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

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...

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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...

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...

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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?

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...

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...)

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!!)

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.