Day 13: Fail #2.

Looks like our three week beach vacation may end up being a bust. We found out from Wendy, our rental agent, that this rainy season is expected to be the worst on record with about 40% more than normal rainfall. We believe it. I've been amazed at how much rain can actually fall. And so constant. And loud. Initially I thought it would be nice at bedtime, kind of like falling asleep to one of those soundscape things, but really, it's so loud it's annoying. Sometimes we can't even hear each other when we're talking in the same room. So with tanning off the to-do list, the only thing left for today was an internet café stop. Instead of heading to our favorite location, which is in the neighboring town of Quepos that took 2 ½ hours to get home from, we’ve opted to stay as local as we can get. This meant that as we rode our bikes, we planned to stop at every bar, restaurant, hotel or café and ask if they have WIFI. Whichever one says yes first is our new favorite place. That’s what we planned.

There are a few reasons I don’t ride a bike when I’m home. (1) I’m not good at it. And (2) I don’t like it - probably a direct result of #1. My bike skills are equivalent to a 7 year olds, maybe worse. I weeble and wobble and have an unexplained accuracy when it comes to hitting the very things I’m trying to avoid. Whether it’s a bush, a mailbox, a tree, a pothole or a boulder, even with all the stability and direction I can muster, I still hit most, dead on. It’s like there’s some magnetic pull the obstacle has over my handlebars. I can’t explain it and I’ve never been able to outgrow it. Because of this, when we went bike shopping, I picked out a kid’s bike. Mike teases me because my knees barely miss my elbows when I pedal but I don’t care. Here’s my logic; in the event a fall is about to occur (which is likely), I can catch myself easier and faster. In the event I can’t stop that fall (which is also likely), my drop is shorter. This makes me feel better regardless of how silly I look. Riding a bike hurts my brain as much as my butt – with all the nerves and concentration - so figured I would make this as painless, mentally and physically, as possible. It didn’t work though. The roads we have to take are stressful for a clumsy cyclist. First we have to navigate the jerky, rough and flooded gravel road that leads to the main road. And while the main road looks equivalent to a route at home, it’s called an interstate here and drivers treat it as such. They fly down the road rarely making allowances for anyone on the side. I decided after one ride that the interstate is worse for me. I can handle a fall; bruised knees and bleeding elbows, even with some gravel mixed in the wounds. But getting nailed by a tractor trailer? I don’t think there’s anything in our First Aid kit that can fix that. So, when we found an extension of our gravel road today that looked like it would bring us to the heart of town without the threat of the interstate, we took it. We realized this might not lead directly to town, but that was alright…we’d find a detour. Only after riding for about a half hour (which seems honestly like 2 hours when your butt is either numb or throbbing) we thought about the possibility of a dead end. And about 10 minutes and six bike-chasing dogs later, turned out it was.

Since we spent well over an hour riding nowhere, we burned off our breakfasts and decided to refuel before rewinding the tape and starting this trip over again. Within a half hour, we were back on the road. We travelled the familiar yet now even more painful path to Parrita’s downtown without stopping until the drizzle that had begun right after we left the house turned into a steady stream. With lots of electronics strapped to our backs, we had to break out our fashionable ponchos and protect them from the rain. (Mine was super fashionable since I had to knot it in front like it was a fluorescent 80’s t-shirt to keep from getting caught in my bike chain). In the 30 minutes it took us to get to the main road, the steady stream turned into a heavy downpour. My eyes stung from the sweat that collected on my lashes and dove into my eyeballs one after another, after another. So with no sight, pelting rain, wet roads, and speeding tractor trailers, we determined that riding into town, paved road or not, wasn’t a great idea. The internet would have to wait. Another ride nowhere. By the time we were a quarter of the way home, the pain that I started with wouldn’t allow me to ride anymore. My thighs burned, my butt felt like it had been used as a punching bag, the handle grips were imbedded in my hands from holding so tight and my back felt permanently hunched. I gave up, got off the bike and told Mike I’d see him back home. I really wanted to toss the bike in a puddle just as payback for hurting me, but figured with my luck, the pedals would break or the handlebars snap off. It wasn't until the heavy downpour got ridiculously heavier that I decided the damage was already done to my butt so why not ride again. I made it down the road at probably the same speed as if I was walking until my handlebars got pulled toward large rock that made me land so hard on the seat it shot backwards with a pop. Even my seat gave up. I cursed most of the way home as I dragged my broken bike because even though I'm not sure why, I'm pretty certain this house has cursed us. The 17 days we have left cannot come quick enough.

Day 12: Trapped.

The entries will probably be a bit shorter on the days that we’re on house arrest. There isn’t much more than read, draw, play cards, write, cook, eat, exercise, shower and sleep. And if you think about it, all of these things typically happen in addition to a full time job. Take the full time job away and even when you do all of these things (some of them a few times), you’re still left with a lot of time to kill.

We did all of the above. I’m keeping myself entertained mostly with the newest release from a favorite author, Nick Hornby and an inspiring book for wannabe writers by Stephen King. I’ve never been a fan of his work cause it’s a little too creepy for me (except for the Green Mile…which I didn’t even realize he wrote), but you can’t pass up advice from a writer who can boast of 50+ bestsellers. I realized that if his fiction is as reader-friendly as his how-to book, I may just be a fan. My only reservation is that I enjoy reading at night, in bed, in the dark with what Mike calls my “nerd lamp” and I don’t want Stephen King to influence what type of dreams the Sandman might be bringing me.

The big event of the day, which took approximately eight minutes, was when we “remodeled” one of our bedrooms into my yoga space. I had expected to do yoga on the beach because it’s a dreamy idea but when you don’t like sand in your crevices or bugs bathing in your sweat beads, it’s unrealistic. Instead, I opted to create a mini hot yoga studio by shutting the windows and door to the front bedroom to trap the sun and ban any breezes from cooling it down. I downloaded Bikram Choudhury’s sessions to my iPod so it’s like the guru himself is whispering commands in my ear. Granted, it doesn’t kick your butt as much being in a 107 degree room but it works.

Mike’s been building his resume quickly and can now add game-builder to it. He created a fully functional chessboard for us to use on the laptop. Knight? Horse photo from the beach. Rook? The lighthouse from our wedding. Bishop? A hometown statue in the city of Hartford. King and Queen? Yup, you guessed it…us. And what makes the perfect pawn to protect our troop? Marley, of course. It’s a great addition to our evening routine even though I’m pretty sure he did this for his benefit since I’ve crushed him in Rummy over the past week with my eight wins to his two.

He can also add Crab Trapper (after he caught #4 tonight, he sang a little tune with the lyrics “I am good at catching crabs” and then realized that didn’t sound good so went for a different verb). We’re pretty certain we have a family of crabs living under one of our kitchen cabinets right next to the stove. That’s where we can hear them tap-dance around at night. If he’s quiet enough, Mike creeps up on them before they hide wherever it is they run to, scoops them up with a giant spoon and gently guides them in a Tupperware bowl until he can escort them to the beach. We’re seriously contemplating just getting a tank…

Day 11: R.I.P. Rental Car

We drove to the rental car agency like we were in a funeral procession; slowly, in silence and sad. As we left it parked in the lot, we patted it’s exterior to say thanks for expanding our world and keeping us sane (and also apologized for any abuse it may have encountered while we explored the unknown).

And then we returned to walking. First to the bus station to find the bus schedule and then around the town of Quepos to find an internet café. Our favorite was closed. And so was the one next to it. And the one after that. We walked up and down streets until we realized that the garage-like doors to about 90% of the shops, cafes, restaurants and businesses were closed and locked. I’m not sure if it’s the strong Catholic presence in the country or what but it’s clear that Sunday is very much a day of rest.

I figured the only thing that may save us was something Americanized: the Best Western - it had to have internet for their guests and a restaurant was just a given. We walked in and were told we had two options, eat lunch or pay for internet use. Since we had just eaten a big breakfast in preparation for our return to walking, we opted to pay the WIFI fee and grabbed a table in the balcony area. After about an hour, we were kicking ourselves in the butt when we looked down on the street below. If we walked just a teeny bit further around the corner, there was a bar with free WIFI. But that wasn’t even the best part; they showed Sunday NFL games live. I was kind of ticked we were gonna miss the football season (and not just cause Tom Brady is a very close 2nd love of my life), and now we don’t have to. So you’ll know where to find us on Sundays…

The only real issue is that we have to work around the bus schedule and inconvenience of where we live. In order to get there, we will have to wake up around 7am and leave our house around 8am to make it to the bus stop for 9am. We have no clue exactly when the bus rolls by, but it’s between 9am and 10am so we might have to hang out for a while. The bus will then take us to Quepos with an ETA around 10:30am (which is really 12:30pm your time – just in time in for kickoff). Seeing as we left yesterday on the 2:30pm bus and didn’t walk in our front door until 5pm (right before sunset), we won’t be sticking around for any later buses in the event there’s OT or a night game. So we might not get to see all the Pats games. At least we’ll get a dose of football which will be the highlight of our week while were still stuck in this house, even if we are watching the Lions. If we do end up religiously attending these Sunday games, I think the NFL should strongly consider acknowledging us as Fans of the Year.

So tomorrow begins a three week house arrest but I guess it could be worse. As Mike described it, we’re going to be on a three week beach vacation because that’s really about all we can do. It’s strange how I couldn’t wait to escape my routine at home to just lie on the beach and do nothing and now I’m itching for a routine here. I feel like a plan for the day will make it pass quicker and milestones, however insignificant, give me something to look forward to. So I made a calendar to countdown to our most noteworthy events: watching Robin Hood (it took 4 hours to download from iTunes, it better make the list), going to internet cafes, NFL Sundays, and getting a rental car again to move the heck out of here! I’m hoping that once we get into our new home (wherever it’ll be) there won’t be a need for such a trivial survival plan cause I’ll be surrounded by things to do and ways to escape. Until then, I’m hoping this will suffice.

PS: The dog in the photo is our foster apparently. He greets us whenever we come home and before we leave. We've even caught him laying outside our front door at night. Obviously our hearts are already taken, but he's our favorite CR doggie.

Just so you know...

We had to bring our rental car back today so we won't have access to internet cafes anymore to be able to post daily. How often we get to an internet location will depend on how motivated we are. In the meantime, I'll be writing our daily adventures and keeping them safe 'til they're able to be shared. I promise at least a few times a week, as long as you promise to keep checking in!

Day 10: Thank you Rain.

It’s still raining here, I guess because Matthew is still visiting the area. Nothing torrential, no high winds…just can’t escape the wetness anywhere. It’s alright though. It gave us a lazy day to just hang out at our favorite café and play online. Mike’s initial plan for our last day with our car was to go to Santa Maria de Dota, a coffee plantation that provides tours, free samples of various kinds, and boasts of a barrista named third in a world competition. It looked way closer than Pavones, so I agreed. I rarely say no to coffee anyways and a rainy day pairs well with a warm cup. As we were on our way (with a really vague map from our LP guide) we asked a traffic stop worker if we were headed in the right direction. He shook his head and said, “No, this way you are lost.” He was excited to show off his English skills and drew us a map. Mike asked all the geographical questions, I (learning from our recent Pavones excursion) asked the most important one. How long will it take to get there? His response, “Really?” as in, do you honestly want to know? Heck yeah, I do. Even though I'd like to forget the Pavones excursion, my stomach hadn't let me. “I say 5 hours…and you have to ask here (pointing close to where he drew a river) if the road is ok to drive.” Thank you sir for saving me from a Pavones repeat. No coffee is worth another one of those trips.

Instead, we returned to the café, which also gets good phone reception and I spent more time on the phone with a Verizon representative than I have with any family member. I found out that the SIM card would not work until Verizon gives me the code to unlock my current SIM card. And according to online posts from people in the same situation, that could be as complicated as cracking the Davinci Code. I automatically go into Verizon conversations with a chip on my shoulder anyways, I don't know why, I just don't like talking to them, so I was prepared for battle. The first rep, who didn’t even work for Global Support, informed me that I couldn’t activate the new SIM card unless I was in the US. I told her, nicely, that this was bull and I just wanted the code to unlock my phone. In a tone I'm sure was forced because her calls are recorded, she offered to transfer me to Global Support. Which of course, got disconnected. Point for her.

I called Global Support directly and after hitting whatever number seemed to coincide closest to what I needed, got Rain on the phone. Before I called back, I read a few more online posts about how to get this highly protected unlock code from your cell company. Seems like if your reason sounds legit enough and the planets are aligned, they might do it. So I fibbed (hey, don’t judge, I’ll do what it takes to be able hear my family and friends voices) and informed Rain that I was working while living abroad and my employer requires me to have a local phone number which can only be provided with a local company’s SIM card. I don’t know if the story did it, or if Rain was just the 1st rep's polar opposite, but she was glad to help as long as I met the unlock conditions (if you're interested, they are: you have to be a customer for at least 90 days, have never been passed due on a bill and never had service suspended due to non-payment) – which we did. Rain guided me through the multi-stepped process and get this, also offered to decrease our monthly plan since we won’t be using their services for three months. Was this for real? A Verizon rep that actually tried to reduce my plan rather than up it?!?!?

And even better, everything she told me worked. We now are able to talk to our family and friends for just $0.11 a minute. The only problem is that it changed my phone number…we are now really living like locals with our own Costa Rican number. Please email either of us and we’ll gladly send it over to you.

Thank goodness for Rain.

Day 9: Little successes make me happy.

Even sleeping in an air conditioned, bug-free, softer bed didn’t keep me from getting only six hours of sleep. My internal clock has determined that’s sufficient rest for the day, which I guess makes sense when your days aren’t filled with much more than sightseeing (for now…soon they will be filled with exercise again when we give up our rental car). We filled up on a traditional Costa Rican breakfast, (pardon my pride but I'd like to announce that it was all ordered without a word of English) and hit the road.

On the drive home, we realized our initial five hour ride was way longer than it needed to be. Getting lost and distracted by views combined with extreme caution extended the ride a few extra hours. I’m not particularly sure eating a huge helping of gallo pinto y huevos and driving faster made for a good combination. Think hopping on the Thunderbolt for three hours after filling up your tummy. Fortunately there weren’t any drops like the antique rollercoaster, but I think the abuse was pretty similar – kneecaps banging against each other, torso twisting opposite your legs, head bobbing around. Both make you check your neck after you unbuckle your seatbelt to see if you got whiplash. Fortunately, we didn't. But we did get an ab workout.

This time it took only three hours to get back to familiarity and we made a pit stop in Dominical to find this non-existent magical SIM card we’ve heard about that will reduce Verizon’s outrageous $2.29 per minute to a mere $0.11! That’s when we met Saul and Wendy.

Saul, a Toronto native, and his Tico wife Wendy, are young real estate agents that also help find rentals. They were recommended to us by an individual Mike emailed when looking for a new home. As we drove through Dominical looking for the cell company, I happened to notice their office. We stopped in, gave them a brief background of who we are, why we’re here, and what we want and immediately they began bouncing ideas off each other until they agreed on three. Within seven minutes, we were looking at what could be our next house.

Wendy brought us to the first home which looked relatively new and completely awesome. So awesome that as she pulled up the driveway, I saw it in front of me but kept waiting for her to point to some shack behind it. (I’ve learned something this past week…set the bar low so I don’t get disappointed.) The second house was rented from a foreigner’s lower level and since he would be a sort of housemate upstairs, I didn’t like it and barely gave it a glance. The third option was a small cabin along the river with a private yard, cozy atmosphere and a few pieces of real furniture.

We want what’s behind door number one – real bad. Not only was it the nicest house we saw, it was also closest to downtown Dominical. (We were thinking of getting a place right in the heart of it all until Wendy told us that during the rainy season it floods in those houses and then there’s “diarrhea everywhere.” Translation: there’s a sewage issue.) As long as its available (which they weren’t sure of), it’ll be ours. We just have to wait and see. So please, I beg of you, please keep your fingers crossed!!!

Before we left I asked her if she’s heard of this mythical SIM card. Not only did she know about it, she knew where to get it. She has officially become my favorite Tico and I’m thinking we may become friends if we move here. We parted ways and headed to the SIM card place and within another seven minutes, I walked out with 10,000 colones worth of time to be able to talk to my family and friends. The only problem…my cell battery died from our extended stay in Pavones so the card couldn’t be activated but I was assured it would work when I charged it. But who would've guessed...it's doesn't. Guess tomorrow’s mission is already planned. Success is in baby steps here. Seems like lately we’ve just been crawling around but every now and then we get a step in.

Not much else to report other than it’s been really rainy from Tropical Storm Matthew’s presence in Central America and it’s expected to be like that until Sunday. Oh the dreaded Sunday…when we return our car and live like locals again. And in case you’re keeping a creature tally: crab #3 (maybe 4) was relocated to the beach today, cucaracha # who knows? 8 maybe? found belly up, and termite infestation #2 poisoned (“just a few” Mike said…and there’s a pile of about 30 in our garbage). Only 22 more days…

Day 8: The road to Pavones is not paved...

We’ve survived the first week and to celebrate this achievement, we took a trip (as we’ve been doing the past four days since we have a car). Left the humble abode for a while to seek out a place yesterday’s tour guide, Josh, told us was his favorite location in Costa Rica – Pavones. We pulled out the guidebook, found out it’s supposed to be a gem of a place at the southernmost point of Costa Rica, bordering Panama, that attracts mostly surfers seeking the longest left in CR (I had no clue what that meant but I’m figuring out the surf lingo). In hindsight, rather than just ending the conversation with Josh after his answer, we probably should’ve followed it up with, where’s that? How long does it take to get there? Is the road drivable? Could you give us directions? But no. We haven’t learned much and again took it upon ourselves to head into the unknown without much information.

(If we did ask, these would be his answers: It’s way the hell down there, way past everything else on the pacific side. Man, it probably takes about 5 hours, maybe more. Drive? Yeah right…good luck with that.)

To be fair, of the five hour drive, about 45 minutes were in the wrong direction. We found that out after we drove up a practically non-existent gravel road to an old Tico’s farm house. He came to my window and I pointed to Pavones in our guidebook. We should have known it was too far away when he responded as if he just saw someone get hit in cajones. After rubbing his head a few times we were able to figure out the translation with some landmarks and the all important hand gestures. Back on track, we finally reached the road our guidebook warned of – something that resembled river crossings and required a four wheel drive vehicle – which we already had for the infamous road to our house.

Of the rest of the hours, three were on a road that looked like both an avalanche and earthquake destroyed. I clung to the door handle with white knuckles as Mike maneuvered the monster potholes and mother-nature-made speed bumps that kept us at a crawl. As we got closer, the road got narrower and forced us to cross at least three bridges that looked like they were made out of dilapidated picnic table pieces. The puddles (aka rivers/ponds/lakes) were so deep at one point that Mike had to park the car and throw a rock in the middle to see if we could cross. I wasn’t particularly sure how that helped gauge depth, but he was sure it didn’t land too far down, so we crossed.

While Pavones isn’t a very touristy area, it is home to foreign surfers while they wait for that left so it provides a good amount of sleeping and eating accommodations. After realizing there would be no way to cross the Road of Devastation in the dark (which is around 5:30pm here) we had to find a place for the night. I’m not gonna lie, I got a little excited about the idea of a hotel room (Hot water? Internet? Air conditioning? Sign me up now please.) that I could almost shed a tear. And then I did…but not the happy kind. Our first option was a hostel-ish hotel that, in my opinion, looked more like a community of sheds. The room had 2 beds that looked like they were dragged out of the ocean, neither of which was thicker than a Harry Potter book. A shared bathroom was downstairs with an outdoor sink. It was open air (aka, put a flashing neon “Bugs Welcome” sign in our window) and had a balcony with a hammock which means Mike was sold. My lips said “sure” because I didn’t want to insult the manager from Michigan, but everything else in me said no. As we walked to the car I gave Mike a look of death, mumbled something about downgrading from our current bug shack and started to cry. It wasn’t particularly a cry-worthy moment, but as I explained to Mike after I composed myself, I have been physically and mentally uncomfortable for about a week and the thought of sleeping there, a place worse than what I’ve already had to get used to, pushed the tears out. Honestly, I also think I was a little upset that my dream of sleeping in a nice hotel seemed as far away as we were from home.

For anyone unfamiliar with Lonely Planet guides, they are super helpful - normally. Today wasn’t a good day though. They gave us the wrong directions for how to get to Pavones (or at least directions that were difficult to understand) and they rated the Shed Hotel high among backpackers - that’s where we went wrong - backpackers and I are NOT on the same page. But, desperate, I gave it one more chance to redeem itself. The Riviera was described as a hotel that was the closest to a “proper” hotel with tile floors, full kitchen and air conditioning. Sounded proper enough to me and I asked Mike to get us there. It took five hours for us to find Pavones, I didn’t care if it took two more to find comfort.

And we did. We got a villa in the gated resort that the guardskeeper described as tranquilo. It had everything our guidebook described and more: hot water. So it was more expensive. I didn’t care. And as long as I didn’t cry again, Mike didn’t care either. He understood that I needed my comfort even though he thought it would be “fun” to be in the shed. We argued a bit about the meaning of fun if that’s what he considers it to be until we agreed to disagree.

So instead of being trapped in our home today, we trapped ourselves in the car, and in a more remote location than our place. But at least it resulted in a hot shower and a bed that is somewhat of an upgrade (Sleep Number at 2, I’d say). But more importantly, I won’t be sharing it with any bugs. I may have gotten used to them in my house but not in my bed. There’s no fun in that for me.

Day 7: Manuel Antonio & Team Jacob's Wolfpack

Suerte was on our side today and we got a sun searing day for our return to Manuel Antonio. This national park is home to three types of monkeys, some sloths, loads of insects (like we need to see more of them), endangered birds, and tons of iguanas. We planned on exploring the trails ourselves but got sold on a tour guide after he challenged us to look across the street and find the iguana in the tree. All we saw were leaves and bark. After he brought out his portable telescope and we saw it two inches in front of us, we were convinced we needed him. He didn’t look exactly like Jacob from Twilight, but definitely belonged on his team with his long dark hair, caramel skin and bright smile. Plus, he knew as much about the forest and wildlife as if he lived in it. So we shook his hand, introduced ourselves and our wolf pack...it grew by one.

Joshua spoke excellent English that he learned by watching TV at a young age. I was impressed since he had the slang down, picked up on sarcasm and was easily understood. His response, “Mel Gibson and those guys are good teachers.” I should’ve told him to pick another actor. Mel’s been called a lot of things lately and I don’t think a good teacher is one of them.

Since this wasn’t a private tour, our wolfpack eventually grew to six when a couple from Israel and a surfer from San Diego joined us. We kept each other entertained. When Joshua asked me to throw a rock at a tree that was about three feet wide, I missed by about three feet. When he showed us a red bearded iguana perched on a tree, the guy from Israel responded, “it’s disgusting but I like it.” And that guy was actually busy most of the time guarding his wife from the wildlife. She was deathly afraid of snakes and if Josh happened to mention that a creature could cut, bite, scratch or sting, she would freeze. After we were done watching the worker ants (see video, they’re pretty cool), she pleaded with her hubby until he gave her a piggyback ride to step over them. And when a leaf would fall and happen to brush her, she’d react the same way we do when the fan cord taunts us. Regardless of where we were from we all agreed, Josh’s tour was awesome and he comes highly recommended. If we went with our initial plan to hike solo, we would’ve missed about 90% of what we saw with the help of his eyes. No sloth, no rainbow grasshopper, no tent bat, no forest crabs. And most of these things were less than 10 feet away from us.

Day 6: Internet + Coffee = Goodness

We planned to head to the well-known wildlife/beach spot of Manuel Antonio today but I jinxed us yesterday by assuring you the rainy season doesn't interfere with our plans. Rather than waiting until the evening to shower us with lots of rain and cool breezes, it rained from the moment we got up until the moment the non-existent sun went down. We were a little too optimitic once we saw a hint of sunshine and headed there anyways. We found it, paid some guy $4 to park just in time for the next downpour. Speaking of parking, we still aren't sure if we're paying actual employees yet or just a Tico that approaches the window and asks for a few dolares. We're pretty sure homeless guys get themselves orange construction vests, hang out in free parking lots, pose as attendants and collect their daily wages.

Our plan was to hike through the forest to see as much wildlife as possible but I vetoed it when the rain came (even though Mike recommended we wear our ponchos). I know myself pretty well and sliding around in mud and being pelted by raindrops is not only dangerous for a klutz like me but probably wouldn't provide the best visibility. So, Mike successfully negotiated a refund for our 10 seconds of parking and we headed to the internet cafe to post the next blogs and check some email. We're hoping this isn't a change in the weather pattern we've experienced over the past week but with the luck we've had so far, who knows? We may as well get ready for a monsoon.

Just so you all know, we aren’t being selfish tourists and expecting the locals to understand our language and awkward hand gestures all the time. It’s only been a week and we can already tell our Spanish is getting better. Our Lonely Planet guide, which looks like it has been on this trip with us for three months already, has common phrases that we use on a daily basis. And we always have the Spanish/English dictionary within arm’s length. Nothing against Mrs. McCarthy or Jefe’s Spanish teaching skills but my four years of unpracticed high school Spanish are long gone. Our translation is best when things are written so reading signs or menus haven’t been a problem. But we’re about as comfortable speaking Spanish as we are sitting on our wicker chairs. We do it anyways though, awkward or not. The worst part is comprehension. Sure our guidebook can tell us how to ask where the bus station is but it doesn’t translate the answer. That’s when we’re stumped. For the most part, the Ticos we’ve spoken to try to translate by using their hands or even grabbing the dictionary and finding their word. And when we finally figure it out, “ahhhhh” is universal for “got it.” If all else fails, Mike has opted to add an “o” to English words hoping they translate. When inquiring if the amount of money we gave for our bill was correct, he asked the waiter, “Correct-o?” (FYI, it looks like that is actually the way to say it, but really he just got lucky.) I think Mike would agree that my pronunciation is better than his but his effort is better than mine. I’ll speak Spanish to the locals when I have to but when we hit a touristy area, there’s a good chance they’re bilingual and I go with my native tongue. Not Mike, he still uses their language, which is honorable even if it doesn’t come out correcto.

Each day we get a little savvier in our home too. If we pulled off three months here - no way in hell would we even contemplate it - but if we had bigger cajones and tried, we’d probably rig this place up pretty well. We’re getting crafty. Our beach towels double as seat cushions if you fold them up about 4 times (which also keeps the wicker from branding you for hours after sitting them). My yoga mat has gotten more use as a deluxe cushion than anything else. And we’ve developed a bug routine that works. Walk in the door, Mike does a customary “bug sweep” of the living/kitchen area and bathroom and gives the “all clear” or heads for battle. Dealing with giant cucarachas has really changed my opinion of other insects now. Daddy longlegs taking a stroll around the counter? Feel free, just don’t go in my drink. Little gnat camping out on my arm? I might not even notice you so hang out for a while. We have a force field that protects us while we sleep, otherwise known as our mosquito net, and a comforter that is completely unnecessary with this humidity has now become our memory foam. And for entertainment we sparingly watch episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm so they can last the whole month without reruns. Life is alright now. It could be better. But it's alright.

Not too many photos today but the ones posted are (1) a humongous moth outside our bedroom window that Mike made me run outside and see as soon as I woke up this morning. I don't like regular sized moths that much never mind this giant. (2) Our preferred internet cafe.

Extra pics and much thanks...

Just wanted to thank everyone for taking time to read our blog and for your encouraging comments. Glad you enjoy reading about our adventure, I hope you keep checking it. For those who've asked, here's a few more pics to hold you over until we can get them posted on the web.

Day 5 (continued...)

Yesterday’s trip to Jaco was the dose of familiarity we needed. Today’s trip to Dominical was the dose of Costa Rica we needed. Since most people who have had the opportunity to visit Costa Rica have described it as “amazing” we were starting to wonder if they define that word differently than we do. Jaco was nice but amazing…hmm, probably not the adjective we’d choose. So, even though it seemed like Costa Rica was crapping on us for a few days, we didn’t give up on her. We knew that “amazing” was out there somewhere, we just had to find it while we had our wheels. So we headed to Dominical - which could very well be where the definition of amazing originated.

Borrowing again from the movie The Beach, this was “a beach resort for people who don’t like beach resorts.” It’s a very welcoming, laid back surf village with the comforts of home in a foreign package. The majority of the town, with some exceptions, would be considered by our standards as rundown. The stores, homes, restaurants and hotels are not like ours. But they have a charm that humbles you into wanting to join its relaxed vibe. It’s got the beach bum essentials we like: stacks of surfboards, palm leaf roofs, handmade jewelry, funky signs, fresh fruit stands and the all important reggae bar - which we obviously paid a visit to. And it's all located within steps of crystal blue waters (I would use "walking distance" but we learned that term can be deceptive). While it probably doesn’t have all the comforts we miss, it’s got its fair share: hot water, internet, and cell service. And some tasty ceviche pescado. This could possibly be our next home. Don’t get excited, we’ve only briefly thought about it – there’s still way too much to see before we make that decision.

We took a break from Dominical to see if we could find some more amazement. We have a car, so we’re racking up the mileage. Walk around a little more? Heck no, we’re driving someplace else. We headed deeper into the mountains of tiny rural villages that reminded us of Maui. I know it sounds weird but we’re kind of lucky to be here during the rainy season. There are intense shades of green everywhere. The pic of Rio Zapote shows a few of them but it doesn’t compare to seeing it in person. The rainy season really doesn’t put a damper on our activities either. It typically rains after 5pm and at that point we welcome the drop in temperature.

Tomorrow’s destination is Manuel Antonio National Park. As for how home life is going…we’ve gotten use to the aroma of bug spray and have been termite and crab free. We've also loaded each room with cucaracha traps. At first Mike kept the dead ones around so I could see the traps were working. I asked he didn't. I still don't like looking at them, upside down or not.

I keep busy at night by writing and Mike has been designing graphics, downloading his daily photos (I’m pretty sure he snaps a pic with each footstep), and is dabbling in a video editing program we didn’t know was installed on the laptop. We’ve also realized we can play videos on the computer from his iPod. Too bad our options are limited but it’s something and we’re in no place to be picky. And when all else fails, our trusty deck of cards rescues us from boredom.

Coming soon: Our own videos. We’ll try to capture what pics can’t and post them on the blog. Also, we have a ton more pictures (98% courtesy of Mike) that we’ll probably post on a Flickr or Kodak Gallery if your interested. Not sure when but as soon as possible. In the meantime, hope the few photos we have attached are helping illustrate our journey for you.

Day 5 (to be continued...)

Today was a good day. Good enough I haven't found the time to write about it yet. BUT, since we had the opportunity to get these other entries and pics posted, figured we should. I'll try to keep it updated at least twice a week from now on.

I know they are long but they give you a pretty good idea of the culture shock of a rollercoaster we've been riding for the past week. Feel free to leave comments too if you'd like! Remember, they're chronological...so start with Day 1!

Day 4: A new plan and Jaco

On Day 1 we were culturally shocked and uncomfortable but OK. Each minute of Day 2 pushed us further and further from OK. And on Day 3 we unsuccessfully tried to plan our escape. Today is Day 4. We’re still here and have some real wheels that can get us out of isolation in about 10 minutes. And the rest of Costa Rica is waiting for us so here we come. First stop, Jaco Beach.

Jaco is home to tourists from all over the world by the sounds of the languages in the streets and we understood plenty of conversations so we were automatically feeling more comfortable. We also found one of the many internet cafes and relaxed with a delish iced latte caramelo. It was the first moment I think we were able to really exhale. We’ve been overwhelmed, stressed, embarrassed, isolated, tired and confused for about 72 hours straight. It was nice to be there even though it was overpopulated with tourists and vendors. Typically we like to see areas that aren’t touristy. We don’t travel to eat KFC and get Billabong bathing suits. But this time, we welcomed the familiarity.

Being able to think a little more clearly, we realized that we would be taking a pretty big financial hit if we left our place now. And for a couple that quit their jobs for this trip, financial hits are what we’re trying to avoid. We would not get our deposit back because we are not fulfilling our contract and our first month’s rent, which we already paid, most likely won’t be reimbursed. For Ticos, the things that bug us (ha…get it?) are very normal conditions for them. Cold water showers, insects and crabs, little to no furniture, hard beds, no TV or internet, no transportation…is basically their way of living. It’s minimal, it’s uncomplicated, it’s natural, and it’s comfortable to them. I’m pretty sure some spoiled Americans whining about bugs and missing their cars doesn’t qualify as a valid reason to let us out of the rest of our contract with a reward. You take that chunk of change and then add in the amount of a new place…which most likely would be a hotel at this point since all houses seem to be just like ours…which means we no longer have a kitchen and fridge to save costs on eating every meal out…and the total is beyond what we budgeted for.

So we’ve decided to continue camping indoors for a month. We’re liberated until next Sunday when we return our rental car so our itinerary for the week is pretty full of tourist hotspots. We were able to navigate the bus system today if we want to escape again (doesn’t change the fact that we still have to walk forever to get to it or ride our bikes and not be able to sit for days at a time). And we stocked up on bug traps and bug spray. Mike has successfully relocated our crab and one palmetto bug to the beach (it was so big neither of us wanted to try and kill it out of fear we’d miss and it would seek revenge). And so far, the bug spray has proven to be a success when it poisoned the second palmetto in all of 2 seconds. So we’ll survive.

We’ve informed our landlord that we will not be renting past October 16th. From there, we’re going to decompress at some type of luxury spa or hotel resort (or really just a bug-free one with air conditioning, a soft real bed, and hot water) for about a week and enjoy some much missed comfort before we’re off to our next place. Where that is, we haven’t figured out yet (come on now, we’ve barely figured out tomorrow), but we definitely know the questions to ask before committing to anything. Lessons learned. That’s all for now, until the next internet café…

Day 3: FAIL.

Apparently today wasn’t the day we were supposed to make our grand escape. It was far from it. We slathered ourselves in sunscreen, strapped on our Camelbacks and suited up for our butt-crushing ride into town only to find that Mike’s bike had its second flat tire. The first one happened approximately 2 minutes after he rode it. Since we had just bought it and already had to have it repaired, we attempted to negotiate a refund for the busted tire bill. Language barrier aside, they knew what I wanted, but they weren’t budging. La guarantia es not for the tires, only for the frame (is what I managed to translate from her hand gestures). And I didn’t have enough hand gestures to argue. Actually, I did have one…but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t gonna get our money back.

So after a few attempts of refilling the tire with our new handheld pump that the bike repairman recommended after the first flat, Mike found the leak. Our options: walk our bikes to the shop to get it fixed again (two hours, at least, and more money spent on a brand new bike) or walk to town without the burden of our bikes, find an internet café and research local car rental agencies. Once we have a car, we can drive Mike’s bike to the repair shop to tell them that this bicicleta, and the place that sold it to us, es muy mal.

We opted to walk without our bikes and made it to a hotel that offers free internet if you buy something to eat or drink. Even though we rarely order soda, we got Coca Colas, ‘cause in Spanish, it’s still Coca Cola. Sure we could have translated “iced tea” or “bottled water,” but at that point, we went with whatever was easiest. With our sodas, our waitress brought us the password to their internet network. And as soon as we began to celebrate a tiny bit of success, we were shut down. For some reason that none of us could troubleshoot, the network wasn’t recognized by my laptop. Denied.

So we ordered chicken nachos, the best part of our day, and attempted to regroup. And then our waitress, after seeing us flipping through our dictionary, did the unthinkable - she spoke English. Halle-frickin-lujah.

The internet failed us but she didn’t. She gave us some paper and pens and jotted down some Spanish phrases she thought would be helpful. But more importantly, she pointed us in the direction of the closest car rental place in a neighboring tourist town of Quepos. The only barrier to success this time? Ourselves. Neither of us brought a license. Passport yes, it’s recommended to carry them with you at all times, but license no. And you can’t drive anything with a passport.

This wouldn’t be such an issue someplace else but when you’re facing a two hour hike home…just to turn around and do another two hours back…it ruined an already ruined plan and pretty much the rest of the day. The only good thing to come out of today, other than our nachos and English speaking waitress, is we found out that taxis will bring us home. We weren’t sure if they would due to the conditions of our road but like I said, today we were looking for easy. We went straight to the taxi terminal and for probably way more than it should cost, we got home in about 15 minutes. We opted to save the money and not take it back. Instead, we armed ourselves with bug spray, rinsed off with cold water, entertained ourselves with a deck of cards and called it a day.

So we’re still here. Another night. Tomorrow’s plan: get up early, walk to the bus station and head to Quepos to pick up our car. It’ll be like Christmas. Except instead of running downstairs to find our gift, we’ll have to hoof it about 6 miles.

Thought you’d all like to know that while emptying out our backpack from earlier in the day – Mike realized his wallet, with license in it, was with us all along. I’ll refrain from telling you what my response was…

Day 2: There's no place like home. Especially this place.

So we spent a good part of yesterday and today trying to convince ourselves that everything is going to be fine here in our beach home. With a front yard that is literally a massive, empty, soft sand beach and the sound of the waves singing you to sleep, how can you not think you’ll be fine?

BUT…that was before we had to battle the swarm of termites in our living room, our second palmetto bug (bug #1 is still on the loose somewhere), and the return of Creepy Crab and a few of his friends. Each room has been home to some type of creature with the exception of our bedroom. But I’ve already determined we aren’t sticking around to see what might show up.

The bugs aren’t the only issue with the place. It’s location across from the beach is pleasant enough but probably not the ideal location for tourists that want to explore a new country. We’re so secluded and remote that it feels like Costa Rica really is an island…and we’re the only ones on it. Our walk from the dirt road that leads us from our house to the main road to get to town takes a full hour. And that’s not getting to town yet. We still have close to another hour after that to get groceries, take a bus, hang out at an internet café, or eat at a restaurant. We haven’t gone hiking yet but we’ve used our Camelbacks the past 3 days just to get into town (for those who aren’t familiar with a Camelback, it’s a mini backpack with a catheter type bag that holds water with a hose that connects to your shoulder strap for easy hydrating on a hike, bike ride, or some other type of strenuous activity that would need hydrating…this qualified). We bought bikes yesterday thinking it would make the commute better but since the road that connects us to civilization is not paved and is filled with gullies and rock mountains, we can’t manage to actually sit on our bikes again for a least a week. We’re trapped. Yes, in our beach home (which sounds ridiculous, I know). But don’t forget, it’s infested with insects (either big in size or in number) and creatures that we didn’t welcome. And it’s about as comfortable as a tent. For a couple that wanted to relax and actually travel to see and experience new things…we’re in the wrong place.

So, we’ve opted to relocate to a place that doesn’t make us violently swat at the air when something happens to touch us (that poor fan pullcord is taking a beating). A place that leads to other places we want to see without an hour hike just to get a ride there. A place that will allow us to relax if we want to. We’re not abandoning our “travel shouldn’t always be like home philosophy”…we don’t need the TV, don’t really need the internet, and can handle the spotty cell service…those are things we’re just used to and we get that. But we’d like to be able to at least sit comfortably and sleep well. And maybe take a lukewarm shower…

I know I sound spoiled, and maybe a bit whiny, but I guess I can’t do a great job at describing this experience to you. For those who know us, you know we adore the beach. The sun, the waves, and the palm trees equal our heaven. This morning, we sat outside our front door and watched all these things only half a football field away and said, “I never thought I’d look at a view like this and say we need to get out of here.” But we do.

Tomorrow’s plan is to get some real wheels and find a new location. Wish us luck.

Day 1: Goodbye USA, Hola Costa Rica

We’ve landed safely…and in the middle of a more serious culture shock than what we had expected or have ever experienced (yes, this beats Japan, hands down…I’ll explain why in a bit). We’re way off the beaten path and not quite sure how to navigate it, especially without a grasp of the language. We are, without exaggerating, without the comforts of home and miles away from our comfort zone. We expected that some comforts were just given. We were mistaken.

When we got here, we thought we hit the jackpot. Our landlord’s husband, Edward, a 50-something expat from Florida, picked us up on time from the airport in the Costa Rican version of a Smart Car – which surprisingly fit everything we brought without a problem. He drove us through the cities of tin roofs and barred windows for a little bit until we hit Costa Rica’s only recently-opened yet still a work-in-progress highway. He informed us that a once 4 hour drive from the airport to our rental has now been cut back to about 2 hours - which we probably would have reacted more positively to if we weren’t expecting the one hour drive that his Tico wife, Julia, told us. On the way, he was gracious enough to pull over and let us join some other tourists checking out the Gator River below a cement bridge. Those bad boys camouflage really well in the muddy water but we were able to easily spot at least five big guys. He brought us to the bank to exchange money (and helped with the translation), through the popular tourist city of Jaco and to our town’s local Walmart (called Pali and is about the size of a two car garage filled with groceries). During the drive he offered his knowledge, passed along some important tips and answered our questions which were pretty few. We got this travel thing down right? We bought books, we researched online. I mean come on, we did live in Japan! And if we can do that…we can live anywhere, especially for only three months. Who needs questions answered? Ha…

Only now have we come to realize that we were spoiled travelers in Japan. We were welcomed by our British boss who (1) spoke English and (2) immediately befriended us. He taught us where the restaurants were, how to order, where to shop, where to meet fellow foreigners, how to use public transportation, and everything else we needed to know. For the first few weeks we tagged along with him until we remembered enough to mimic everything he did. And although it didn’t seem likely to us, Japan is much more English friendly than Costa Rica. Japanese students are required to begin their English studies in 7th grade so rarely did we encounter someone who had zero ability to communicate with us. Here, not so much, at all. So far our communication has been pretty one-sided: either ours or theirs. We look at each other, speaking our native languages and play charades. Sometimes we talk louder, or slower, or put a Spanish accent on our still English words…and, who would’ve guessed…still no comprehension. Here, there is no British guy to shadow. There was Ed, who went above and beyond what he needed to as a landlord’s husband/translator/shuttle driver. But really, we just got tossed into a new world with nothing but our Lonely Planet guide, a dictionary, and no idea what we had just got ourselves into.

From the main road, we pulled down one of the infamous dirt/rock/“is this really a road?” type of path that I had been warned of which brought us into the heart of the palm tree plantation we live on. We passed two “pulperias” (general stores) and a local bar with karaoke (a universal language, we definitely learned that in Japan). Ed informed us that we were on our road, headed to our beach house, and serenaded us with a harmonica solo. It was a humorous gesture; the only problem being that it distracted us from paying attention to which winding roads in the repetitious landscape of palm trees led to our home. But that’s a topic for another blog.

Our house is not the nicest but one of the nicer concrete homes on the block, with a roof, windows, shutters, a yard and a legit door. Across from the dirt road that brought us here is what we like to call our front yard, a beach bigger and more intense than I’ve ever experienced. The best part? There will be no blanket to blanket overcrowding here. There can’t be when there’s absolutely no one else on your beach for miles. And I’m glad to say that everything inside looked like the pictures they sent. The only difference was the two bedrooms we expected have two more. Oh yeah…and they forgot to send along pics of our houseguests; a ginormous palmetto bug (look at your thumb, paint it brown, add a few scaly legs, stringy antennas, and you’ve got the idea – kind of like a cockroach on steroids), and the creepiest crab we’ve seen yet. He was small but with a black body, bright red eyes and white clawtips, he was intimidating. Ed informed us that we also have giant iguanas in our backyard that will “look at us”…can’t wait. For those that don’t know, among my top dislikes are crustaceans, very large insects and reptiles. And I’ve just entered their domain. But I’m not the only one a little creeped out. After Mike attacked the fan pullcord for brushing his hair as he walked by…I’m pretty sure we both have the heebie geebies.

As for the comforts of home that we’re lacking: (1) Couches. Wicker is the furniture of choice here and after ten minutes of trying to get comfortable and fifteen minutes before your butt goes numb, they aren’t our preferred seating. (2) Television. (3) Internet. Not that we came here to veg in front of the TV and waste hours on the web but it’s weird when you have absolutely nothing that can entertain or inform. (4) A real bed. If this one was a Sleep Number, it would be zero. (5) Cell phone service. Thanks Verizon for assuring me that we’d be covered but you can’t hear me now. (6) Hot water. Sure cold showers are refreshing after a hot day…but not every time. (7) A washing machine. I will be handwashing our clothes. It's 2010 right? 8) A vehicle. It sucks when you’re stuck. ‘Nuff said.

There’s no doubt we’re missing the comforts of home but I guess that’s what real travel is…experiencing something uncommon and new, something that isn’t home…even if it’s not cozy. As Leonardo DiCaprio’s character says in Mike’s favorite movie The Beach, “We all travel thousands of miles just to watch TV and check into somewhere with all the comforts of home…you gotta ask yourself, what is the point of that?” For some people that’s travel…for some it’s not. Now that we’re put to the test, I guess we’ll find out which group we’re in.