A Broad In Costa Rica

Luck

First, a little background music to set the tone: right click here and click on open in a new tab or window. The song should start playing automatically. Perfect song: Vive Ya [So Live, Already!]

"Don't minimize the importance of luck in determining life's course." - Alex Trebec

Man, you can say that again. All the best things have happened to me while I was out looking for something else.

My life plan was to marry Sean Penn, ultimate bad boy, and be a rich, famous Broadway star living between London and Malibu. I managed to screw that up by marrying a regular guy, a businessman. With a job yet. None of my other boyfriends had jobs; how did this happen? Big bonus: he also happens to be a libertarian wacko. I mean, how lucky can you get?

Then we find out we can't birth babies. ("Hallelujah," I say. Pretty lucky I feel that way, huh?) So then the universe drops Morgan and Ryan into our laps, pretty much out of the blue (thanks to Sherry, my adoption fairy godmother). You just can't get luckier than that.

"Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered." - William Shakespeare

But wait, there's more: luck sends four hurricanes in four months, stops my income, then gives us the bright idea to move to Costa Rica practically at the same moment. Then we do. Sometimes I look back and wonder how we made it through that first year. Geez, were we rubes or what? Luck had to play a part, there's just no other explanation for how we survived.

I'm here to testify that losing one's income does NOT make one feel lucky. Not at all. In fact, quite the opposite. It was Terrifying & Depressing. Especially at 50, especially with no pension or Roth or anything like that, especially looking forward to this economy (because it was clearly going to get worse before it got better) and especially when, everywhere you look, people are losing jobs and/or a good portion of their income. No, not lucky at all.

And, for most of those people, losing their mortgaged-to-the-hilt homes, too. I'm sorry, I can't drum up any sympathy for that consequence. First of all, most of my friends in the keys have been living in their foreclosure properties rent-free since we moved to Costa Rica. That's rent free for almost four years. Man, that's a lotta lemonade outta yer lemons.

Despite being overwhelmed with T&D, one could still grasp the beauty of the situation. Living rent free for four years, the benefits have to dawn on you at some point, unless you are already suicidal. So what, your credit's in the toilet? Who needs credit? What, you're going to go out house-hunting anytime soon with no job and a car payment you can barely afford thanks to Cash For Clunkers? I don't think so.

"Depend on the rabbit's foot, if you will, but remember it didn't work for the rabbit." - R.E. Shay

Losing that overpriced mortgage is a blessing. That pile of bricks is a house, not a home and it's never going to be worth enough to justify paying that mortgage for another minute. So, ok, when your bank finally forecloses, you'll have to move. Moving never killed anyone. Move in with mom. Ok, yeah, that might kill you. So move in with your bankrupt neighbor who is still living rent free because his bank hasn't foreclosed yet.

One friend went ahead and moved because she got sick of waiting for the bank notice to appear on her door. She rented the house to a guy, so she's got income from a house she basically no longer owns. That's like gourmet lemonade.

I guess there are people who can't make lemonade outta their lemons: acceptance is not in their tool bag. Not yet, anyway. They will, of course. U.S. citizens all have boot straps and we know how to use them. It's that initial realization period that is so shocking. I know families like ours that lived comfortably, not richly, but comfortably. Unexpectedly (because, you know, it always happens to the other guy), they lose something big (a job, a pension, insurance) and suddenly life is uncertain. Questions like, "what is going to happen next, where are we going to live" come to mind. Not only does day to day life change dramatically, many of their expectations, things they worked for, planned for, simply disappear. Poof. People who lost pensions and nest eggs... to me, that would be the hardest thing to accept. Lucky us, we never had one to lose.

"Name the greatest of all inventors. Accident." - Mark Twain

Financially speaking, the luckiest thing of all is that we accidentally had a year of adventure to distract us from the reality of our situation. During that year, whenever we thought of going back, we slowly became aware that the life we left behind didn't exist for us anymore. The work (real estate) was not coming back. We could no longer afford the house we left. Sushi dinners were out of the question. Clearly, we couldn't go back. Live in Key West without sushi? Not possible.

Our T&D at losing the old life was substantially mitigated during our first year of living abroad. We were too busy looking up words from street signs and trying to understand tico directions (Va alla = go that way with a sweeping wave of the arm) to be depressed for long. Today, our T&D is more like MA&W: Mild Anxiety & Wistfulness. By now, we know we'll think of something.

Here's my ace in the hole: if things get really bad, we'll sign up to teach English in China or Korea for a year. Escape, get paid, get a free place to live. Good idea, huh? I'm only sharing it because, at this moment, it doesn't look like we'll sign up for that adventure and I don't feel right hogging all the good ideas. I highly recommend the Living Abroad tactic to mitigate T&D brought on by extremely bad news. It works like a charm.

"The harder I work, the luckier I get." - Anonymous

The other thing is to start living like you've already lost it all. We figured this out in the nick of time. Stop spending. Stop eating out every meal. Work out a trade for sushi. Watch the cooking channel. Learn to sew and fix stuff instead of throwing it away. Grow a garden. If you haven't bought that clunker for cash, don't. Save every penny. There's the hard work part of staying lucky.

Oh, and buena suerte! [BWAIN-ah SWEAR-tay = good luck.]

"Those who have succeeded at anything and don't mention luck are kidding themselves." - Larry King

My Heroes

See more here.

God Meant Man To Fly

Possibly woman, too. But not this woman. Not like this:

On Not Expecting the Unexpected...

Cindy, Gary and their tres hijos [trace EE-hose, three sons] have been planning a trip to Costa Rica for many months. And I mean planning, leaving no stone unturned. Secretly harboring a thought or two of giving up the stinking Canadian rat race and transplanting to this beautiful warm country. The best laid plans and all that...

Cindy contacted me early in her quest for information and we got to be friendly. I joined her unschooling yahoo group. (Man, those women are intellectuals... I could hardly keep up!) When Cindy & Co. finally arrived, they came to our house for dinner. We had a great time, they did, too... But their exciting Costa Rica vacation definitely went downhill from here. Literally from my house... So downhill, their five weeks turned into less than three. One unexpected disaster after another.

The story of their trip is on her blog. If you are thinking of visiting or moving here, their adventure is a must-read. Cindy encountered stuff I never even considered warning someone about! Perhaps, there were appropriate warnings in the guidebooks or on websites and blogs. But the amount of information on Costa Rica is overwhelming and so much of it opinion. What do you pay attention to? Who do you listen to? Besides me, of course. But there's nothing like coming here to really get a "feel" for what it's like...

Hers is a new blog and she doesn't have the "traveling" links worked out yet, so here's how you read it: Go to this link and start reading posts from the bottom of the page. You have to give it a minute for the pix to load. When you've read the last post on that page, scroll back down to the bottom and hit "Previous page." Let the photos load, then start reading from the bottom again. I think there are three pages.

My new cover-everything-warning is Expect the Unexpected. Right up there with Develop Patience and A Strong Sense of Humor. Pura vida!

Where've I Been?

Just now at Volcán Arenal with Mom and Aunt Gay, mom's baby sister. This was my third time at the volcano, my favorite place in Costa Rica so far. Volcán Arenal is flawless, when you can see it.

Did you know, on a clear day, you can see the top of Arenal from San Ramon, two hours to the south of it? Huge and magnificent, an incredible sight. This picture (right: you click on it to make it bigger, Arenal's peak is smack in the middle) doesn't do it justice. Remember the look on Sam Neill's face when he sees the brontosaurus for the first time in Jurassic Park? That's how I felt seeing the top of Arenal looming in the distance. Amazing.

Saturday night, after a brilliantly clear day, we got a brilliantly clear night. Several thunder rolls from deep in the belly of the beast - at first you think it's thunder or a jet flying overhead. 'Cept no storm clouds and no jets... Arenal, she speaks. Then display after display of fire rocks rolling down the side. We were very lucky to see that because the next two days, until our drive home, she was completely in the clouds. You just see the bottom of a hill, not even a peek of a peak.

Sunday afternoon, we did the hanging bridge tour which was lovely, but I wouldn't do it again. It was just like the La Paz Waterfall walk without the waterfalls. In both, you walk for two-three hours through wet rainforest, mesmerized by the opportunistic life around you. If something dies, something else grows on it, sucking the last bit of life out of it, making the dead thing part of the living thing, thriving. Our guide pointed out that when something falls in the jungle, it's just making room for something else. You get a real sense of that happening here, even as you are walking past. Nothing goes to waste in a rainforest.

This afternoon we drove back a different route, via Ciudad Quesada/San Carlos. Wow. This is one of the most beautiful roads I've been on in Costa Rica. Treacherous and curvy, mountainous, very much like Cerro de la Muerte (hill of the dead), the road to San Isidro de General on the southern Pacific coast near Dominical.

Loaded with 18 wheelers (one of which was turned on its side after touching bumpers with a compadre) taking up more than their share of the road, adding to the thrill. But the views: mountain range after range, so green, providing incredible vistas with Volcán Arenal as the backdrop. Huge wow for me.

Where I've been the past two weeks is at a crossroads. A little panicky. Today, 28 Jan 2008, marks our two year anniversary in Costa Rica. It's been heaven, we have grown to love life here. It really is different. We are different. We never expected it. At least I didn't. Hal's been ready for a change for some time, but neither of us would have prophesied living in Costa Rica for good. If you'd known us then, you wouldn't have either. But here we are.

Spending our children's inheritance, now too pitiful a sum to call "inheritance," but, thankfully, still enough to buy an income. Which we must do NOW or move in with one of you. Any volunteers? There's just the five of us and three big muddy dogs. I'll keep checking my inbox for the invites. In the meantime...

What to do, what to do? We've filled and erased three oversized white-boards with every Option & Idea we can think of, now filling the fourth. The first white-board was the most revealing.

On it, we'd listed pros/cons on going back to the states. Any business we do, especially if there were product involved, would be easier in the states. Like, Hal's been trying to get a test copy of his book in paperback from Lightening Source. They've shipped out three, so far. All three lost, sent to the wrong address even though he's emailed the exact dirección. The last copy went to Mexico due to a typo. Customer service for a product would be a nightmare from here. So, product from here? That's out. Product in the U.S.? Doable.

Buying a business with employees in Costa Rica is out. All we hear from gringos who own businesses here are the many ways you are taken advantage of and ripped off. You have to be at your business every minute it's open. You might as well have a job. On top of that, if you are going to own a business here with employees, you better be fluent in Spanish. As comfortable as we are with the language, we are at least a year out from being anywhere close to that. Probably ten. So employee biz here? Out. In the U.S.? Doable.

Our ace-in-the-hole plan would be to move to Gainesville, buy a business there (bar or shooting range, natch) while I spend three years in acupuncture school. That was the loosely held plan before moving to Costa Rica. We saw the end of the real estate game looming large and acupuncture is a good fit for me - I would love this career. Definitely doable.

As far as the boys go, being in the U.S. would be a good thing. They could get part-time jobs. There's a wealth of learning opportunities in a college town for teens, including college. We could live in Gainesville for probably less than what it costs to live here. Sad, but true. Security would not be an issue there. Better roads. Cheap Triscuits. Huge cheap bookstores. I mean, the only thing we can no longer live without is an income. If having one means living in the U.S., so be it. Would it be so bad? Heck, you do what you have to.

Well, we sat with that pro/con list for a few days, pretty much avoiding the white-board, coming to grips. Realizing the pros of moving back far outnumbered the cons when contemplating income. But man, were we getting depressed. At first, the list looked inviting. A return to familiarity. To knowing how everything works. No razor wire. Within a day's drive to all our Key West buddies. I could go to school. Teen growth opportunities...

I guess we've crossed some invisible line, rounded some curve, burnt some bridge... life looks different now. We so like living in Costa Rica. I mean, it's something, alright. Breathtaking, frustrating, hilarious, no question. There's no logical explanation. I wish I could put my finger on what has captured us so completely. Here we have a perfect reason to go "home," perfect timing, no one could fault us for going back. Turns out we'd rather eat monkey brains. Going back? Not doable unless there is flat out no other option. Erasing that pro/con list was SUCH a relief.

So we've filled three more white boards with Os&Is. And cartoon stick figures... Narrowing the field, we've been shopping biz for sale sites, calling, writing, negotiating. Owning a business in the U.S. would still be OK, as long as we didn't have to live there. Ruminating on all this, when, last week, out of the blue, a madcap millionaire inventor we just met wants Hal to do a business with him. Then the MMI's abogado [ah-bow-GAH-doe, attorney] invited Hal to participate in another business idea... both of which could work out. That's sure hopeful. Meeting with both in the next two weeks... hmmm.

So that's where I've been. Sorry to have dropped out of sight... I can't do two things at once. The reality of Must Have Income Now overtook us and I couldn't focus on anything else. But I'm back, and no longer panicked. Three days around Arenal, in the rainforest, driving over mountains, that puts things in perspective!

That we will come up with something, there is no doubt. They say the best indicator of what a person will do is what they've always done. We've always done fine. Personally, I'd like something pretty and fun. That we can do in Costa Rica. If you could send up a little prayer or white light, however you do it, that would be so lovely. I mean, do you really want to read a blog about life in Gainesville?

Where Do I Begin?

Last Thursday, the Badgetts and Mo and Ryan and I all took off for Ginnee and Phil Hancock's home out in the boonies. I mean OUT in the BOONIES. The Badgetts brought an extra suitcase with clothes and Christmas presents for the Cabecar [kah-BECK-are] indigenous tribe. We'd all been invited to spend a couple of days with Ginnee and Phil, then attend the annual Christmas party for the Indians. Who could pass up such an interesting invitation!??

Interesting doesn't begin to cover it. While I'd spoken and emailed Ginnee, we'd never met. Ginnee and Phil, they's what we call back in KY "good people." They are among the incredibly generous dedicated people who've made Costa Rica home. There are, thankfully, so many worker bees volunteering time and energy, donating food and clothing, fund-raising. But Ginnee and Phil, like Barry, Nanci, Evangeline and Gail, are leaders. The glue. The force. Without them digging in, the rest of us wouldn't know where to start.

The Hancocks spent two years looking for their perfect retirement haven in Costa Rica. They found it outside a small - like 10 houses and a pulperia [pool-pah-REE-ah, tiny store, usually in a home] - town of Esperanza. The most hopeful thing about Esperanza is its name. The Hancocks hope to change that over time, to bring a little prosperity back to Esperanza. But that's down the road.

Since they moved here a year ago, while they plan their earth bag home, they rent a huge house outside Tuis, outside Turrialba, outside Cartago. Two hours from us, the drive is almost all highway until about a mile away. Then it's dusty goat track.

When we arrived, we met the five other very interesting people with whom we would spend the next two days. There was Visma from Brazil and Sharon from Uganda, both attending Earth University, learning agriculture so they can go back and teach their people to feed themselves.

The young and lovely Helen Thompson from London (sitting with Ginnee above) was there. She's an intern at A.M. Costa Rica and just wrote this lovely article about the trip. Plus Lucy, Ginnee's good friend, and Lucy's niece Joann. That's in addition to the four Badgett's and the three of us and Ginnee and Phil. And Jack, their gentle giant Rottweiler. I mean that house is BIG. We ate great food (pix here), talked until way after dark, then climbed into wonderfully comfortable beds.

Six am Friday, we took off to meet up with Daniel (in the middle) and Hector (smiling, always smiling) who run Voz que Clama Misión and organize this shindig. There, we'll load up the flat bed truck with donations and food, then continue on to Quetzal [KETZ-all] where we would meet and party with the Cabecar.

Hector and Daniel are tico. Young, handsome, smart, energetic, love their country, obviously love their fellow human being. Whatever power possesses them to continue their mission in the face of insurmountable odds, I have yet to touch even the outer edges of this faith. It is a Christian mission, they are called by God. They would have to be.

Hector and Daniel take in the mentally ill and challenged among us no one else will. They've rescued two young men from their families. One fell out of a tree as a boy and broke his spine. So his family put him out to die. When he didn't die, they beat him hoping he'd die. Nice. Hector and Daniel give him a home.

Another young man was born with cerebral palsy. His family put him on their hot tin roof to die, refused to feed him. His mom snuck him food, so they were both banished. Voz que Clama gives them a home. A young schizophrenic woman has a home at the Misión. A life most of us can't imagine facing, these guys dive into with love and courage and live it. Words can't touch this.

It's about a 40 minute drive to the mission (photos here) and we find at least 25 people there, all of them volunteers, many students at Hector and Daniel's Spanish language immersion school. I discover that almost all of the students are repeat visitors who come every year just to attend this party. I'm impressed.

We load 'em up and head 'em out. Ginnee has a torn rotator cuff and can't shift so I'm driving her Rodeo. Besides, it's bigger than our Rav4 so fits more people and stuff.

Our caravan of 7 autos, including the lead truck with the volunteers standing in it and a flat bed loaded down with donations, food, and people, leaves the Misión. In about 20 minutes, we turn onto a dirt road. For the next three hours, I'm in first gear. That's how bad the road is. We ford a shallow part of a river. We drive over bridges that make the Oh Shit and the Oh My God bridges look sane. Almost. We drive up, up, sometimes straight up. Sometimes straight down. I am concentrating hard. My boys are in different trucks up ahead. I figure God won't let them both go over the edge so at least I'll be left with one...

Finally we arrive at the town of Quetzal. I have no idea where this is. I was in a bookstore yesterday, looked at all the maps, asked the clerk who googled it and nobody could find it. I don't even know which direction we were driving when we left Tuis... unless up is a direction. On the map above, you see that big empty space to the southeast of Esperanza? I'm pretty sure we are in there somewhere.

When we arrive, at least a hundred Cabecar Indians are waiting for us. Some of them live right there around Quetzal. You can tell these locals from the Indians who live on the reservation because the locals' faces tended to be livelier and, for the most part, they weren't wearing muddy boots.

Here's the unbelievable thing. The rest of the Indians walked down from the reservation in the mountains. This is an 8-hour walk. If you are a fit strong adult with no children, you can do it in five, weather permitting. But there are plenty of kids here... They left home around 3am and walked down the mountain for eight hours to come to this party. Which will only last a couple of hours because they have to leave before dark to walk the eight hours home. Today.

This is the hike Ginnee blogged about a couple of months ago. The hike that includes sitting in a basket and pulling yourself over a wide raging river. This is no walk in the park.

Regardless, everyone enjoyed the party, the piñata, the candy and the food. You can see all the photos here. The majority of the time was spent handing out clothes and presents for the kids.

Which is something else: these guys are all going to walk 8 hours home carrying huge bags of clothes. Plus we brought ten or so sheets of tin roofing material - each at least 12' long, 4' wide. How they are going to manage this, I can't imagine. But they were eager to have it. Where there's a will...

As we all headed home in our different directions, it started to rain a bit. It rains about 300" a year there, waaaaaay more than in Escazú. I wonder about them walking in the rain going home, but if there's any concern about it, you don't see it on their faces.

There is so much more to say, I learned so much in my three days there. Ginnee is a walking encyclopedia on the Cabecar Indians, on the Voz que Clama (which loosely means voice that claims - what a perfect name) Misión, on organic farming, on sustainable living... Phil is a nurseryman so their farm is already producing organic foods, and is GORGEOUS. They are dreaming of an intentional community in the neighborhood of ten families.

That's the way to live in Costa Rica - I know so many people here who either live this dream or dream it, too. I don't know if I could live in the rain forest, but I would love to live with them for a year and document their progress. It is a fascinating project. They are fascinating people... good people.

But right now, I have to stop writing and start watching. The roars, whistles, pop pop pops, pounding and boom boom booms of Christmas Eve fireworks have started... Just like last year: 9pm start on the dot... I expect it will end around one. Unlike last year, it seems they are all coming from the neighbor directly behind me. Nice and loud. Hopefully he'll run out before, oh, say, eleven. I'll keep you posted.

Air Show Photos

The boys got home Sunday night - Mo's 16th birthday. Sixteen. Wow. You don't think about that when you are holding them in your arms as tiny babies... Now he's flying auto-gyros.

They had a good time, worth the trip: seven hours going (the took the wrong road, one with LOTS of construction), about 4.5 coming back, including two long stops. It's nice knowing Samara and the Nicoya peninsula is not that far away! Sometimes you need a nice HOT beach weekend...

I've not been blogging much lately, fixated on creating an income, revamping my Key West real estate site, making it more friendly, less gloom and doom. There ain't nothin' nice to say about Key West real estate. It's depressing as hell. But plenty nice to say about Key West, so I'm going to focus on that!

And trying to finish the book. Writing a book is harder than it looks. It's really written; the details are endless. I think they multiply in the night. I'm getting there, but I gotta stop talking about it, making promises. Hate making promises I'm not sure I can keep. So one day, my book will come... I promise.

And more on Costa Rica living tomorrow. I pr... o... mise.

Pobrecitos!

Hal and Mo went to Samara yesterday to an Air Festival put on by The Flying Crocodile. They drove, took about six hours from what I can figure. Hal emailed me this morning:

Hi,
Got in yesterday around 5:30. Got to the airport at about sundown. Going there again today. Cell phones don't work. No AC. No hot water. Paradise just like I remember it. One of us will call if the other is killed in a plane wreck. We both love you.
Pura vida,
Hal

God, what a romantic. Here's a video of what they are doing, probably right this minute! I had to turn down the music... way too loud, although a pretty funny choice... You'll definitely want to do this next time you are here!

As they left, they were talking excitedly about taking lessons... I mean, you get 30% off flights and lessons at the Air Festival - why not? It'd be foolish to pass that up, right? They'll probably come home with one strapped to the top of the car. Actually, I could hang with that idea...

Wrong Question

This morning, I had to admit to Hal that my homesickness has ratcheted up a notch lately. A big notch. So much so that, in my mind, I unconsciously find myself adding "when we go back" to the end of my thoughts. Unconsciously, until this morning when I heard my thoughts loud and clear. It stopped me in my tracks. Why was my mind going there? Why am I so homesick all of a sudden?

Consciously, I don't want to go back. Our lives are good here. We are comfortable, we know people, we get around, we love the country, the adventure. The language is even manageable. We are certainly as comfortable as anyone could be after such a short time in a new country, learning a new language, having left behind "x" number of years of familiarity. TTTT.*

Two years is the common turnaround time for expats who go back and we are fast approaching two years. No comments from the peanut gallery, Mr. Jones. But is there some catharsis that does or doesn't happen at the two year mark?

Sandford, my Key West mentor for 18 years, taught me a couple of things. Like the notion of displacement of effective stress: like yelling at the boys when I'm upset over a work situation or really mad at Hal. Like, it is darkest before the dawn. Confusing situations are most confusing just before clarity. Discomfort is most intense just before the seas calm. I've noticed that if I just hang in there long enough without quitting or running away, the answer comes. I'm going to assume this intense homesickness a) is not what it seems and b) will resolve. There is a light at the end of this tunnel. Maybe it's lighting up a path back to the states... I have to be open to that possibility. But I can't run back because I'm homesick. That would just be too embarrassing. Too weak. Heck, I'm no quitter.

But I'm looking for resolution. I can feel this anxiety in my body. That can't be good.

I had a dream a few nights ago. We had moved back to Key West and had done it very quickly. Sort of like how we moved here. I don't remember what precipitated the move, but we were in an empty rented house in Key West. It was really HOT and we were sweating. The house was your basic ranch style 1100sf three bedroom 1 bath center hallway CBS** with older yellow carpeting.

As I walked around this house in my dream, there was no strong emotion, just a pleasant familiarity, relief from the anxiety of "new" which I guess I still feel here more than I care to admit. My dream house was perfectly livable, but definitely the Key West house we would now be able to afford instead of the spacious, newly renovated Key West house with a pool we'd left behind.

As I walked, those nice feelings of familiarity evolved into feeling disoriented, then an overwhelming homesickness for this house, our Costa Rica home: the light, the view, the space. The feelings of accomplishment and security I have when I'm here. Of relief because we escaped to a friendlier place. I thought, "Oh my God, what have we done?" Probably the thought most of our friends had when we left Key West... In my dream, I was so confused, very sad, so much that I started crying which woke me up.

Ok, so I'm a little conflicted. Emotions are messy, illogical and unpredictable. There's a saying: feelings are not facts. Good thing. Feelings are just clues so you know to look for the effective stress hiding underneath. As far as actually going back...

Politically, we can't imagine going back unless Ron Paul were to win, which, as Pollyanna as I can be, just seems unlikely. Until last week, I was pretty certain it was gonna be Hillary which will make Mom happy, but I'm in the ABH camp. A Clinton in the White House will be more expensive and destructive for our economy than even we can imagine. Sadly, I don't believe Obama or Giuliani will be any better. Happily, there's still a year of promises to go before Decision 2008. What fun.

Financially, going back to Key West right now is out of the question. Cost of living is just too high. We'd be flat broke in six months with the same money that will give us almost two more years here.

Earning a living there that will allow us an equivalent quality of the life to the one we enjoy here seems unlikely, even in Key West where I still have a business and contacts. My small property management business there is good, expanding, even with me here. But the real estate sales business is costly to be in and sales are way, way down. Key West is out, for now.

Then there's the weather. I don't know if we could live in Florida heat again. Especially when we enjoy perfect weather here: no ac, no heat, with our choice of cold mountain or sweltering beach within two hours' drive.

So if we moved back to the states, we'd have to move to a new city, probably in central Florida. No language barrier, but we'd be going through the whole New Surroundings thing, culture shock of a different ilk, all over again. We just got through this one!!! Plus starting a business in a completely new place... oy vey. We are doing that here... what advantage is there to moving to yet another new locale?

Besides, it's my friends and familiarity I miss, not the U.S. So moving anywhere but Key West still leaves me homesick. Logically, there's no comfort to be found going back. So... what's the effective stress???

Leave it to Hal, my accidental therapist. When I told him all about my homesickness, wondering if he felt the same, he laughed out loud. He said, "You just say that because we don't have an income. Let's keep working on the income. Then the question we'll be asking is, 'Where do we go next?'"

Whoa. There it is. I've been asking the wrong question. See why I married him? You know, I always go back to safe. Hal never does. The "where do we go next" question completely eluded me. If the answer turns out to be "back to the U.S.," I can live with that. I'd just like to be driven forward by hope and possibility rather than driven back by anxiety and fear. If Hal can do it, I can learn to. There's something useful to teach the boys!

*TTTT = Chat room talk for "these things take time."
**CBS = Concrete Block Structure

Truckers

Driving in Costa Rica, you will see the undercarriages of more 18-wheelers than you ever cared to. They turn over all the time. Partly because the roads are so bad, so narrow, the ditches so close and deep. Partly because as soon as you can get a driver's license at 18 (which makes sense), you can have a license to drive anything with zero additional training (which makes no sense at all.) I guess they figure if you can steer a moped, you can drive a 40-ton truck?

HINT: If you are driving on a road and you see a fresh tree branch with leaves on it laying in the middle of the road, SLOW DOWN. This means there is a car or truck stopped in your lane and they don't have those orange triangles (which you are required by law to have in your car). It's usually a truck and it's usually turned over.

This picture is from La Nación, Costa Rica's biggest daily paper (I showed this picture last January so it may look familiar.) The rest of the photos I took and these are just the ones for which I was quick enough with the camera... there are at least twice as many I was not able to photograph. Like the first few times I found myself staring at an 18-wheeler undercarriage, realizing this was going to be a common sight.

The last time Mom and I went to Sarchi about a month ago, we were following this truck (on the right). He must have turned over shortly after we passed him, 'cause here he is about an hour later when we were en route home. Fortunately, no other cars were smushed. I'll bet it was close. Imagine watching the topple start to occur...

I'll bet the guy driving this truck (these photos were taken two weeks ago) is just 18 and this is his first delivery job. Did they pack the truck like this, all out of balance? Is it my imagination or is the weight shifting more and more to the left? And who's the bigger fool: the guy driving the truck or the guy passing on the left where that big metal thing will land when the truck tips over?

Hmmm. Quite possibly, it's the moron driving behind them snapping pictures.

This truck on the left is filled with men: illegals going to work. Every once in a while, the wind blew the tarp up and we saw the guys inside. They looked plenty nervous. Mom took this picture.  I never take pictures while I'm driving and it's raining. Too dangerous.

These trucks, like the one on the right, are my favorite: filled with all kinds of junk going to the junkyard. You see 18-wheelers like this, sides constructed out of scrap metal, fill to overflowing with crap. Er, scrap. NOTE: You'll wanna stay back for when things fall off.

On our van trip to the whitewater rafting jump in spot, the coming and going van drivers found themselves in this predicament. No room to pass, ditches and/or big rocks on both sides. And backing up to a wide spot in the road would have meant backing up for close to 30 minutes either way.

Of course, it took almost an hour to get the two vans dislodged. And all the guys (there were at least four beside me, a couple more still in our van and two guys standing on the other side with the other van driver), standing around scratching their chins, shaking their heads, evaluating the situation, shouting ideas and suggestions and orders in either Spanish or English, shoving, pulling, then re-evaluating, all of us being order to get out, then in, then out. It was quite the project!

Road and auto safety is a big issue here, whether you are driving, riding or walking. Most deaths in Costa Rica are auto-related, pedestrians and bicyclists being the biggest losers. Mostly, I believe, because we are surrounded by first-generation drivers. There is no history to point to, no collective wisdom, no long chain of evidence. No grandpa to teach the young 'uns to drive. We are all learning together.

In the states, I never got the whole seat-belt thing (more proof of my morondom) and resented when drivers told me to buckle up or walk. Here, we can't get buckled up fast enough. Even the boys, and not 'cause I told them. Probably because I'm driving. But after just a day driving here, you will unconsciously reach for your seatbelt if you don't already. Some days, on some roads, you'll even think helmets might not be a bad idea.