mike admitted today that he’s pretty sure he loves puppies more than basketball. If he wasn’t already taken, there’s a good chance he’d end up being Marley’s much bigger little brother.

Day 53: The surf is over...

2010-11-08T15:27:00.001-05:00

I’m pretty sure Mike knew he wasn’t ever going to be a professional surfer. He only recently came to the realization that he probably isn’t going to be an avid recreational surfer either…at least not in Costa Rica. The waves won. I’m not sure if he ever had a real chance seeing as he and his board didn’t make the best team. With that, he traded his Wave Magnet in for a body board – a sport he’s good at and enjoys a whole heck of a lot more than a hobby that resembles wrestling an alligator more than riding waves.

It was a good decision anyways now that he has an ocean buddy to hang out with. Not being the strongest swimmer, I haven’t really played around much in the ocean due to dangerous rip currents and intimidating waves. I go in as necessary – either to cool off or to pee (we all do it, come on now). I never hang out in water above my waist. I’m more interested in 1) keeping my bathing suit on 2) not getting sucked out to sea 3) not breaking bones after being slammed by a wave and 4) staying alive.

Now that Matt’s here, Mike has someone to hang out with in the water and it would probably be kind of boring for Matt to watch as Mike's board tosses him into the ocean repeatedly. Seeing as the river’s mouth empties in the ocean, after a week of storms, the ocean now resembles a massive river with a rocky floor, brown waters and little salt (the only perk). Matt even admitted that he's never been thrown around by an ocean this much before. His day in the water ended when a wave bullied him out by picking him up by his trunks and slamming him on the ground face first. His big toe was also beginning to bruise from kicking a boulder beneath the water and his pinky toe was bleeding after a crab locked onto it.

While Mike was riding waves and Matt was getting abused, I stayed behind to finish up the laundry that was started at 7am with the sight of sun. With dry breezes and only a few clouds in the sky, every inch of our balcony rails and clothes lines were filled with much-needed freshly washed towels, sheets, and undies.

We were also happy to have the return of cable along with the sun. While the NFL games didn't come in great, we couldn't complain after several nights of card games and downloaded reruns. Matt's vacation is finally on track. There's only one more thing he needs - sushi. We turned him on to the raw rolls before we left and he's been craving more ever since. He'd be in luck if the chef at Dominical Sushi ever decides to work...

Day 52: No more rain but we're still wet.

2010-11-06T15:44:00.001-04:00

After a full week of rain, the entirety of Matt’s trip so far, the rain finally stopped. We awoke to mist that lingered for a few hours and then it finally ran out. It decided to leave the humidity behind though and we still have yet to see the sun.

I’m not sure if the stickiness has gotten worse, or if a few days in the fresh mountain air reminded me of how easy it is to breathe. Or maybe it has gotten worse. We’re noticing effects that we hadn’t seen before. It’s not only smothering us but it’s wrecking our things. Mike’s belt has turned from brown leather to green and blue fuzz. My sneakers are no longer black felt, but gray. At first glance, it appears to be dust (which would make sense since they’ve only been used once since we’ve been here) but it’s not, it’s the first stage on its way to looking like Mike’s belt. The jeans and pants I brought that have sat in the closet are now accessorized by spots and the couch’s cover is developing new patterns on the back of it.

Not only does it look gross, it feels worse. Imagine laying on bed sheets that feel like they were prematurely taken out of the dryer a good 15 minutes too soon. Our pillows are moist sponges – one of which was already victimized by mold and had to get tossed. Last night, Matt slept in a sweatshirt, with the hood on, just to keep his head and body dry. Did I mention that it’s really gross?

We can’t do laundry in this type of weather either seeing as our dry clothes can’t even be considered dry anymore. There aren’t any Laundromats here but there are laundry services that will do it for you. We’ve contemplated using one but are hesitant since I read most charge per piece of laundry, not load. That could get pretty expensive. So, the washing machine is preloaded and ready to go at the sight of sun.

My skin hasn’t enjoyed this constant clamminess either. I have some sort of breakout that’s dormant under my skin from my forehead to my neck. You can’t see it unless you get up close but I can feel it – hundreds of little bumps just sitting there. Heat rash? Humidity induced acne? I don’t know. At this point I wouldn’t be surprised if my forehead erupts in mold…

Day 51: Matt goes MIA

2010-11-06T15:40:00.001-04:00

We’re on, what we hope is, the final day of rain. Matt decided he’d like to venture out for a walk to witness any new damage from the overnight rains that continued to flood the area. He suited up with his poncho, a garbage bag skirt to cover his shorts since none of our ponchos are long enough, and an umbrella.

For those that don’t know, I have a serious case of the worry disease. In most situations, I uncontrollably visualize the worst possible scenarios. It makes me crazy most of the time but I also find it beneficial since it gives me the comfort of preparation in the event my warped fantasies transpire. After four hours, I was doing my best to repress any visions of Matt caught in a landslide or trapped in the river current. After five hours, I wasn’t the only one worried and seeing as Mike thinks my worrisome thoughts are often ridiculous, that made me even more worried.

We would’ve felt a little more at ease if he had followed some important ground rules that we live by while abroad; always carry your passport, our phone numbers and who to contact in the event of an emergency, and some money. We realized that he left with none of the above. He left with the one thing he thought he needed – smokes.

Seeing as our rental car had already been picked up, we were without wheels to scope the town for any sight of his bright blue poncho and green skirt. It was still daylight so Mike decided to get into his rain gear and see if he could find him. And left me at home to worry about my two guys walking around in who knows what direction, on unstable roads, teetering trees and rivers gushing from areas they don’t belong. I called my sister for some panic control but seeing the worry genes were passed along to both of us (thanks Meme!) her consolation was pretty much a reiteration of my worried anger (but kept me distracted…so thanks Shan).

About a half hour after Mike left, a blue poncho strolled up the driveway and they hadn’t crossed paths. I calmly explained to Matt what he just put us through while my sister did the yelling for me on the phone in the background. I spared him her lecture and opted for guilt as I told him his brother was now searching for him because I wasn’t the only one worried.

As a novice worrier – Mike wasn’t as experienced at managing the various scenarios that fueled his search. To my surprise, he had more things going through his head than me. He shared them with me:

What if he got too close to the river and slipped in? Or if he was standing next to the river and the land gave out? What if he found a hiking trail and got lost? Or got bit by something? What if he met some people that he thought were cool but they weren’t and kidnapped him? What if the police picked him up and he couldn’t explain anything to them (it’s illegal here to walk around without a passport)? What if he passed out since he was gone so long and hadn’t eaten? He could be on the side of the road. Or someone could have brought him to a hospital somewhere. What if he got hit by a landslide? Or debris? What if he walked too far along the beach and got trapped by the tide? What if a car lost control and hit him? He even went so far as to wonder if the locals who said they didn’t see him really had and were holding him hostage somewhere. Welcome to the World of Worry Michael…be careful, it’s very easy to get lost in there.

The real story of Matt’s adventure was less eventful than any of the scenarios, thankfully. He walked down one road and couldn’t pass because the river flooded it so he decided to walk the opposite way into town. The majority of the time lapsed when he saw some locals trying to unclog a drain system under the road that wasn’t allowing water to pass through. He asked if they needed help and they did so he got his hands dirty and helped dig out the drain. From there, he decided to continue his walk into town, going as far as he could go in either direction on the beach. When that wasn’t enough, he strolled down the main road to the next town over. Even though he lost track of time, he realized he had gone pretty far and even admitted that he was afraid we’d be worried about him.

The guilt trip worked and he felt bad that Mike had went looking for him and even contemplated going out again to find him. He was worried he’d be mad but I assured him that the relief would probably outweigh any anger. And I was right. As Mike strolled up the driveway to see if he was home, he smiled, comforted that his brother didn’t have a starring role in any of the scenes in his head.

I clearly explained to Matt the rules of wandering off alone in a foreign country. Hey, as long as he lives under my roof, he needs to follow my rules. Isn’t that how it goes??

Day 50: Costa Rica's National Emergency

2010-11-04T16:45:00.002-04:00

This road is actually perfectly paved...not a dirt road.
The mud is from the mountain to the left after a landslide.

This was a massive hole between the highway and a home.
The red wall is built on the edge of their driveway.

The bridge collapsed here, causing them to rip up the road and rebuild.
They've been working on this for several days.
There's no way around it - that line of tractor trailers has been there for days as well.

Our river and newly fallen trees.

The rain won't let up. Won't even hint at it. Since we have the rental car until tomorrow, we decided to take Matt to San Isidro, the second largest city we drove through on the way to the airport. It looked like it had some cool cafes, funky shops and satsifying restaurants. It would have something to in the rain.

We drove about 10 minutes before our first stop. Mike parked and checked it out. A landslide had either pushed a pickup truck into a hole where he was stuck or he poorly tried to navigate himself through the muddy waters. It would be a long time before anyone could pass so we turned around. Yet again, another place Matt will have to wait and see. We might have to start keeping a list.

The only other options were to drive the same route as yesterday or explore the opposite direction. Seeing as the roads were barely driveable 24 hours ago and the rain hadn't let up, we were certain that wasn't an option anymore. We headed in the only direction we could go. Twenty minutes later, we were at a dead end, blocked by bulldozers and no road.

We headed for the only place we could go - home - and were welcomed by a power outage. We decided to go into town for some food and internet. We noticed that the businesses with TVs were all tuned into the same thing; live footage of destroyed homes, cracked pavement, massive holes, gushing water and devasted people. I immediately googled Costa Rica and found headlines of this nature:

Escazu Landslide Leaves 20 dead; 10 missing

While Escazu isn't very close to us, the affects are hitting close to home. You cannot drive more than 10 minutes without evidence of falling land. Costa Rica is supposed to be declaring a State of Emergency within the next few hours.

While watching the news reports, our old town of Parrita shared the spotlight with the landslide. The tressel next to the bridge we drove over yesterday had collapsed and the cemetery's graves were no longer visible. After seeing the conditions of the road yesterday, only a quarter mile from our old house, and the news reports of the severe flooding today, there's no way our first home isn't flooded right now. It's amazing, sad and scary.

So, we're trapped. Each direction out of our town is blocked by flooded rivers, undriveable roads, fallen trees or immobile vehicles. We've received 18 inches of rainfall in 48 hours and it's expected to continue until tomorrow. Fortunately, our town has some great restaurants, bars and cafes that still function and we're spending our time in them. Guess Matt had some good timing...

Day 49: Over the river and through...more rivers

2010-11-04T16:03:00.001-04:00

The bus stop at the cemetery.

Flooded homes in Parrita.

Driving through rivers.

Chunks of road missing.

Last night’s ride home was pretty uneventful and much of the same; no signs, guesstimating where we are and where we should go, realizing we went too far and backtracking until we found the way. The rain didn’t help the situation but we eventually stumbled upon the road that led us home. It took the normal five hours. I think it’s safe to say that anywhere we want to go takes us about five hours to get there regardless if it should take two. Mike also plans to contact National Geographic to give them a piece of his mind after a route was misidentified on their 2011 map of Costa Rica. He may never trust them again.

As we drove, we realized that rain must have continuously poured from the day we left (although it was sunny) without stopping. We drove in the dark through a river in the road and found even more trees and power lines down in our town (we realized later they were probably cable lines since ours is out). With some careful maneuvering over new potholes, fresh drop-offs, branches and puddles, Mike got us to our house and Matt got to see his bedroom with a view and balcony with a hammock.

This morning, still mid-rain, we decided to show him our first house and the infamous road that consumed the majority of our first month in Costa Rica. He got to see more than we expected when daylight illuminated the newly fallen trees and the fast moving river spilling into an even narrower road. I’m hoping the road survives the rest of the time we have here since it gets smaller with each storm.

As we drove toward our old town, we had to pass the same river that flooded our route last night, in addition to three more. The coffee-colored water gushed over and under the roads, taking chunks of land, pavement, trees and road signs with it. Cars lined the area where the water met the road knowing they couldn’t pass after seeing one too many stall, need a push, or get towed. Luckily, we had an SUV and just made it safely across behind the rest of the trucks.

The last time we saw Parrita flooded, it was a big deal. This was an even bigger deal. (If you don’t recall, we were told the bridge hadn’t flooded in 9 years. It has now flooded twice in a matter of a month.) Homes had water a foot higher than their welcome mats and cemetery graves were completely submerged. If you sat at one bus stop, your legs would be underwater from your knees down. Galoshes would be equivalent to wearing buckets.

We passed what we thought was the worst part until we were a quarter of a mile from our first house. The water was as still as a pond with no current threatening to relocate our car but it got deeper as we inched forward. I was the first to recommend another day for our visit. Matt seconded the motion except he warned Mike to reverse quickly before water started seeping in the car doors. Even that made him nervous (in turn making me nervous since no one wants to hear the mechanic is nervous) since the water would be pushed into the exhaust. With his expertise guiding Mike, we reversed to shallow water, turned around and exhaled. We have a month to show him our old place…if the rain lets up.

Instead, we took a quick trip to my favorite grocery store, Mas x Menos in Jaco (about an hour and a half from our town) to get some much needed ingredients for the new mouth to feed. Seeing as Matt has a newfound love for Costa Rican cuisine, I invested in a recipe book to bring more home cooked specialties to our dinner table. Next on the list are arroz con pollo, ceviche and patacones (fried green plantains that taste potato-ish if cooked correctly). Seeing as he’s a picky eater and has a serious gag reflex when he dislikes something (I’ve seen him regurgitate tofu), it’ll be easy to see if my food makes the cut.

Day 48: Ziplining. 'Nuff said.

2010-11-03T14:38:00.002-04:00

Not happy about suiting up.

The group - with the least compassionate guide on the left.

Matt, mid turn (you aren't supposed to do that.)

Mike, happily flying in.

Check out the broken rail on the platform behind us.
Matt almost leaned on the missing piece and the other one fell off when we walked away.

Finally smiling during flight.

Mike's Tarzan Swing (he's screaming here).

Superman.

I resisted the urge to google "zipline accidents" last night. Matt also gave me survival tips in the event of an incident - such as hang on as best you can if the cable or harness snaps, and also felt confident death wasn't immenent since the rainforest could slow the fall. I wasn't buying it, but saved the techniques to memory just in case.

I was really hoping the start of my day wouldn't set the tone for the rest of it seeing as I dumped practically an entire glass container of sugar (the ones you see at diners with the silver lid with the flip door that lets the sugar out). Apparently, someone didn't screw the cap on properly and seeing as the owner charged me for another coffee - even though she clearly saw it was the sugar's fault - I'm thinking that's how she makes a few extra bucks. I just hoped that was the extent of today's bad luck since ziplining was next on our list.

The weather wasn’t great. It had already rained steadily and even though it stopped, the clouds hadn’t cleared. We thought about cancelling and trying again at another place some other time but we had already built up the cajones to do it, so figured we'd suck it up. We got picked up by Extremo Adventures bus with two other tourists in tow. I had the same feeling in my stomach as I did when I was twelve waiting in long lines at Six Flags. A half hour later we were suiting up with butt and chest harnesses, garden gloves with leather palms as thick as two belts and plastic helmets (which were stinky by the way).

While they strapped us in, I thought it was a good idea to tell them I was nervous. Here's how well those conversations went:

Me: I’m scared.
Guide 1: Me too.

Me: I’m scared.
Guide 2: Don’t be scared. This is 100% safe. Sometimes.

Funny guys. Just what I needed. But really, it was. They lightened the mood and downplayed any anxieties by making you just let go.

After a few key instructions on how to properly ride a zipline, we walked the metal staircase to our first line for practice. I went first. Even though I was scared that I was going to land on the next platform with a load in my pants, standing on those small rickety platforms not connected to anything scared me more so I opted to get off as quickly as possible. Even if I was the first on the next platform, I was distracted by the ride and watching Mike and Matt fly in. I survived the first glide to the other side and have to say it wasn’t all that bad. The next, a little better, the one after that – a little longer – and way more of a rush. But at no point did my anxiety or fear subside.

I had thought that rappelling was an optional adrenaline rush but apparently, it was the only way down to the next area. Again, I went first. Half by choice, and more by the pushy guide who strapped me in while I objected and expressed my dislike for it. To my surprise, it was easier and less scary than zipping. And just so you know, Matt protested having to do this one more than me.

My favorite example of our guides' lack of empathy was when we got to our second “activity” - the Tarzan Swing. You freefall 126 feet from the tower attached to a rope and swing through the trees (kind of like bungy jumping without the bungee). Matt and I had already decided that rappelling was enough adventure for us. Mike followed our guide, the least compassionate one, to the edge of the platform and watched him tie ropes and fix carabineers - just out of curiousity. Mike assumed the guide was going first, as they had been doing for each zipline. So he was completely thrown off when the hook got attached to his waist with no conversation other than "hold here" and he was shoved off the platform.
You guys know Mike, he's not a big reaction guy. Pretty mellow, calm in all situations, even stressful ones. So I was equally as surprised when I heard a gargled, extremely loud, “oh my God” dragged out from his gut through clenched teeth. Even though I got my adrenaline rush by watching my husband get tossed off a treetop, I also found the uncontrollable noise that came out of him hilarious. I recorded it to memory and get a chuckle every time I replay it in my mind. After seeing what happened to Mike, Matt and I hid behind a tree far, far away from the guide.

The guides were a little more understanding about my decision to not be insane but they were a bit harder on Matt. They pressured him but he wouldn’t waiver. So they nicknamed him "Chicken" or the Spanish version "Pollo" for the rest of the hike and bawked at him every two minutes.

To make up for his failure to jump, he went first on the Superman. It was kind of optional, but you had to make up your mind before hiking there and seeing as I was managing the ziplining ok, I hadn’t tossed out idea. It was the longest line (1 full kilometer) and you didn’t have to do any work - no leaning back, no legs crossed, no braking. Just lay face down, legs in strapped to keep your entire body straight and parallel to the zipline, and keep your arms out to the sides while the guides do the rest. I don't know what's more amazing - the views, the ride, or the amount of trust we have in strangers and a single cable and hook.

In the end, we all did it and survived. At times we could see the views above trees and forests. Most other times, it was like someone standing three feet in front of you with a fog machine aimed at your face. I personally think it may have helped to not see how high up we were. Either way, it was still pretty cool to be flying in the clouds and pelted by mist. It was the craziest experience of my life. Call me crazy but I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.

The hikes in between the platforms made the rides on the zipline welcomed though. It was like climbing several steep mulch and leaf covered stairways and when I wasn’t afraid of slipping on a wet leaf and rolling down the mountain, I was busy catching my breath before taking flight again. I was doing alright though and didn’t put up much of a fight until we hit the rappelling area.

Day 47 PART II: Coffee history and caffeine fix

2010-11-03T14:00:00.000-04:00

Unshelled beans actually look like a peanuts - pre roasting process.

Matt picking coffee berries with our guide.
He's considering a career change.

Pounding the skins off the dried beans.

Enjoying the reward of his hard work.

Coffee berries on the trees.

Within the first five minutes of our tour, our guide Brendan, taught us something none of us ever knew – coffee beans begin as a berry. He brought us to lines of trees bloomed with berries that were similar to various shades of green and red grapes. These are the pods that hold the ever-so-precious bean that I’m shamelessly addicted to. One of these berries, just one, contains the same caffeine as four to five cups of coffee. Fortunately he told us that as it was touching Matt's lips and before he ingested it. The unique power of the bean was discovered when a farmer realized his goats became uncontrollable and hyperactive after eating the berries from the tree. He decided to try them out himself and after his energy skyrocketed, realized he struck gold. He decided to play around with various techniques until it became drinkable. That process is more complicated than we expected, but makes us appreciate even more the hard work that goes into that satisfying perfect cup.

Matt took an active role in the coffee process by trying his hand at coffee picking with a nice basket attached to his waste, shelling them, pounding the skins off the bean and creating sugar cane juice. We also learned that dark roast coffee (which we all enjoy more) has less caffeine than light roast since the beans are left in the roaster longer causing them to lose caffeine the longer they roast. Apparently, we all enjoy burnt coffee the best because that’s all dark roast is. He explained that Starbucks’ traditional coffee comes from various countries and the way they make it taste the same no matter where it’s from is by burning the beans. When they do that, the distinct flavors subside and the coffee all tastes the same – burnt (or bold as they like to call it). At the end of our trip we got to enjoy as much coffee as we wanted along with some traditional treats like arroz con leche (a type of rice pudding), chocolate covered coffee beans and a mini bean and cheese empanada.

When booking our coffee visit, we were also provided information on one of the best ziplining company; Extremo. Supposedly they have the longest ziplines in the area with some extras like rappelling, a Tarzan Swing, and the Superman line – a new method of ziplining where you’re strapped horizontally, belly down by two hooks on your back so you fly head first, arms out like Superman, to the next platform. I’ll pass. I’m pretty sure I’d be flying in the fetal position the entire way.

I don’t know why or how this happened, but we booked our ziplining flights for tomorrow morning, me included. We passed on the 8am adrenaline rush (I don't that's what I want to do first thing in the morning) and went for the 11am ride. Plus, I get to live a few hours longer.

If you’ve read this blog regularly, you’ve probably noticed I’ve been freaked out by many things: bugs, frogs, crabs, bats, waves, power outages, you name it. This is probably the most freaked out I’ve been, not just in Costa Rica, but in my life. And I have no one to blame but myself...

Day 47 PART I: A scary treetop stroll (for me...)

2010-11-03T13:37:00.000-04:00

Jose’s familia made it right on time to pick us up for our Treetop Walkway Tour at Selvantura, a full service adrenaline park. We decided to ease ourselves into adventure with a walk through the rainforest at and above tree level with the help of extremely high suspension bridges that weren’t as solid as I had expected. They swayed and bounced with each footstep and with each flutter I realized that I don’t really dislike heights, I hate them. I wasn’t so scared that I panicked but I did turn into a zombie and made a beeline for the other end without letting go of the rails. Matt tried to make me feel better by pointing out that several hundred pieces would have to break before the bridge would go down. But it didn’t work. The idea of just one tiny bolt falling off was more than enough. On the rare occasions I could look up or down or anywhere but straight ahead of me, it was nice scenery. Thank goodness Mike could capture it for me to safely view in the comfort of chair placed solidly on the ground.

Since we are in the town where ziplining was born, we can’t leave without checking that off our list. But today I realized that I might not be able to do it. A bridge that was as wide as three of me and as solid as any bridge in the treetops could get, did not give me a good feeling never mind being harnessed to a single cable flying at speeds of up to 40mph at trees. I was really excited to zipline when I was just reading about it. Now that I actually have to do it, the excitement has turned to pure fear.

Following our tree walk, we headed to a local restaurant for some home-cooked meals and booked our next stop - a tour of a local Don Juan Coffee Plantation to see how the beverage I can’t live without is made.

Day 46 Part II: We survived the road to Monteverde

2010-11-03T13:24:00.001-04:00

The lagoon surrouding the volcano

A lonesome dead tree in the meadow

An attempt to take a picture of the road. Couldn't help the blur.

The peace and relaxation we enjoyed in the morning got tossed out the car window when we hit the road to Monteverde (and every one of its potholes). I read that the drive was rough so I anticipated the potholes, the dirt, the shrinking roads and brittle bridges. I must have just repressed my memories of the road to Pavones when I decided to take us to one that could be ranked worse. The view did its best to help ease the stress of the road as it offered endless sights of green meadows with grazing cows during sunset. The view was pretty, but it didn’t distract us from the ride.

Being Matt’s first experience on these types of roads, he was equally amazed and appalled. We all agreed that the worst part was the stretches of dirt moguls. I couldn’t help but laugh as Matt uncontrollably spewed prayers and curses in the back seat while dodging concussions. My favorite of his observations was when, without joking, he wondered how babies are driven around on the road since this is worse than shaking one. He’s confident the ride would induce some sort of brain damage.

The sun set, the road got worse, and the signs were still sparse. Fortunately, the options were slim and it kept us routed in one direction. To add to the stress, the car began to make a very loud clanking noise every time we hit a bump (which was every half a second). Matt, a professional mechanic, really didn’t like what he was hearing. And I really didn’t like the sounds of that. After a brief inspection in the dark, he concluded that it could just be a rock in the heat shield causing the racket. He hoped. (FYI, about thirty minutes later it stopped...he was right...we knew he was good.)

The few times we did question our navigation, we asked a few locals who all pointed us in the same direction. We finally made it, four hours after leaving La Fortuna, and arrived in our next town in the same condition as our last; looking for a place to fill our tummies and lay our heads.

Immediately upon entering their downtown we pulled off to the side of the road to check out the guide for a hotel and was immediately approached by a woman with a brochure for the hotel she owned (as to why an owner would be handing out brochures roadside, I’m not sure). She explained the amenities, we thanked her, and moved along. Further down the road, we pulled over again, only to have a man stop his car, jump out and give us a brochure for the hotel he owned. Then the Lonely Planet warnings started to come to life. Apparently there are scammers in this area that will tell you of “friends” or “family members” that own hotels or tour companies and encourage you to go with them. Now I haven’t figured out what they get out of the scam (since none have asked for money) but it was clear to beware of them and to make smart decisions. We chose to go with neither and continued on our way until we found a small, clean hotel with no other guests (another perk of the rainy season).

While trying to find a good restaurant, we were immediately stopped by local tico Jose, who pointed to the restaurant behind him that his family owns. Sure they do. It looked decent and had food, so it fit our criteria regardless of whose family owned it. When we sat down, Jose noticed the tour brochure I was reading and told us that it was the best company in the town. You know why? Because his familia owns it. What a coincidence.

While eating our ceviche (by the way, kudos to Matt for trying all local cuisine in a matter of 48 hours and loving every bit), Jose came over to chat with us. He asked where we came from so we told him that we were recently in La Fortuna. He asked what hotel. We told him Pura Vida. He was happy to hear that. Know why? Guess who owns it. Jose’s familia. Now it wasn’t the ridiculousness that this was the third place his family allegedly owned that made me start laughing. Wasn’t even the fact that the hotel was a tiny generic place about four hours away on barely drivable roads that made tears roll down my cheeks. It was my tiredness combined with the fact that the owners of the hotel were clearly not tico. I think the Chinese characters on their sign, their first floor Chinese restaurant, their lobby filled with Chinese Jade and golden cats, not to mention the fact that we spoke to them, made it clear to us that they were very Chinese. Jose was very much not. His familia is apparently very diverse.

We decided to book (not pay, just book) a Treetop Walkway tour with Jose’s family anyways since their office was two doors down. So tomorrow we’ll start our day with a walk on suspension bridges higher than the trees…that is if Jose’s familia pulls through with the 7:50am ride.

Day 46 PART I: Hot Springs + Volcano = Very Cool

2010-11-03T13:07:00.003-04:00

La Fortuna church (where a drug dealer told Mike he could find him any day of the week)

Eco Termales' pools

Best waiter ever Jeffrey making traditional sock coffee for Matt

45 days in Costa Rica = Mike
1 day in Costa Rica = Matt

The long awaited peek at the peak

A quiet dark room with a cozy bed kept us asleep all of two minutes later than our nor mal 5:30am wake up call. Let me just say, this is ridiculous. This is the only time in my life that I’m actually able to sleep in for three months and I physically can’t. I’m all for getting up early to get the most of your day, but really…7:30am would do. There’s nothing I do in those couple of hours that contribute anything worthwhile to my day.

Of course, as with most of our adventures, seeing the volcano didn’t come easy. It was drizzling and dreary this morning which made visibility hopeless, so we decided to hit up the local hot springs first with a trip to Eco Termales. It’s the least expensive and smallest of the thermal pools in the area and was the absolute best thing we could’ve done in the rain. We couldn’t hike, we couldn’t see the volcano and we didn’t want to slosh around the town. We’d be getting wet anyways so why not have it be with naturally steaming hot water? For the first hour and a half, we had four hot pools all to ourselves until a Dutch couple joined us for the final half hour. At times it poured on us, at times it misted and the moment the sun peeked at us, we left so we could catch a glimpse of the volcano. It was a perfect combination of relaxation and recreation and checked one more thing off our to-do list.

Getting a clear shot of Volcan Arenal wasn’t that simple, but as we drove closer we got to see the base which was more than the tree lined mountains we saw before. Since we were hungry from a stressful morning of laying around in pool baths, we decided to eat at local joint, Restaurante Cascajos. As soon as you enter the town of La Fortuna, practically every hotel, restaurant and toilet, claims to have the best view of the volcano. Most are lying. But this restaurant, that didn’t claim to have the best anything had the best everything: food, view, waiter and atmosphere. We had front row seats for the volcano’s anticipated appearance, one of the best casados we’ve yet to devour, and Matt got to try his first Costa Rican sock coffee brewed right at the table. The clouds teased us the entire time with clear blue skies hugged both sides of the volcano but kept the peak hidden behind a thick layer of fog that threatened to stick around. About a half hour after we ate our last bites, the clouds didn’t vanish but became transparent enough to see the plateau-ed peak of the volcano. To be honest, it was nice getting to see it after the journey we had, but the wait was better than the moment. Our waiter not only treated us well, entertained us with jokes and said a prayer for us to get a glimpse of the volcano, he gave each of us a business card and a hug when we left. If you ever go there, refuse to be served by anyone other than Jeffrey.

See active volcano, check. Next up? Don’t know (if you haven’t guessed, we were winging it). But I had read that Monteverde was one of the best places to visit for ziplining and that was still on our to-do list. It was also jam packed with other interesting things to do so we began a very serene, peaceful, pretty drive around the lagoon that lead to the most stressful drive we’ve yet to experience.

Day 45: PART II - Signs, signs, nowhere are there signs...

2010-11-02T12:25:00.003-04:00

Maps of Costa Rica are deceiving since a place that looks relatively close can be several hours away. After five hours of driving to the airport, we didn’t realize we were in for another five hour trek to the volcano. Maybe it shouldn’t have taken that long but we were missing some critical components for travelling in the right directions – signs. Without ‘em, it’s very easy to take unnecessary detours and unknowingly backtrack. I guess I can’t say there aren’t any signs. There are plenty of unnecessary signs. When there’s only one road and it can only turn left, a sign will point you left. BUT, when you get to a fork in the road, or a four way intersection, there are no signs to be found for miles and miles. Or if you’re lucky enough to see one, you can bet on it pointing in a direction that isn’t quite clear. If Costa Rica would grant me one wish, I’d say screw the paving the roads, please add more signage throughout the country (accurately placed too).

We finally made it through the signless, maze-like roads up mountains, through more clouds and fog that made visibility next to impossible and pulled into La Fortuna after the sun went to bed. We needed to find a place to do the same. After another less than reliable review of a hotel in the area, we went with Pura Vida Hotel. While I have a list of requirements for our hotel stays (i.e. hot water, real windows, clean bed, electricity), we needed one more thing: wifi. Today was the cutoff for the potential Cut Off.

As promised, Matt brought beard trimmers (although they were glazed with toothpaste from a suitcase mishap) and some single blade razors. What a brother-in-law. 58 votes later, they won’t be getting used. With only two lousy votes more than me, Mike gets to keep the beard. And Matt also let his beard tag along for trip too.

All the driving (and flying) induced travel exhaustion and we went to bed right after dinner with the only vision of this invisible volcano being in our heads since it was hidden behind curtains of clouds and darkness.

Beard Brothers

Day 45: PART I - Do you know the way to San Jose?

2010-11-02T12:19:00.002-04:00

It should take about three hours to get from our home to the airport. We decided to give ourselves two extra hours, just in case the roads happened to be gone or some other act of nature caused a delay. We left at 7am to pick Matt up at noon. We made it to the airport five hours later – right on time, taking two hours longer than expected.

Fortunately the roads were all there although there was evidence of some landslide action along the route. The first delay occurred when a Coca Cola tractor trailer derailed on a sharp curve up the winding trail that lead to the airport. After being parked for fifteen minutes, we were finally able to pass through the one open lane. In the middle of our journey through the mountainous peaks and valleys, we found ourselves cutting through one of the largest cities we’ve seen so far, San Isidro, and had our next delay; a detour when the road unexpectedly became a One Way without warning. Fortunately we avoided an accident and took a bathroom break at the first McDonald’s we’ve seen since we’ve been in Costa Rica. Then we were back to climbing more mountains with views of valleys dotted with isolated homes and farm animals. We went through as many temperature changes as scenery. We had to actually roll up the windows but still kept them open so we could breathe fresh dry air, not steam. I’m pretty sure at the highest point of our journey, we had the same views as Matt as we drove through and above the clouds.

Other than delays like bus stops on major highways, the real delay was our arrival in San Jose, a place that both lived up and down to our expectations. There were too many cars, not enough signs, and zero time to figure out where we needed to go. We just got pushed along with the traffic and hoped a sign would be around the next congested intersection. No luck. We finally resorted to asking other drivers. To the left, a taxi driver who claimed he didn’t know where the airport was (really?), to the right, the nicest driver in the city. After realizing he wasn’t going to be able to explain in a language we’d understand before the light turned green (hand signals weren’t going to work with this one), he responded “follow me.” We let him pull in front of us and took his word that he’d get us to where we needed to go without forgetting and guiding us to his house. He navigated us out of the overwhelming downtown traffic and onto the highway that had finally directed us to the airport. At around the same time, Matt was able to navigate through airport customs and the swarm of taxi drivers in his face. We found him pretty easily once he made his way past the crowd and were on our way to Volcan Arenal, one of the top ten most active volcanoes in the world for some possible eruptions, lava sightings and hot springs.

Day 44: Mud baths, rain delays and another set of wheels

2010-10-30T23:21:00.003-04:00

We needed to catch the 8:30am bus to get to Quepos to get a rental car since we’re picking up Matt tomorrow. There’s a rental car company in our town but it was more expensive so we figured we’d suck it up and spend an hour and a half and $6 on the bus in order to save about a $100 on the car. Seeing as I woke up while the sun was still rising, I wasn’t particularly a peach on the bus as more and more people kept squishing in seats and in the aisles. Since I was lucky enough to be sitting on the aisle side, my shoulder became one woman’s seat while another’s exposed stomach was inches from my face.

Plus, I was already annoyed because I had been in a store getting drinks when the bus rolled down the road. As I ran to catch it while Mike was distracting the driver, I ran out of my flip flop and landed barefoot in the mud. Just to find out that the bus wasn’t even the right one. Then while sitting at the bus stop, I leaned over to wipe the mud off my foot and dumped my purse right next to the foot I was cleaning. Guess where it landed. Mud. That, on top of the skinny dog that Mike fed a granola bar to interrupting my Pop-Tart breakfast by pawing me on the knees with his paws that were…you guessed it…covered in mud, made me look like I started my day with a mud bath.

After we got on the correct bus, we realized that the wrong bus, which had come through over a half hour before, had made it less than a mile. The three days of rain didn’t only affect our fun but our terrain. Soft mountainous areas and storms don’t mix well and eventually, the mountains give up. We noticed on our way to the bus stop that our road was narrower. Chunks of dirt and rocky earth were floating in the river with trees teetering on the edges tangled in power lines. One power line hung so low we could have used it as a jumprope. As the bus drove down the main road, we saw that the mountains developed new waterfalls with trees in the middle of them and dirt that was once part of the mountainside was shoveled to the other side of the road. Fortunately, the damage was worse in the opposite direction of where we were headed, we didn’t know how bad but cars were parked and the roadside fruit stand had one of its best days.

When we got to Quepos, we went to our original favorite internet café (that also serves our favorite coffee ground right next door), stopped in the used bookstore that we thought was non-existent and picked up a few more books and then headed to our next car. A white Hyundai– which I doubt will be returned the same shade. After loading up with groceries, we headed home.

Since the grocery store didn’t have everything we wanted we decided to check out the next town over from us to see what they had. Seeing as it was seven hours later, we were also able to see what caused this morning’s roadblock; a fallen tree the diameter of a monster truck’s tire that crossed the entire road. Chunks of it lay cut up on either side of the road. We were able to keep going a few more kilometers before a surfing guitarist (I only know this because he was carrying both) cautioned us from the side of the road that it was closed ahead. He was headed to Dominical but the bus couldn’t bring him all the way because the road was gone. A bridge had collapsed and it was currently being worked on, which included ripping up the pavement and redoing the road. We could see the line of tractor trailers parked ahead. He got off the bus to walk the rest of the way – at least six miles. We decided to repay the kindness that was showed to us by bringing him back to town. His name was Steve, passing through to catch swells before heading back to San Jose to meet up with his buddies. From his accent, he originates from Australia and appears to be bouncing around Central America until his money, or luck in finding random work, runs out.

We ended our day out at our third grocery store (scavenger hunt, I tell ya) and met Charlie. He wanted to know what we were being for Halloween and was pointing out the parties we won’t be attending since we have very important things to do tomorrow and not be hungover for a ride that could prove to be very interesting given the conditions of the roads. Charlie, with his long gray hair and potbelly was going to be either the devil or Jerry Garcia – a guy he used to do sound for. When that caught our attention, he continued to tell us that his wife played electric violin for Jimmy Buffet until 24 years ago when he decided to buy their Costa Rican bungalow for $5,200. (Nope, I didn’t forget a zero.) He also surprised her on her birthday one year with a two-bedroom cabin on 47 acres of land overlooking Dominical for $23,000. I’d say he made some really good decisions as a young deadhead.

Tomorrow we’ll be on the road to San Jose bright and early. I’m not sure what these roads are going to look like but I’m optimistic seeing as it’s the country’s only major highway. My only concern is that I vaguely remember driving through some very mountainous areas…and well, those aren’t holding up so well these rainy days. We’ll find out.

The coolest visitors yet...

2010-10-29T13:34:00.000-04:00

These two guys decided to hang out on our door and watch the World Series game with us. They didn't care that Mike took pictures of them for a half hour either. It was the highlight of our night seeing as we've only seen these types of frogs in magazines or on TV...

Day 43: Rain drops keep dumping on our heads

2010-10-29T12:46:00.002-04:00

The rain wouldn’t stop. Instead, it just got stronger. I woke up, what felt like, every twenty minutes from the racket. I couldn’t hear anything else; no birds, no frogs, no people, no music, no singing, no yelling, no engines, nothing…just rain. It sounded like our room was filled with people applauding around our bed, right next to our ears. That combined with my dream that our bed was filled with bugs (not the first bug dream I’ve had here), gave me probably the worst night’s sleep since we’ve been in Costa Rica. I’m contemplating stepping in the ring with Benadryl tonight so it can knock me out.

I wasn’t optimistic about it letting up and it was too heavy for our saran wrap ponchos. I really wanted to get to the internet café and post some blog entries and open my unread emails. Mike also had to return his loaner board to the surf shop in return for his own board. So we waited. And waited some more. And then, when we had already resigned to the fact that it wasn’t gonna stop and were busy battling a troop of tiny worker ants trying to takeover our bathroom, someone pushed the mute button. We looked out the window and made a run for it.

Walking through the lake that surrounded our pool and flowed into our driveway was not fun. I worried about stepping on things like the bloated dead frog that was floating in a puddle last week. Or a live snake. Or worms and lizards. Or Mickey’s poop. I’m determined to find a pair of galoshes this weekend. Or maybe those rubber fisherman pants that go up to your waist with suspenders.

We thought someone had shut it off but really, it was just intermission and the progression began again - the opening act before the real concert. We made it to the internet café and stayed dry in there for a few hours before heading back through a steady stream. Since the surf shop was closed (probably due to the rain, who surfs in this?) Mike had his surfboard as protection from the drops and the return of The Puppy. He was 50 yards away, sitting in the dirt road staring at us with his tail wagging. We stopped and stared back (cue old Western music). Mike and I grabbed our sticks and boldly warned him to stay away (which sounded as mean as baby talk with a lot of “good puppy” thrown in). And then the jumping and nibbling began.

The sticks distracted him a little but he was more interested in Mike’s zipper, which was worth standing in the rain a few seconds longer to grab that pic. Eventually, the only thing that stopped him from following us was Mike’s surfboard, acting as a wall between him and his crotch. As we walked away, he stood in the middle of the road, getting rained on, looking defeated. Poor puppy…he’s just a little crazy (and we’re used to that with Marley…awww Marley…we miss him soooo much).

We waded through the lake back to our front door and as I sit and write this, we’re still being dumped on. Quoting Mike a few minutes ago, “I haven’t seen this much rain before at one time in my life.” We’re really hoping this isn’t the beginning of the rainy season and Matt’s month long visit gets rained out. So get it out clouds, as much as you can before he gets here in a few days. Even though we really need to go grocery shopping. We’re in desperate need of very important things like toilet paper and dark chocolate.

What happened to the blog?

2010-10-28T16:26:00.002-04:00

You'll notice the blog looks a little different. I've upgraded the version I was using and had to change the layout. Hope you don't mind! I'll be adding instant reactions (so you don't have to type out comments if you don't want...but I heart them so please feel free to continue) and widgets. By the time this trip is done, I'm hoping to be a blogging pro.

Day 42: A decade of love and days of rain

2010-10-28T15:18:00.004-04:00

Since there’s plenty of time and daylight every morning to stay in bed and read, Mike finished his third book of our trip this morning. As he was walking out of the room, I remarked that I hadn’t seen him read this much in the 10 years we’ve been together. Which reminded me, today officially marks the 10th year that we’ve been in each other’s lives. So we’ve had a few intermissions here and there along the journey. Even though we may have left each other’s sides, we never really left each other’s lives. And here we are now; two years married and 10 years in love. Pardon my sappiness but it’s a milestone. Mike walked back over to the bed, shook my hand and congratulated me.

Our banana count has been drastically reduced as the birds have shredded the ones that were ripening on our doorstep and the ants have been feasting on them as well. We are now down to half of our collection which is ripening faster than we can eat them so I don’t mind sharing anyways. Plus, it’s brought some of my favorite birds out for us to watch. The Lonely Planet guide highlights bird watching among the top things to do in Costa Rica but I personally have no interest in standing around waiting for birds to land. Even though I’m no fanatic, I can’t help but notice that there are some unique birds around here. My favorites are the really simple highlighter streaked birds. They’re small, entirely black birds with the exception of their bright fluorescent orange backs, like little construction vests. We’ve tried to get pics of them for the past few weeks but they have the advantage of flight. So the bananas have really helped bait ‘em into a photoshoot.

It’s been a few days longer than normal for our internet fill. We’ve been held hostage in our house by sheets of rain. I’m thinking it’s my fault again. I spoke to my parents a few nights ago and explained that the weather had been holding up uncharacteristically well since we were told October was filled with endless rainy days. Ever since that conversation, we haven’t seen the sun. It’s not terrible. But it does come with some suffocating humidity that my body is not equipped to handle. It takes Mike at least ten minutes of a workout to sweat the same amount as I do when I wash the dishes. I actually choose to take a cold shower most days.

Mother Nature is just doing her job in preparation for the dry season. With each day of rain, the greens get greener. The gloominess that accompanies rain even seems to be tinted shades of green instead of gray. Even though I miss the familiarity of home and family and friends, I know I will miss how alive the scenery is here when we land in Connecticut mid-December. The green canvas will be erased and turned white…maybe…most definitely gray, I’m sure.

Day 41: Snots in our noses and on TV

2010-10-28T15:11:00.005-04:00

Mike’s recent three day cold has proven that colds aren’t caused by cold weather. He’d randomly snort through whichever nostril would allow air passage, violently sneeze at least four times an hour and blew his nose like a foghorn. Fortunately, I was able to defend my immune system against his germs but even if I did catch it, I probably wouldn’t know. On a daily basis since we’ve been here, I sniffle just as much, sneeze twice as much, and have the added pleasure of itchiness in my throat and ears. I packed my allergies in the carry-on and forgot the Claritin at home.

I’ve learned how to scratch the back of my throat with my tongue without swallowing it even though it looks like I'm choking on a giant gobstopper. But my itchy ear canals require real technique. I take my pointer finger, bend it at the first knuckle, put the knuckle on the outside of my ear cartilage, push it closed and vigorously shake my fist up and down. The faster and quicker I do it, the more relief and the more I look like a dog but I don’t care. It’s very satisfying (and also highly NOT recommended by any doctors who’ve seen the inside of my ears). I don’t particularly know why, but it’s getting so bad that the urge to itch is at all hours of the night or morning: 11pm, 2am, 4:30am. While I wake up itching and scratching, Mike wakes up to what he thinks are repeated earthquakes. Only a few more days until my Claritin and allergies reunite. I may have to bypass hellos and hugs and pickpocket Matt’s luggage immediately.

Speaking of snots, the highlight of our week was watching Jersey Shore. Our TV guide channel (the kind that scrolls at the bottom of the screen so you have to wait ten minutes if you blink and miss the channel you were waiting for) is a pathological liar and has told us on numerous occasions that shows we’d like to watch are on at certain times. Since our remote is inoperable and looks like Mickey was allowed to use it as a chew toy, we have to sit at the TV and hold the button while it slowly flips through each channel. If you want to go from channel 4 to channel 84, be prepared for your finger to cramp.

Side note: I just thought this was funny and I’d share. The translations for some movies don’t really match up with the real movie title. The most uncreative translation so far is Cameron Diaz’s tearjerker, My Sister’s Keeper. The Costa Rican title? A Very Difficult Decision. Fitting, I guess.

So, the guide told me that from 5:30pm to 8pm, the Jersey Shore was on. I was psyched. It’s been almost two months since I’ve seen my last episode of the Shore and while I’ve been dealing with plenty of my own situations, I’ve still missed my Vinny and Snooki. My excitement faded after patiently holding the button from channel 13 to channel 55 when I saw South Park’s Cartman speaking fluent Spanish (although that was amusing). Damn it TV Guide! You tricked me again!

It was later, while flipping through the channels that I was never so happy to see Angelina’s ratty face and J-wow’s boobies floating in the hot tub. I’m not sure if episodes are behind here but it seemed like we picked up right where we left off. Then again, the Jersey Shore plot is as shallow as its characters and even though we missed a bunch, I’m thinking we probably didn’t miss much.

Day 40: Our plethora of alarm clocks

2010-10-28T14:49:00.005-04:00

I’ve set the alarm on my phone once since we’ve been here. It was back at the old place when we had to catch an early bus and needed to walk five miles to get there. We both woke up before the alarm and I never set one again since we have more natural alarm clocks than we can handle.

I know I mentioned that the people here appear to get up early to make the most of their short time with the sun. Did I also mention that they have no interest in keeping their daylight activities private?

We woke up at 5:40am this morning to our neighbor’s bass-heavy music. I understand that his house is going to someday be renovated as a bar/restaurant (when we aren’t living here anymore) but for now, I’d prefer it didn’t sound like one before 8am. Then we have the singing lessons from a seven year old that sounds like she’s had a few too many on karaoke night and is filled with liquid courage. She belts it into a very unnecessary microphone for us all to hear (normally between 6am and 7am). I don’t applaud when she’s done. And when our pool guy does decide to show up, he gets here early and begins mixing concrete, dumping boulders in his wheelbarrow, shoveling and packing soil – none of which are quiet and are steps from our windows. And the people that have to work alway seems late as they gun their dirtbikes and ATVs down the road sending swarms of bees into my eardrums. One of my favorites though is when we hear Treasure Hunter Ray (who sounds like a slowed down version of Billy Bob Thornton) yell at his dog after he finds a grinder-sized dump outside his door. He says the same thing every time, “Mickey…you a$$hole...”

And if it isn’t the people that are encouraging us to rise and shine, it’s the animals. The bullfrogs wake us up before we’re even able to really fall asleep and the birds sing their own karaoke right outside our window (repeating the same chorus over and over again). Our least favorite is the little black Chihuahua with the big relentless bark between the hours of 1am and 4am and always for no less than 45 minutes without intermission. He barks at…hmmm…let’s see: people, vehicles, frogs, birds, bugs, kids, sun, rain, palm trees, grass, air. Mike loves dogs, especially little, cute ones. Mike has wished injury on this dog (and depending on the hour, threatened to do it himself)…but really, we’d just be happy with a long bout of laryngitis.

When all breathing creatures fail to wake us from our slumber, the rain takes over. Our home, as well as most around here, has a grooved tin roof angled downward that acts like a gutter system all along the top of the house. Gentle drops of water on tin can sound nice as long as they stay light. But light rain here is a base coat for the downpours that are sure to follow. And rain heavy enough to sound like hail isn’t relaxing when it’s clanging on a tin roof. It’s like some standing at the end of our bed swirling pennies in a coffee can.

So let’s just say sleep isn’t something that we’ve done a lot of on this trip, even with no reason to be awake.

Day 39: Sunday with Brady & (lots of) bananas

2010-10-25T13:59:00.003-04:00

Today wasn’t going to be the day that the bad karma from my tail torturing episode would strike. We got two treats today. 1) The Patriots game was televised on cable and we got to watch it in the comfort of our own home. 1 and a half) The Patriots won (although they didn’t act like they wanted to). 2) The banana tree in our yard dropped its first batch of green, very unripe bananas on the ground. They had always been hanging way beyond our reach in the giant tree that shades our house. Ever since we’ve moved in, they’ve looked full grown, but stayed up there green and bruise-less.

This afternoon, when we looked out the window, it was like the UPS man dropped off a package that took weeks to get to us. Mike immediately ran outside to check ‘em out. After a few trips of separating and cutting, we now have 93 bananas scattered throughout our house in various locations in and out to see where they’ll ripen the best. There’s still about 30 more left in the fallen bunch. I have a feeling we’ll be eating a lot of bananas, so feel free to send your best banana recipes along.

I guess it’s the least Costa Rica could do to pay us back for stealing from us yesterday. After reading several Costa Rican travel books and websites, I left my wedding rings home. It was recommended to not wear any jewelry that would draw attention and my rings often do. And so it stayed behind with Marley for safe keeping. Since Mike’s is rather simple and diamond-free, we didn’t find it necessary to leave it home. We were wrong. While I was worried about pickpocketers and tourist predators ripping us off, the ocean ripped Mike’s ring right off his finger and swallowed it up too quickly for him to fish it out.

So I’ll take the bananas as an apology, even though they aren’t quite equal to the ring…but it was a kind gesture. Thanks a bunch.

Day 38: Letter to the injured gecko

2010-10-25T13:43:00.003-04:00

Dear Lil’ Gecko,

Please accept my sincere apologies for severing your tail when I hastily shut the window last night. We were trying to watch the UFC fights and couldn’t hear well over the cicadas screeching in our ears. Let it be known, it was my husband who asked that I close the window. Since they don’t latch unless they are closed hard, I put some muscle behind the slide. It wasn’t until you shot out the side and onto our wall that I saw you. And it wasn’t until I looked a little closer that I realized you didn’t have a tail anymore. We found it in the window sill, and I’m glad to report it looked like it still had some life left in it since it was at attention, gyrating back and forth…still working, even with the rest of you three feet away.

I’m thinking that you were just in shock from the unexpected amputation and that’s why you couldn’t hang on to the wall anymore and fell on the floor. I also assume you just needed to relax a little bit and compose yourself while you laid on your back. I hope you don’t mind that my husband brought you back outside in the dustpan; we thought it’d be best so you weren’t separated from your family and friends. Neither of us wanted to interrupt the dance your tail was still doing so we left it there.

Seeing as you weren’t on our step this morning and your tail was no longer on our sill, I’m pretty sure you collected yourself (no pun intended), relocated your tail and headed immediately to your doctor to get it reattached. My husband thinks otherwise.

Just so you know, my reptile phobia doesn’t really include your kind. I think you and your friends are cute when you hang around on the outside of our windows kind of like gecko shaped Sticky Hands. I would never intentionally do anything to harm you. So please, accept my sincere apology and don’t be afraid to visit again. Might want to steer clear of the window sills next time though.

Also, I’ve vowed to never shut the windows here again so as to avoid any further mishaps. I wish you a full and speedy recovery.

Sincerely,
Nicole

Some surf shots

2010-10-23T15:29:00.008-04:00

He's getting better. A different board may have helped but either way, he's standing on it and even steering sometimes. Not without some growing pains though. His nipples are tender and won't relax, he lost one small stomach mole and another is growing a blister. But he surfs on.

Day 37: Battle of the beard

2010-10-23T15:25:00.004-04:00

So over the past couple of weeks, Mike and I have discussed his beard on numerous occasions. Not because it’s a pressing issue, but most of the time it invites itself into our conversation by either getting in the way of a kiss or getting some kind of food stuck in it. It’s been over two months since it’s seen a blade (with the exception of the scissors he used to trim his moustache since it was curling over his top lip). I’m encouraging a shave and even offered one of my unused, just as expensive, razor blades with built in moisture pads for the deed. He’s declined.

Now if we were home, Mike would rock the beard for winter, and I support anything that’s intended to keep him warm. But here, in the humidity, sun and heat, there’s no need for his chin to be wearing a sweater. I’m so anti it now, that when he gets food stuck in it, I don’t tell him. (He gets mad if he has food in his teeth and I don’t tell him so I figure this might be worse…at least your teeth can hide). I also find his constant stroking of his beard excessive and for some reason the noise it makes (like twisting a brillo pad) slightly irritates me if it’s silent. All I have to do is imagine a cartoon thought bubble above his head and make him look up and it would be as if he’s pondering some deep concepts, like “to shave or not to shave.”

Unfortunately, as we listed the pros and cons of having a beard, Mike can think of more pros than my cons. He claims it works well as sun protection, it saves money on razors, it stops crumbs from hitting the floor, he doesn't have to buy a halloween costume since he can be Alan from the Hangover, and it’s fun to play with. Plus if he shaved it now, he’d look like he was wearing a surgical mask while tanning. My argument is less creative. Getting close is itchy for me and with the curly afro on his head combined with all the wiry hair below his nose, his handsome face is being consumed by a helmet of hair. And it’s not fair to his sideburns that they have no place to call home anymore… alright…that one might be pushing it.

There is a chance that they may be parting ways though as I found out he’s requested Matt bring a beard trimmer. Hmmmm. Could I be so lucky? If not, I hope I don’t have an accident when he’s deep in sleep one night…

So what do you think? Beard or no beard? We’re taking a poll and Mike has promised that this will decide the fate of his beard. You have 8 days to let us know what you think…we’ll be checking in on the comments. I promise I won’t delete any.

Day 36: Neighborhood predators on the loose

2010-10-23T15:16:00.004-04:00

Our walk to town is visually stimulated by the Rio Baru that runs parallel to our road. When it’s a dry day the river looks like diluted Listerine (the minty kind, not the gross one). It’s often low enough to see the bottom and clear enough to see what’s swimming around. But when it rains, the water rises quickly and turns as dark and cloudy as chocolate milk. Our rental agent recommended we get tubes and use the river as a mode of transportation when the water is high and the current strong. She told us that it dumps passengers off at the beach and saves some time and energy. We’ve contemplated it since we’re already tired of our ten minute walk and wouldn’t mind an easier, quicker route. That was until we saw a crocodile sunbathing in its shallow waters on our way to town. And a larger one on our way back. They’re a safe distance from us since we have partial rainforest and a large hill between us, but they’re close enough. So we’re gonna pass on the tubing. I’d rather get to the beach than snapped by a crocodile jaw, just to save a few minutes.

Walking may not always be as safe though as we learned when a puppy came full force from a grassy field in our direction. The collar around his neck told me he wasn’t a wild dog but he was still wild at heart. He didn’t look like much of a puppy at about 40 pounds, but after gnawing on my ankle, his needle sharp teeth gave it away as well as his attention span. After using my ankle, umbrella and Mike’s shorts as chew toys, Mike was able to distract him with sticks until his owner finally called him home. We survived that one.

But the most dangerous predator of the day was a crazy lady visiting our neighbor. We had the pleasure *cough* of meeting her at the grocery store where she was pushing pear juice on us like she invented it. When we got home, we were even more pleased *double cough* to find she was visiting our neighbor, Treasure Hunter Ray. We hadn’t seen her around before but figured if she was a friend of Ray’s we’d be polite. But after she knocked on the door and visually assaulted my shirtless, sweaty husband who was working out, polite went down the tubes for me.

She had a worse attention span than the puppy that battled us home and seemed nastier than a croc. When I opened the door to her knock, she looked right past me and stared at Mike while stating, “I don’t remember you but I do remember you,” slowing down right at the appropriate moments to make her insinuation clear. Even bearded, he can still pick up the ladies…especially those older ones. Shocked by her blatant disrespect, I stood silent and looked to see if she left any drool on the step. She then asked for a potato, a lighter, what type of stuff we smoke (Mike gets that one all the time), invited herself in and Mike to party with her and sing (I did find that funny though). After realizing we’re probably a package deal, I got a follow up invitation that sounded something like a mumbled “you can if you want.” Thank you crazy lady, but we’ll pass.

That, unfortunately, was her first visit of the day. She proceeded to pace by our place a few times during the night holding conversations with Mike through the window always ending in another invite to party with her. Seeing as this house has very little curtains and very large windows, he couldn’t hide. Each time she had some other request to get him to open the door. After tallying the damage, she got a potato, a lighter, a surf magazine and two cloves. I’d say she got everything she wanted (or could think of as an excuse) but clearly, she didn’t. And I was not looking forward to two months of interruptions from this wackadoo.

Thankfully, Treasure Hunter Ray visited us this morning and unofficially apologized for the “crazy lady’s” (I’m not the only one who gave her that nickname) behavior the other night. He met her playing pool and she became “stuck to him like glue” and he “couldn’t get rid of her.” He definitely wasn't calling this discovery a treasure. He even admitted that he had to tread lightly because he wasn’t sure if she would slash his tires if he told her to leave. See? I wasn’t being a jealous wife…she was definitely a crazy {expletive}. Glad to know she’s not a part of our neighborhood and I won’t have to put the smack down anytime soon. And while I’m sure Mike was flattered, I think he feels safer with her gone too…at least now he can sit in the living room in peace and not worry about being attacked by the neighborhood’s wackiest predator.

For the avid readers...

2010-10-21T17:08:00.002-04:00

I recently found out that the average number of words per page of a typical novel is 250. For this blog, I’ve written almost 23,000 words. For those of you who have been loyal readers, you probably haven’t realized that you’ve read approximately 91 pages of a book.

I wasn’t expecting my entries to be so lengthy but I guess I have a lot to share. I came here to write a book. Apparently, I’ve been writing two…

Day 35: And the surfing begins...

2010-10-21T16:28:00.004-04:00

It didn’t take a professional surfer to know that the waves at our personal beach in Parrita were not beginner friendly. Giant clouds of water thrashed around from either direction sandwiching whatever happened to be stuck in their meeting place. There were very few moments of calm ocean to adequately prepare yourself to catch anything other than your breath. So Mike waited for Dominical to begin his surfing adventures.

Yesterday was Christmas all over again as he proudly walked up the driveway with his first surfboard in tow. It’s a used, not too beaten up, black and off-white “Wave Magnet” with a silhouette of North Carolina’s famous Cape Hatteras Lighthouse on it. It’s not as wide as he had hoped but it could work with some extra practice. And fortunately, he has the time and resources for that.

Instead of being a normal October rainy season day, today was a perfect beach day. I accompanied Mike to the ocean since it had been over a week and my tan was a few shades lighter than it could be. I also became his personal photographer, capturing shots of him heading to the waves, waiting for the waves, crashing into the waves, squatting on his board, falling off his board and one time, standing on his board. He did actually stand more than once, but I was either too slow, couldn’t see him in the camera screen or scooping sunscreen and sweat out of my stinging eyes. He was determined though and surfed the front lines while monster waves were crashing behind him. Costa Rica’s waves may not be the best for someone who’s a novice at any kind of water sports, or water in general. Hence the reason I’m content laying on the beach tanning and reading rather than be tossed around in a giant spin cycle.

My sixth book of our trip is The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger and glad to say I’m enjoying it after tolerating Holy Cow by Sarah MacDonald and I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell by Tucker Max. In my personal opinion (which is contrary to many seeing as both are bestsellers), while they both have their moments, Max’s is equivalent to sitting with a cocky frat boy trying to one up you with his college reminiscence and MacDonald’s is loaded with lengthy descriptions and overindulgent thesaurus use. Both of which annoyed me. And while the two books are on opposite ends of the literary spectrum, at least they taught me the same thing - how I don’t want to write. (I may want to take into consideration the bestseller thing though…)

After a couple of hours of playing tag with the waves, Mike was tired. Surfing, from what I’ve heard and imagine, is a workout. I refuse to try again after a failed attempt in Hawaii years ago. The only thing I was good at was bear hugging the board even while it was upside down and underwater. I was under the impression that I was way out in areas of the ocean I had never been and envisioned sea creatures lurking near, so I refused to let go of the board and clung for dear life. I didn’t realize that Hawaii’s waters are an illusion and you can walk out for a mile before stretching your neck to avoid gulps of saltwater. I didn’t realize that the board and I were wrestling around in water that only came up to my armpits and that it would take more work to drown than to just walk back to shore. When I realized the board wasn’t going to flip me back right side up, I gave a big kick to get me to the surface quick and ended up punting a jagged coral reef. I also didn’t realize that one of its daggers sliced my big toe open until the Lifeguard whistled and waved me in. I guess bleeding in the ocean is against the rules. And that was the injury that ended my highly anticipated surfing career.

Glad to say Mike had a much happier ending and while his board has yet to live up to it's Wave Magnet nickname, he was able to catch quite a few waves and get enough moments of success to keep him paddling back for more. This ocean is steep competition but he held his own. And I’m sure the more they meet, the nicer they’ll be to each other…

Day 34: Another countdown begins...

2010-10-21T16:23:00.003-04:00

I enjoy the anticipation of a countdown so I’ve started another one. Matt’s arrival. For those that don’t know, Matt is Mike’s younger brother who currently lives in Georgia. About two years ago, he asked if he could tag along on our travel adventures. He has the desire to see and experience as many places as he can and it doesn’t hurt having some family members to do it with (especially really cool ones).

We’ve already spent New Year’s Eve 2009 in Miami, a summer weekend in Charleston, SC and most recently Easter week in Oahu (with a day trip to Maui). Once he heard our travels were headed internationally again, he didn’t hesitate to get a passport and a plane ticket. I have no clue how he did it but he also managed to get one month off. And so begins countdown #2. 11 days and we’re headed to San Jose to pick him up from the airport before he gets attacked by taxi drivers (aka anyone with a car).

We haven’t really put together our plan but we’ll be renting a car for the trip to San Jose and keeping it for about a week while we explore an area we have yet to see. Mike and I don’t really remember the airport or surrounding area. We were too busy taking it all in without absorbing any of it. San Jose sounds like a classic city with traffic congestion, overcrowded streets, tall buildings, modern shops and overpriced restaurants. I’m interested in what “modern” will look like though. We are in a place that puts zero value on fashion or pop culture so that’ll be interesting (the only noticeable trend that I’ve seen carried over are the Sillybandz decorating kids’ wrists). From there we plan on hitting up some popular hiking spots, the Caribbean side of the country, volcanoes and hot springs.

After reading about our old town of Parrita and house filled with creatures, he’s appreciative that we’ve paved his path. Here he’ll have his own bedroom, with a private balcony and hammock with his name on it (which currently acts as a drying area for our laundry). I’d like to say he’ll have a pool for the last few weeks of his visit but since the pool boy appears to work about ten minutes every day, we haven’t seen any progress. I highly doubt we’ll even be able to jump in before we leave mid December. But I have a feeling he’ll have a great time anyways.

We’re looking forward to his arrival. And the Claritin and book light he’s bringing me.

Day 33: Local flavor at home

2010-10-19T13:50:00.008-04:00

If I can, I’d like to give myself a pat on the back for embracing the flavors of Costa Rica and doing my best to replicate them. Granted, I’ve relied most on the internet for Costa Rican recipes but I’ve recreated them in our kitchen and they taste pretty close to the local dishes we’ve sampled. Gallo pinto is the staple of CR meals, breakfast in particular. And with the help of two tricks, Salsa Lizano and lots of cilantro, I’ve got it down.

My favorite recipe though is platanos maduros. These are ripe plantains (think very large black bananas) cut into wedges and fried in vegetable oil until they brown on all sides. They taste as though they’ve been coated in honey and sugar, but they haven’t. From what I’ve read, the magic happens as they ripen and cook. The darker the banana, the sweeter the dish. Apparently, the ripening creates more sugar in the plantain and longer you let it cook, the tastier it becomes. Our recent purchase of ice cream was to compliment the platanos maduros to make our own Costa Rican version of bananas foster. It’s a treat.

My next attempt will be ceviche which is really more a matter of proper timing and ingredients than culinary skill. For those that aren’t familiar with it, ceviche is a marinade of raw fish “cooked” for several hours by sitting in a blend of citric acids (lemon, orange and lime juice). Add a little onion, pepper and avocado and you’ve got a delicious appetizer (as long as you’re a fan of citric marinade, which I am). You’d have no clue the fish you’re eating hasn’t touched a heated pan.

There’s plenty more local dishes we have yet to try. Nachos and tortillas and flautas seem to dominate menus to fill tourist tummies. Don’t get me wrong, we enjoy fajitas too…but we’ve quickly realized the best food comes from the cooks that look like moms serving you overloaded homemade dishes that cost no more than $3. Might be the reason why I have yet to shed the extra pounds gained from working at a culinary institute for three years…even with all the walking. Eh…it’s worth it. We’re on vacation right? We’re allowed to indulge.

Day 32: Bad futbol, good beer and a treasure hunter.

2010-10-19T13:26:00.004-04:00

Another trend that seems to surpass cultural boundaries is the combination of football and beer. We realized that our tiny cable TV has lots of English channels and while most of the time it’s locked on HBO, we’ve found out that Fox Sports televises NFL football games. Even though we have four ESPNs, they are all dedicated to Central American’s futbol and Tom Brady wasn’t going to be a highlight. Knowing that Tom was somewhere to be found, we headed to town to see if the local NFL bar we saw was where we’d find him.

Unfortunately, they opted for Rothlesberger and that wasn’t enough to get our business. If we returned home, we’d get Drew Brees and we preferred that. But rather than make our trip wasteful, we headed to a new local restaurant/bar, San Clemente, to do our regular internet routine while curing some hunger pangs. A few fajitas, fried plantains and Imperials later, we headed home. We stopped along the way to watch a local futbol game (guess we got to see futbol one way or another) and cheered on the Dominical team that appeared to be the underdogs. Kids and wives walked back from the snack stand to their truck tire seats with handfuls of fried chicken and fruit juice. Male fans took a break from the action to grab beers from the bar across from the field.

We also decided to visit the employee that sold us our free glasses and told us to come back mas tarde. He recognized us, but apparently still hadn’t figured out whatever it was we were supposed to come back for. One employee told us to wait “un momento” but left us standing around for way more than “un.” When we finally found him sitting at a picnic table finishing his breakfast, we bought some ice cream and left. He made mention of the glasses with the same confusion we first encountered so we have no clue if we owe him money or if he owes us money. I don’t really care. I’ve got the glasses and I ain’t giving them back no matter how many untranslatable conversations we have.

We headed back to watch American football in our home, on our cushions. Our only option was probably the worst game of the day according to the scrolling scores at the bottom of the screen so we suffered through the Raiders vs. 49ers and even wagered on it to make it as interesting a game could be with more penalty flags than plays. I lost since the Raiders failed to make any more plays after their first quarter lead.

Our neighbor and his giant Rottweiler came home mid game and we decided to introduce ourselves. His name is Ray (his dog is 100+ pound Mickey who’s as gentle as a poodle) and he’s a retired treasure hunter (this was exciting for me cause I didn't realize they actually exist outside of Paul Walkler and Matthew McConaughey movies). Originally from Texas, he moved to the Florida Keys as a commercial fisherman before he met Mel Fisher, a now deceased famous treasure master that monopolized Florida’s coast. According to him, if you found a ship, you had to ask Mel before you could explore it. He even shared with us his first find, a 1622 coin that weighed as much as an expensive watch. He informed us that this famous Mr. Fisher had fished out more than 400 million dollars worth of treasure, fought over 300 court cases to claim his findings, and was awarded his discoveries plus the rights to all ships in the Florida sea, found and unfound. He’s a legend. I intend to Google him at the next internet visit ‘cause he could have made that all up and we wouldn’t know. It was a cool story though.

The day ended nicely as we flipped through the channels and ESPN decided Brady was worth it’s time. We got a glimpse of the Patriot’s victory and Tom’s luscious locks during a highlight reel. So in the end, I still won…regardless of how bad the Raiders are.

Day 31: Uninvited houseguest #2

2010-10-17T14:33:00.002-04:00

Our house doesn’t make us feel like we’ve gone as far back in time as our other house, but our coffee maker does. We no longer have a broken coffee pot but the traditional Tico coffee pot; a cotton sock with a wire at the top that rests on a stand. You put your coffee grinds in the bottom of the sock, boil water, and dump it in the sock with your cup sitting underneath it. It’s like the Keurig of 1892. While we were spending a peaceful, relaxing morning reading our new books and sipping our café con leche, I caught a glimpse of blackness in the corner of the ceiling hanging from one of the wooden rafters.

Me: Mike, what’s that?
Mike: (Hesitating to tell me what I already know.) That…looks like a bat.
Me: (Laughter. Not the this-is-funny kind. More like the I’m-gonna-flip-out-soon kind.)
Mike: (Walking upstairs.) Guess I’ll get the camera…

Mike chose to not piss off the bat by waking him from his peaceful slumber and let him stay hanging 10 feet from our heads for a few hours (well it only stayed that close to my head for a few minutes, I moved to the other side of the room very quickly after acknowledging it’s presence). I personally thought the element of surprise would have made it easier to guide the bat to the door but it didn’t matter, I most certainly wasn’t going to be the one doing it…nor would I be in the same room or floor for that matter. I had images of Tommy Boy’s Chris Farley and David Spade running into each other and could clearly see the bat nesting in my hair while Mike threw a blanket over my head to catch it. I contemplated leaving the house for this one.

He finally decided it was time and equipped himself with a hat, a broom and an umbrella. I requested that he video tape the event since I wasn’t going to be able to watch it. Plus, I was hoping for some good footage for my favorite TV show, America’s Funniest Home Videos. I locked myself in a bedroom upstairs with all the other doors shut so it would be contained in the event it decided to fly around.

Mike and I communicated by yelling at each other through the wood floors so he could keep me posted on the evacuation. “I’m touching it.” “It’s not moving.” “I think it’s scared.” “It’s moving a little.” “It just backed up.” “Now it’s in the corner.” I had cracked the door to hear him better until I heard “he’s flying” followed by, “it’s on my flip flop.” I came out of hiding only when the flip flop was relocated to the outside of the house and I could safety look at the little guy through the window. He wasn’t so terrible looking – just a tiny black mouse with webbed wings. He stayed on Mike’s sandal for a while, scared while posing for his photo shoot. I don’t know if he didn’t like paparazzi or didn’t like being relocated, but he decided to give Mike a piece of his mind and peed on his flip flop before flying off.

At least at our other house, Raid did a good job at taking care of most of our creatures, with the exception of the crabs (although that may have worked it probably would’ve been really mean and resulted in angry blind crabs seeking vengeance). There’s no canned weapon we’ve found that gets rid of frogs and bats.

So I guess my worries about a boring blog were unnecessary. Really though, I don’t need the creatures to give me material…I’d rather do it on my own, but I send my thanks to them all (and I’m sure you do too) for stopping by.

Day 30: Good morning Dominical

2010-10-17T14:18:00.003-04:00

Since our bedroom is surrounded by huge windows and very little curtains, we woke up before 7am. Mind you, I didn’t wake up that early when I actually worked but here it seems normal for most people to be up early to get the most of a day that ends prematurely year round. Even our seven year old neighbor was up practicing her singing lessons on a karaoke machine set at Loud.

Most of today consisted of settling in. I emptied the jetted tub of the moths, washed all of the dishes so I knew they were clean, did our second load of laundry (loving the washing machine) and swept a layer of dust from every room. After all that, we decided to take a walk into town to get some fresh produce from the local farmers and a few home essentials (like a corkscrew since I got a bottle of wine to celebrate both our one month milestone and our new home). Finding household items here is kind of like a scavenger hunt. Even what’s considered Walmart here isn’t really equivalent to a Walmart. After five stores, we finally found one with a garbage can (the second essential behind the corkscrew).

Since we have only coffee mugs, we decided to splurge and purchase a set of three real glasses that were still in the package but looked like they sat in a thrift store for two years. There was no price but we figured they couldn’t be much and after an extended conversation with the grocery store employee we still didn’t have a clue. All we knew was that he told us to come back "mas tarde" and gave us the glasses anyways. My favorite part of the conversation was that the clichéd “No price? Must be free” joke had transcended the language and cultural boundary. When he couldn’t find a price, he shrugged his shoulders, smiled and said “Gratis” and laughed. Guess that joke survives in more than one country.

It’s still taking me a bit to get used to the height of the stove and counter since I feel like I’m prepping meals at a bar. I stand on my tiptoes often while cooking and have contemplated wearing the highest wedge heels I brought. Might as well get some use out of them since wearing them out is not an option – I’d be walking myself straight to an emergency room with these roads. Mike, on the other hand, thinks the counter is the perfect height and this is how they should all be made.

After a couple of hours, we decided to head to town again to get our internet fill. We were told this home came with internet, but really, it comes with a communal house next door (our landlord hopes to eventually develop a small resort of 5 houses and a bar/restaurant) that has a computer with old school internet access, not WIFI, that we are welcome to use whenever we want. That’s not the internet we were interested in or expecting. So we’re back to hanging out in cafes, except our preferred internet supplier in this town is a reggae bar that only charges the cost of a beer. Our thirst (or indulgence) will determine how expensive it is. Since I knew I had my celebratory wine chilling at home, I decided to pass on the Imperials and get a Strawberry Pineapple smoothie for some nutritional value.

We were hoping the rain would let up in time for our walk home, but when it decides to rain here, it stays committed. As we walked home by the light of two street lamps, flashes of lightning and car headlights, I laughed. We would never be doing this at home - never dodging puddles on a dark rocky road in plastic ponchos that stink of sweat during a downpour. Funny that this is what we’ve chosen to do on our vacation in paradise…

Day 29: Adios Parrita. Hola Dominical. And our new houseguest.

2010-10-15T18:44:00.007-04:00

I woke up this morning to the mosquito net falling on my face and the sheets being tugged out from underneath me. Mike had loaded up the car, strapped the bikes to the roof rack and was ready to go. The only thing still in the house was our bedding, our netting and me. It was 6:13am.

After a brief run-in with a small frog that decided to hitch a ride with us to Dominical, we proudly unlocked the door of our new home. I have to admit that I wasn’t really impressed with the landlord’s final product. After meeting him and the place last week, we were under the assumption he was cleaning, touching up some wear and tear from the previous tenant, and adding more furniture. From what we could tell, the only part that was accomplished was a bookshelf with a computer monitor sized TV in it. The rest looked exactly the same; the sardines, among other stickiness in the fridge, the garbage bags in most of the rooms, and the decorative lamps that only do half their job (and not the important half). I could handle all of that though…with no other plans, I had the time to clean up someone else’s mess. But I was not thrilled at all that he left a giant bull frog sitting behind the toilet (I know, probably not as intentional as the leftovers).

Seeing as I already freaked out over one frog that was small enough to be mistaken for a piece of mulch until I saw it had eyeballs, Mike was skeptical about this monster of a frog I screamed about. That was until he saw it…then it became camera-worthy, which means you know it must have been big. So big, in fact, he wouldn’t use his hands to pick it up and opted for a broom to push its stubborn hissing butt hop by hop out of the house. I can’t describe much about the 15 minutes it took to get him out since I had to be far from the evacuation. Frogs freak me out. I’m starting to realize now that crabs aren’t so bad. Mike later admitted that he was sure a frog was somewhere in the house because he had noticed a stream of pee and poop on the bathroom floor. At least it had the decency to do it in the right room. (Little did he know Mr. Frog was sitting directly behind him while he was leaving his own stream in the toilet.)

We headed back to our old place to meet our landlord one last time and say goodbye to new friends. We pulled in to a shirtless Ed whose belly looked smaller when it was hidden and whose buttcrack we wished was still hiding. The inspection went fine and we were only thrown off by one question, “did you use the hot water?” What? Apparently, during our initial culture shock, we weren’t paying close attention when he told us on how to turn the hot water on. Our bad.

Before climbing back into the rental car, Ryan made his way over to say goodbye, but only after showing off his crackhouse cabina. He keyed into a cement cell painted blue furnished with one bunk bed, one full size bed, a nightstand, and a bunny-eared antenna TV. As to how three people could share that room was beyond me, seeing as the three of us could barely share it for three minutes without awkwardly standing between the beds trying to avoid personal bubbles. We were all most impressed by his sheets though, especially the one that clearly doubled as a great-grandmother’s tablecloth, which according to Ryan, was the most comfortable one he had. Following more good lucks, we left him to decide if he’d be calling the Crab Shack his home and headed to Clint’s to remind him that there’s an open invitation to visit us whenever he desired an escape from Parrita. Then to return the car.

Our bus ride back was an hour and a half but not to worry, this time we weren’t trying to beat the sun because our walk wasn’t another hour from our stop. We had heard it was only 10 minutes, and sure enough, 10 it was. Practically like walking up a long driveway.

The only other complaint I have about the place is the nightly noises. I never knew frogs had such a variety of sounds, but our bedroom has front row acoustics of their symphony. And they don’t need a microphone. I guess we can’t be greedy, we’ve still upgraded. Rather than waves singing us to sleep, we now have a chorus of croaks…

Day 28: Resurrection of the Rental Car

2010-10-15T18:39:00.003-04:00

Today, the people of Parrita were the kindest to us. Where Clint dropped us off at the bus stop, local Tico Freddy, brought us the rest of the way to the bus station, saving us a few colones. From there, we got to Quepos and picked up our rental car for the big move.

I’ve been averaging a book a week since we arrived and seeing as we’ve been here four weeks and I only brought four books, I’d say I’m in desperate need of more. Any book about how to be a better writer begins by insisting that you do only two things: read and write. One recommendation went so far as to encourage wanna-be writers to read ten times more than write. So I did some research and found out that there’s a used book store in Jaco, about half hour from our town. We took advantage of the freedom of our own wheels again and Books N Stuff was first on our agenda. I expected it to either be closed for the day or not exist (the one we heard of in Quepos was shutdown), but the universe apparently wants me to read as much I can - the store was open, empty of people and full of books. I was disappointed at first because the books looked no younger than me. Until I happened to stumble across Breaking Dawn and New Moon and realized that these relatively new books just looked really old - jacketless, binding broken, and stained pages. I realized these weren’t aged, they were just well travelled. They’ve probably laid on more beaches, flown on more planes and been carted around more countries than I have. If I were a book, I’d probably look worse than them after the month I've had. But I kept their journey going and walked out with 8 books for less than $40. Even Amazon can’t beat that.

Within two minutes of pulling in the driveway, we got a knock on our door. Expecting it to be Clint saying goodbye, we opened it up and didn’t recognize who was looking back at us. It was Ryan, a New Yorker who landed in Costa Rica a day before us and was thinking about renting our place for a few months. He travelled 8 hours by bus and ferry to meet our landlord tomorrow when he checks us out. As a smart renter, he wanted more than just pictures and prices…he wanted real opinions and honest answers about the property from people who would know best having lived in it. I have a feeling he also wanted to get the heck out of his cabina since his description included several references to crackheads and prostitutes.

We found ourselves telling him that the place was great. We weren’t lying either, we had no reason to. The place is nice and very clean (bugs don’t count when discussing cleanliness here…it’s like complaining about pollen in springtime…everyone knows about it and deals with it). We were honest; there’s cucarachas (he nodded as if he already knew that), there’s crabs (little more reaction to that one but apparently that’s also normal being so close to the beach), there’s no hot water (shrug of the shoulders), and it’s a hell of a walk to anywhere that’s somewhere (we were all in agreement – that really sucked). But the beach…the beach is awesome. You didn’t have to live here to see that.

Ryan was conflicted since he wanted to rent it but only if the house was able to help him profit from a self-run, modest and very private yoga/surf retreat. He wasn’t sure if it would work but he had the ambition to try which was admirable, if only his funds could match. In the short period of time he spent complimenting Mike’s photographs and sharing travel experiences, we realized we had a lot in common. He had dealt with the same issues we had since landing here; ashamedly admitting to missing media and entertainment, finding ourselves looking for a way to be connected to something and finding no routine even more distracting than a monotonous one. Our conversation flowed as if we had known him for weeks but we finally ran out of things to say after a couple of hours, gave him our contact information and wished him luck, in life and in his cabina.

And then we packed for our easiest move yet. Suitcases refilled and grocery bags loaded. We are ready to roll.

Day 27: Parrita's Revenge

2010-10-15T18:26:00.007-04:00

We had another day that was lounge around worthy but we decided to give our skin a rest after it started to uncover some red tones. I was also peeling from the first time we laid out about a week or so ago. Figured I should let my new skin at least grow back before dying it again.

Maybe Parrita was ticked off that we weren’t taking advantage of yet another lovely day. Or maybe it was because we’ve taken advantage of quite a few lovely days and still aren’t staying. Either way, tonight it decided to give us a big "Up Yours" and shut the power out on us for what we hope is the last time (one more night to go though). Just after sunset we heard the thunder rolling in and could see the shutter of lightning flashes. Since the power seems to go out if someone sneezes too hard, we knew what was coming. So we prepped the flashlight, candles and lighter and within three minutes, we were in the dark.

Since the laptop was fully charged and still stocked with some downloads, we watched an episode of an HBO program that is quickly becoming one of our favorites, Bored to Death (the irony, huh?). A half hour later ate dinner; a buffet of granola bars, plantain chips, nachos and salsa. We followed that up with a game of Rummy and bet on when the power would resume. My guess, 10pm, Mike’s guess, 10am. Fortunately we were both wrong when it came back on three hours later – before 9pm.

I have to admit that I’m proud of my growth here. I remember the first blackout we had like it was yesterday…oh the memories. From the second the lights went out, I had visions of horror movie scenes and freaked myself out enough I forced Mike to drive us to wherever had power (fortunately, we had the rental car back then). We didn’t even have the chance to get to the main road before the power came back. And now, here I was, sitting worriless playing games by candlelight with high hopes and low expectations that the power would resume. Culture shock is a very compelling force. Everything seems to be exaggerated, especially the negative emotions; fear, confusion, unfamiliarity. I’m glad I’m over that phase. The culture doesn’t really shock me anymore, it just slaps me around every now and then.

Day 26: We're still leaving, no matter how hard you try.

2010-10-13T13:05:00.004-04:00

Ever since we’ve put down our deposit on our new place, it’s as if Parrita is doing its best to change our minds with beautiful weather, awesome sunsets, and empty beaches for us to enjoy all by ourselves. As long as the weather permits, we’ll take advantage of Parrita’s generosity. We’ve vowed to not walk and not ride bikes or buses anywhere until Wednesday when we pick up a rental car for our move. I know I’ve talked a good amount of crap about our current location but I can’t stress the beauty of the beach and how spoiled we are by it being a coconut’s throw from our front door. I’m doubtful this will be something we can experience on a daily basis when we return home, so forget the power outages, the earthquakes, the strange noises, the unwelcomed creatures, the endless walks and sore bike rides… we’re enjoying the beach. There’s no effort needed to do that.

There have only been about three days of the almost one month that we have lived here that we’ve actually just laid on the beach. We’ve run on the beach, we’ve taken photos of the beach and we’ve watched the sun rise and set on the beach but we haven’t treated this beach the same as we would at home by lying in the sand with a good book, some tunes and lots of sunscreen – which is what we decided to do today. We were the only ones with the exception of the crabs that were curious and courageous enough to leave their holes and tiptoe around us. I always looked at them as the intruders, but clearly, we’re in their territory. That point was clear today when Mike approached a bright orange guy a little smaller than my hand and too far from his home base to run. Not sure if he would’ve though…instead of trying to dive into the next open hole, he prepared for battle. I found it admirable that this crab that could have easily been squashed by Mike (who would never do that even if he was quick enough to catch it) stood like a statue, stared him down and then lifted his two front claws like Mr. Miyagi taught him some moves. We let him think he won and walked away to find some more sand dollars the size of my hand. I have about twenty so far and zero clue of what I’m going to do with them. But I like ‘em.

Parrita threw in the best sunset that we’ve seen yet as a last ditch effort. The clouds have always been in the way and only allowed for a red setting sun to peek out at best. Today the sky was painted pinks and light blues and tints of orange. Whichever way you looked, you saw a different pastel shade. It was enough to make us feel a little bad for making this place out to suck because it really doesn’t. It’s location for someone without wheels does. The house guests and uncomfortable furniture does. But everything else is just as amazing as the rest of the Costa Rica I’ve heard about.

Day 25: No power = breakfast and beer.

2010-10-10T13:05:00.009-04:00

Since we've pretty much coordinated all we need for our move out and move in on Thursday, we don't have any reason to hunt down internet spots so we decided against heading to Quepos for football and websurfing. That was before we went to bed.

Around midnight is when the fan in our room shut off - which meant that we were in the middle of our fifth power outage since we've been here. Most of them have lasted about 10 minutes but with each hour I woke up drenched in sweat, I realized this wasn't one of our normal ones. Not like a ceiling fan does much in 115% humidity, but at least it feels like someone's standing over us blowing sweat back in our pores. Without the fan, the sweat has no resistance. After tossing and turning and peeling hair, sheets, mosquito netting, or anything else that happened to stick to us, we gave up around 7am, still without power, to figure out what to do.

Since our refrigerator was doing its best to keep its contents cool and our stove didn't work, our breakfast options were limited. And no power meant we had limited time before our computers shutdown as well. And the clouds were definitely prepping to empty on us in a few hours too. Taking a trip to Quepos seemed like a good idea now.

After our usual two hour trip to town on an empty stomach, there wasn't a grain of rice (or eggs, or toast) left on our breakfast plates. The highlight of breakfast was when Mike received what we think was a compliment from the Costa Rican Santa Claus who walked by our table and spotted Mike's Alan-esque beard. He gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up while pointing to his own long yellowish-white beard. He then pointed to me, pretended to cut his beard with his finger scissors and vigorously shook his head NO. Mike took this as a sign that his recent contemplation to trim the beard was a bad idea. And so the catepillar on his upper lip (as he explains it) will remain.

From there, we made it to the football bar. We didn't want to be selfish and just use their wifi services, satellite TV and airconditioning without offering anything in return, so we cracked open a couple of cervezas with kickoff. Which isn't too different fom home. I'm sure plenty of people were doing the same thing...the only difference being that we're sipping on Costa Rican Imperials.

Of course, the Patriots aren't playing this week, so we'll miss them again...but someday we'll catch 'em. Maybe. And maybe our power will be back on by the time we go home. Maybe. I'm not sure which one I have more confidence in.

Want more pics?

2010-10-09T13:37:00.005-04:00

Rather than take the time to upload the photos on another site, Mike wanted to update his own and add some pics. There are about thirty of his best shots up there right now. It's still a work in progress but you should check it out...

www.athouzendwordz.com

Day 24: About the quake...

2010-10-09T12:18:00.006-04:00

First thing I did online today was see if there was any information about the quake that rocked us around last night. Looks like it was a 5.9 magnitude in the capitol of San Jose that vibrated its way to us, over 3 hours away. Check it out...

www.insidecostarica.com/dailynews/2010/
october/09/costarica10100901.htm

Day 23: POST-Earthquake (a little freaked out...)

2010-10-09T12:16:00.004-04:00

As I was wrapping up the Day 23 entry, I was interrupted. Not by Mike, not by a crab, not by a bug but by an earthquake. We’ve felt tremors before when we lived in Japan (I once woke up to our bed shaking and looked a little funny at Mike until I realized what was actually happening). This began as a tremor that made us look at each other in recognition. And then escalated into a shake that made us get up and head to our doorway (not because we were following earthquake etiquette, but we wanted to see if anyone was making a quick escape because we’d definitely need a ride). The 30 seconds it lasted was long enough to freak me out and naturally, being a neighbor to what seems like an endless ocean, freaked me out even more that a tsunami could be following. And now we sit, watching the window to hitch a ride in the event (one of) my worst nightmares comes true. There isn’t much else we can do. And if you’re reading this post, guess it means we’re safe. Thankfully. I do believe the last four weeks of living here have taken years off my life. Alright, maybe I'm exaggerating...but days at least. Hope each day I lay on the beach helps get the lost ones back.

Day 23: PRE-Earthquake (Deposit Day!!)

2010-10-09T11:43:00.005-04:00

When we aren’t being woken up by our angry mother of a neighbor yelling at her teenage son or husband, a neighborhood dog feels it necessary to pick up her slack. This morning came a little earlier than normal and with incessant barking. I was able to subconsciously incorporate the barking into some sort of barely awake dream until Mike felt it necessary to have a one-on-one with the canine. As soon as he saw Mike, he ran over to greet him, laid on his back for a few minutes of belly-rubbing before he jumped up and ran away. From all Mike could see, he was barking at the rising sun…it was about 5:30am.

We had to head out early anyways since today was Deposit Day for our new place. Since there’s no direct bus from our town to Dominical, we needed to make it to the station in Quepos to transfer. And while I wrote that we have been fortunate to get neighborhood rides, I realized that I seem to jinx us when I put statements in the blog (like that one about the rainy season not affecting us…and then we got flooded. Or my joy over a magical SIM card that didn’t end up working. Or Mike’s bike got repaired just to break again). This morning was no exception seeing as we walked 100% of our dirt road with dust in our eyes from cars flying by. Guess that’s alright since we spent the rest of the day sitting on buses. Here’s our timeline:

8:05am – Leave the house for the bus stop
9:15am – Arrive at the bus stop
9:25am – Bus picks us up
10:30am – Bus drop off in Quepos
10:32am – Find out the bus to Dominical isn’t until 11:30am
10:38am – Head to the internet café for good coffee and a quick email check
11:20am – Return to bus station to catch the Dominical bus
11:30am – Bus leaves for Dominical (in the tightest, stickiest, most uncomfortable school bus seats)
12:45pm – Arrive in Dominical
12:48pm – Check in at Saul’s office and get psyched because our house is being prepped for our arrival and we can go check it out, meet our landlord and pay our deposit
1pm – Reach the house and it’s awesome!!! (I’ll be describing it a little later; it deserves more than a line in our travel schedule)
1:30pm – Get the key to our new place!
1:40pm – Drive back to the rental office and say goodbye to Saul
2pm – Wait for the 2pm bus
2:15pm – 2pm bus arrives (told you it’s all approximate)
3:30pm – Get to Quepos and are lucky enough that the bus to our town is just leaving, we catch it.
4:15pm – Arrive at our bus stop
4:16pm – Begin the hour walk home.
4:20pm – Juan Valdez (not really his name, but that’s what we call him because of his thick black hair and mustache and oversized straw fedora) and family recognize us and bring us home.

All that for about an hour in Dominical. To put it in perspective for our fellow Enfield-ers…it’s like travelling to and from the West Farms Mall. What would typically take someone a little over an hour (there and back)…was equivalent to a typical work day. If it was considered a job, it would be described as a bad one: miserable and boring with a lot of sitting around.

It was worth it though. From the moment we stepped in the door of our three story light blue house, we were impressed. The entrance opens to a tiled foyer with cushioned furniture, a small flat panel television with cable soon to be mounted on the wall, a bathroom with hot water, and a kitchen with a six burner gas stove, a crockpot, a coffee bean grinder and more than just one pan. Up the winding stairs brought us to the sleeping level; a master bedroom with an air conditioner and balcony with a cozy hammock. The guest bedroom (aka Matt’s room for the month of November – and anyone else that wants to come…hint hint) also has its own balcony hammock combination. And the upstairs bathroom not only boasts of hot water, but also a jetted tub. One more winding wooden staircase brings you to a finished attic, which I’ve already envisioned as my writing nook. Not sure if that’ll be possible since it wasn’t furnished yet and I’m not sure what furniture will be hanging out in there once it’s complete but it would be nice to have a real writing area rather than a kitchen counter. Speaking of kitchen counters though…

It was clearly custom built for our landlord's 6 foot 3 inch stature not for someone who just manages to get on Six Flags rides. With the countertop coming in at about my chest I also envision cooking being interesting…especially since I won’t be able to stir what’s on the back burner. Since I’m the primary chef of the household, Mike’s agreed it’s necessary to invest in a stepstool so I can actually see what I’m doing.

Other than that, it’s clearly an upgrade. Our current house has seven fans, half of which don’t work each for a different reason; the kitchen fan’s pullcord is rusted and will most likely snap in half if you try to pull it any harder. A spare bedroom fan was not strategically placed between the rafters and makes it known that it’s done a 360 with every half second thud on the wooden beam. And with a shower with water pressure equivalent to a leak – a jetted tub is just spoiling us at this point. But just in case it wasn’t, by November 15th, a kidney-shaped pool will be steps from our front door. So it’s no substitution for a soft sand beach but if we need our fill that’s only a 10 minute walk away. Along with anything else we need: the post office, supermarket, phone card company, surfboards, ceviche, live bands…

Along with our house upgrade came the knowledge that’s our creatures have also upgraded. Overhearing a conversation between Saul and two of his surfer friends, one of whom had a nasty gash on his ankle from a stingray he accidentally pinned to the ocean floor, we found out that we aren’t dealing with the average spider bite or a random cockroach in your shoe. Since he’s been here, he’s been bitten by a snake and stung by a scorpion. Stingrays, scorpions and snakes…oh my. It’s ok, I learned how to protect myself; shuffle your feet in the ocean, check your shoes before putting them on, and for snakes…I’m pretty sure just run in the opposite direction. And as long as none of them live in my home, I’ll be more than happy keeping myself out of theirs.

Day 22: The sun is back...

2010-10-09T11:32:00.005-04:00

If the next week goes by as nice as today, I’d be a happy camper. The rain has returned to its previous routine before it flooded the streets last week and is back to hiding out until sunset to emptying on us throughout the night. Which means that our job for the day is to soak up as much sun as we can.

Mike made his routine ride to the bike repairman without me this morning since he was racing some steep competition, his front tire leak. Stopping three times to pump it up, he made it and got it fixed for what he said is the last time. I don’t know if that means he’s confident it’s not gonna get another one or if it does he’ll be setting it on fire but either way, it probably is our last time with this repairman seeing as we move a week from today.

Since we don’t want to be bothered by stocking up on groceries and lugging them home from town, we’ve been shopping at our local pulperias. Pulperias here are similar to a front porch stocked with typical convenience store items. No offense to our chicken and fish back home, but the quality of the fish and chicken here puts our stuff back home to shame. I can’t really explain the tenderness and juiciness of the chicken or the taste of a local fisherman's catch seasoned immediately after filleted, but trust me, it’s really good. I thought my culinary skills had improved since we landed in Costa Rica, but I was mistaken - the quality of my ingredients has.

The chicken is actually good enough that it was a subject of a $3 minute phone call with my parents - I spent more money talking about it than paying for it. My dad reminded me that’s what happens when it's fresh from your own backyard. He’s right. A few weeks ago, Mike and I saw a neighbor carrying a dead chicken, body covered, and head bobbing around upside down as he walked by our house. That’s as fresh as it gets and I’m sure it’s even better than the prepackaged stuff we’ve been buying. We may have gone back in time here, but I’m pretty sure we won’t be headed that far back. I still prefer plucking my chicken from a grocery store freezer...

Day 21: The best public transportation isn't the buses...

2010-10-09T11:19:00.003-04:00

I have to say that the public transportation system is far from Japanese standards. There we could set our watches by their trains (which we actually did). We knew when they would arrive, when they would depart, how much it would cost, and most importantly, not to be late.

Here bus arrivals are approximate at best. Maybe they’ll make it for 9am, maybe not. Miss the bus by a few steps? Just wave it down and it’ll stop. Miss your stop? He’ll let you off when you remember, stop or not. You might make it to your destination earlier if your bus driver decides to speed and pass every car in his path (which happened today) or you might make it later if he decides to stop at a pulperia to pick up a snack (which also happened today). Who says there’s a 10 standing passenger max? (The law actually, I read the sign.) The more people you cram, the easier it is to stand so pick up 20 more. What’s the fare today? Depends on the bus driver. We’ve been on several rides and only a handful have been for the same amount. We don’t complain though. As long as we got a bus and a seat, we just enjoy the ride (because the seats are actually more comfortable than anything we have in our house).

Public transportation gets literal when we start our walk home on the dirt road. Two things have happened that result in more rides for us now. First, we accepted the invite from our neighbors and met quite a few people with cars who drive regularly on our road. We’re guaranteed a ride from them as long as we’re headed in the same direction. Our neighborhood isn’t large…it’s spread wide but with few people who all seem to know each other. While we may not have met everyone, I believe we’re recognizable from our daily walks through the winding palm trees and I’m confident that they’ve heard of us even if they haven’t met us. And so we’ve become welcomed in most cars after brief periods of walking.

These are different than the sketchy taxi rides from beat up Toyotas once you hit town. While giving and accepting rides in our type of town is normal practice, we’re still careful about the rides we accept, most of which are from familiar faces. These are families with children letting us hop in the back of their pickup truck. These are older couples headed to the pulperia willing to take us half way. These are young couples unable to watch us walk in a downpour. And they are all expecting the same thing; a smile and a gracias which we provide along with asking “Cuanto le debo?” (how much do we owe you) as acknowledgement of their favor. We get the same response from each of them though, a wave of the hand, a shake of the head and a "mucho gusto" before we go our separate ways. I have a feeling if we stayed here for the next couple of months, we’d hardly ever have to walk the entire way to town again…

Day 20: Bug bites and bad bikes.

2010-10-06T13:39:00.003-04:00

For those that are concerned, the bites are better. I didn’t have to sedate myself with Benadryl just to make it through the day, so that’s a plus. I’ve also limited the scratching to only one good session per day since I realized any more than that will leave scars that make my legs look like they were pelted by an army of BB guns.

Our daily job has become prepping for a walk or ride into town to check our email until we get into our new place (which comes with internet...yay!). It takes a lot of communicating and coordinating to move out of the Crab Shack and into our palace. We have to drop off a deposit on Friday to make sure it stays ours until next Thursday when we can move in. Since our current landlord lives about four hours away and wasn’t expecting our quick escape, we have agreed to show our place to prospective renters (I’ll be putting on my best acting outfit that day). Next Wednesday, we’ll be renting a car again (another yay!) so we can speed out of here (that means going about 15 mph on the dirt road) to our new house on Thursday morning after we pass our move out inspection. I have a feeling it won’t take too long to count our 1 pan, 2 pots, 3 mugs, 1 bowl, 10 plates and broken coffee maker. I think it’ll probably take longer to tally the wicker, which we’ll gladly leave behind for the crabs and iguanas to enjoy during their visits.

We healed enough to saddle up on the bikes again and ride to the internet restaurant which cut the walk time in half. It’s about an hour ride, depending on how many breaks I have to take to rest my buns or how many breaks Mike has to take to fix his bike. If bad bikes are also referred to as lemons, Mike got the sourest one of the bunch. Not only has it had two flat tires (in two days), add a cracked pedal, loose handlebars that shift mid ride and a front tire with a perpetual mystery leak to the list. As if that’s not enough, as a good husband, he swapped bike seats with me after mine gave up during our last ride. Since Mike actually knows how to ride a bike well, he can support himself over the bumps and even stand while pedaling (which is impressive and impossible to me). At this point, the bike repairman just greets him with a laugh.

On another note, I realized this evening that there’s a very good possibility I’ve unknowingly eaten a few bugs. Without a toaster, we’ve been toasting our flaxseed multigrain bread in the frying pan. Since it’s our only pan and toast doesn’t leave much behind, we’ve cooked some meals in it without a rinse. So I had no reason to question why I’d see some leftover toasted flaxseed in some of my food. Until tonight, when the flaxseed on my chicken decided to move to another piece.

The countdown is now in single digits and I couldn’t be happier. If our new home is as great as I think it’s going to be (oh please let it be), I’m a little concerned about not having anything to write about. No bugs, no crabs, no sleepless nights listening to iguanas, no marathon walks and doomed bike rides. Uh oh....

Day 19: Hey mosquitoes, bite me.

2010-10-05T14:01:00.008-04:00

I may have exaggerated when I said that we walked home from our neighbor’s house with a trillion mosquito bites but when I said that Costa Rica just wanted to remind me I could be eaten alive at any moment…it was proven. It would be impossible to walk away with less than twenty mosquito bites from the swarms that were attacking us (prior to surrendering as wussy neighbors and asking for bug spray). Yesterday, we tallied the damage done…and yes, lots of bites. I guess football kept this off my mind (as much as possible, I scratched here and there and complained a bit but it was expected after the feeding). But today…today is a different story.

My skin is so bumpy at this point that if a blind person were to rub any part of me they’d probably find a message. (I’m guessing it would probably say something like, “don’t forget DEET next time idiot.”) I have approximately 20 bites on my left foot, 15 of which are on the sole. (And that’s just my left foot). From there they speckle around my ankles, up my calves, behind my knees, and even in the crease where my butt sits on my legs (how they got in there, I haven’t a clue). It doesn’t stop there though. My shoulders, elbows, ribs, neck and back weren’t spared, but I can handle carrying them around on all these places. I can’t, however, handle the feet.

From the moment I placed them on the floor this morning, the burning, swelling, tingling sensations began. And when we took a quick walk next door to see if they had some milk, it was like I was walking on path of coals to get home. I scratched and scratched (yes, I know, don’t scratch…but really? Have you ever had a mosquito bite you haven’t scratched? It’s easy to say, nearly impossible to do) and even though it didn’t provide any relief, it gave me flashes of satisfaction and chills. That was until I realized that the more I scratched, the more bites I uncovered. I’m not sure how mosquito bites work but it appears some may lay dormant under the skin only to surface if provoked by fingernails. Kind of like a scratch ticket. With each layer of skin I scraped off, I found a new number.

I slathered my feet in Tea Tree Oil which Mike swore would work but just in case, I also took a dose of Benadryl. I could care less if it put me back to sleep only an hour after being awake, at least I have no urge to scratch while snoozing. And that's exactly what it did. I crashed on our homemade couch for about three hours and didn't do much more for several hours after that. Pics to come of the damage...we forgot to download them from the camera but we couldn't pass up sharing them with you.

Day 18: We are ready for some football.

2010-10-05T13:54:00.003-04:00

Even after four years away from his home in South Carolina, Clint hasn’t lost his southern accent or hospitality and as promised, he picked us up for Quepos around 8am this morning. So we still had to set the alarm and walk out the door a few hours before kickoff…we didn’t care.

He dropped us off at a peaceful little park where I laid on a bench and tried to take a pre-game nap while Mike snapped a bunch of photos. Then we made our way into town to get my coffee fix. Even if the bar was open, we felt a little odd parking ourselves at a bar stool first thing in the morning. We found our coffee and bonus for me, I got my cheese fix too with a queso empanada (which I can only describe as a hot pocket filled with some type of excellent cheese but that’s really a terrible description for how tasty it actually was). Even after all that, it was still only 10am, but we felt comfortable enough to head to the bar, Los Pescadores.

It was the size and shape of a large UHaul with four 50 inch flatscreens, air conditioning, free internet and lots of English as it eventually filled with foreigners heckling refs and defending Drew Brees. We appeared to be the only ones who weren’t regulars, including the 85 year old lady with a back cushion and a coozie. I’m not sure who she was, but everyone else seemed to know her name and all but yelled it as she walked in the door and so I renamed her Norm-a. We didn’t get to see the Pats and we won’t (unless Clint feels compelled to hang out with a couple of New Englanders tomorrow evening) but, like I already said, it’s alright. I enjoyed hearing the NFL jingles and watching the Geico gecko instead of an unnamed one crawling on our wall.

Speaking of creatures, we have decided on our new home. Both options were an upgrade in comparison to our current Crab Shack, but one was a super duper upgrade that I couldn’t pass up and it’s no more than a ten minute walk to town. With regard to our current home, on the outside, it appears to be a one story. Live in it for a few weeks and you’ll soon come to realize it’s actually three. After Mike found a crab running under the foundation and a hundred crab holes in our yard, we’re pretty certain they live below us. And for the past couple of weeks, we’ve heard some kind of shrieking and scrambling around above us. We thought it might be bats until last night when our neighbors remembered why the previous renters moved out. They couldn’t take the iguanas that lived in the ceiling.

So is it really necessary for me to tell you that I’m still not getting much sleep? Fortunately while I lay awake last night listening to lizards that aren’t courteous housemates, I realized our countdown is off by two days. Since we are leaving CR on December 14th, we can actually start our two months in our new house on October 14th. And when you’re buggy-eyed (I think I actually get what that term means now) wondering what might crawl or fall into your bed…it still seems too far away.

Day 17: Met our neighbors...or neighborhood.

2010-10-03T13:25:00.003-04:00

Ever since I've been able to see the ocean past the waves, so to speak, my relationship with Costa Rica has improved rapidly. We woke up (by our local alarm clock; a neighbor who has some very intense, fast paced conversations at her kids while banging around pots and pans) to an abundance of sunshine. We had no other choice, it was clearly a beach day. We grabbed our blanket, towels, and sunblock and did nothing but lay in the sun. First for a few hours...then walked a few steps to our house for some lunch...just to do it all over again for another couple of hours. We now have the tans to match two weeks of living near the equator.

While making dinner we were surprised to find The American Surfer (as Ed had dubbed him on our first trip down the road) headed to our door. He told us he's been dying to meet us after he heard through the grapevine that a couple of gringos (which is not a negative label by the way) moved in the neighborhood. He invited us to meet our neighbors a few houses down for some food and drinks. Since I was mid-cooking, we passed on the food but drinks were a solid maybe. After a brief huddle, we decided it probably wouldn't be very neighborly to dis their invitation and seeing as we were already the talk of the town, we'd like to keep the stories on the positive side.

We walked in the rain, down the dark road until we found the hosts we suspected were awaiting our arrival: Clint (aka The American Surfer), his mother Shelly, expats Owen, Mary Kay, Jim, and Ticos Marco and Orlando. And three dogs; the OD (Original Dog that relocated with Clint from South Carolina), Poopy (which I thought was hilarious since that's my preferred nickname for pets but then found out it was a Tico's mispronuncion of Puppy) and Gina (a 3 month old pup that Mike fell in love with. Marley beware...daddy's heart can be stolen...alright, maybe not stolen, but easily shared once he catches a whiff of puppy breath).

They bombarded us with questions you'd expect...how long we'll stay and where we're from and why we're here, and were disappointed when they learned of our move in a few weeks. I softened our excuses as I had no intention of insulting the community that just embraced us. They understood that traveling without a car in this neighborhood, isn't happening. Not only did they understand, they offered thier help. For the brief time we have left in Parrita, they gave us their schedules and offered free rides.

We asked Clint about his surf credentials, seeing as he was recognized as The American Surfer and he laughed. Apparently Clint USED to surf in the states, before he went to college for four years and worked for 10 years after that. When he moved to the area, he hopped on his board to see what he had left, if anything, and caught what he explained as "the best five waves" of his life, including a barrel which was not normal experience on his surf resume. Word traveled as quickly as new gringos in the neighborhood and he immediately became "The American Surfer." Which he finds amusing. Surfer or not, he was a cool guy with a generous heart that seemed to be escaping some difficult days in the states. After he heard our plan to watch football games in Quepos tomorrow, he offered a morning ride into town on the way to his church service. This took no huddle, we accepted.

We walked home after a couple hours and a trillion mosquito bites. It's just the way Costa Rica keeps me in check. Giving me good things all the while reminding me that I can be eaten alive any second...

Day 16: Found a new internet fav...

2010-10-03T13:15:00.005-04:00

So a new attitude may have encouraged a truce between this country and I. The sun showed itself today. Not enough for us to lounge around on the beach…but enough to dry up the puddles that make walking and riding more difficult than it already is. We didn’t really have time to lounge since it’s still necessary for us to check email as much as possible to communicate with our rental agent. Tomorrow marks the beginning of a two week countdown (not like I haven’t been already) until we move. We just really need to figure out where we’re moving to.

Still a little sore, we decided to walk and check out another path our expat chauffer told us about a few days ago. We walked about an hour on the road that leads to town but turned on a different dirt road, bypassing a good portion of the interstate, through more palm plantations. After about twenty minutes, we started to get a little concerned that we’d reach a destination we’re familiar with, Dead End. Thankfully the road led us left toward town and on our way. Within ten more minutes we were on the main road. Feeling good about the successful shortcut, we even passed up a taxi-ish ride after he whistled us over to hop in. (Anyone with a car who wants to make a few bucks and has the time will give you a ride…kind of like a more acceptable, slightly organized form of hitchhiking…it might be a taxi, it might not…but either way it still seems sketchy.)

With about 30 more minutes of walking to the internet saloon that was on the outskirts of the town center, we decided to check on a few places we hadn’t tried yet. As we approached the employee at the 2nd restaurant we came across, we saw a sign for internet which saved us at least 20 more minutes of walking. It’s an open air restaurant with a TV, cold drinks, good food and lots of company. Around lunch time, it was packed. So much so that we were too intimidated to order any food until the lines went down – figured we’d be in the way and these people knew what they wanted. Eventually we got our chance to sample the sweetened fried plantains (yum!), arroz con pollo (rice with chicken), pork that fell of the bone if you just looked at it, and a spicy pickled salad that tasted so good you dealt with the immediate cough that followed each bite. This beats the café and the saloon, hands down, and will be our home away from home away from home for the next two weeks. And practically in our own backyard! (No really, we were psyched at how close it was, coming in at a mere hour and 40 minutes from our door. We’ll keep you updated on how long it takes biking once we can get back on them).