A Broad In Costa Rica

My 2 Least Favorite Things About Costa Rica

As you know, I hate to complain. But a coupla things are ticking me off lately. Like...

1. Gringo Pricing. While ticas and I are the same height, all resemblance stops there. Ticos see me coming. Like going into the local pulperia [mom and pop grocery] for eggs last week. A flat of eggs in Auto Mercado is 2,800 colones. (Eggs are sold by weight, but this is average price.) Well, Juan charged me 4,000 colones and these were not heavy eggs. Nor were they fresh.

Like at Spoon yesterday in Alajuela's International Mall, I ordered a Capuccino and got out my rojo [red, slang for a 1,000 colon note which is red]. When the girl told me it would be un mil setecientos cincuenta [1,750 colones], I almost choked. $3.22 for a coffee in Costa Rica? Me being a quick thinker and all, I said, "Tengo solo un mil." [I only have a rojo.] As I turned to walk away, she - also a quick thinker - said, "Un mil esta bien." She snatched my rojo and pushed the coffee at me. Ok, I can live with that. Since prices weren't posted for coffee, I didn't know the true price. At home online, I see the price is 1,075 colones. (And, no, I did not misunderstand her. I made her say it twice and even repeated it back to her. Grumble, grumble.)

Most of the time, I don't notice, I take it in stride and try to prevent the more outrageous takings. Lately, I notice. Maybe it's more obvious, maybe I'm just homesick for Key West. But if prices aren't posted, gringos, ask cuantos before you order, or shop elsewhere. At the feria [farmer's market], I only buy from stalls that post prices. I hate feeling like I got taken. Which happens if you aren't mindful.

Petty Dishonesty (P.D.) is rampant in Central America. I don't think it's considered "bad" here. It's simply an opportunity to earn a quick few colones. And it's not really stealing (unless you are all hung up on the 10 Commandments). If a tico thief is caught with less than $400 worth of stuff, judges let them go. There are practical reasons: Costa Rica doesn't have jail space to hold every petty thief, one of my most favorite things about Costa Rica. But it's a fact everyone knows which probably leads to continued relaxation about P.D.

If I'm going to insist on firing every maid who takes a bag of oatmeal, a battery or a can of tuna fish, I'm likely not going to have a maid. Almost everyone tells me this, I didn't figure it out on my own. As my last maid told me, "I never took books or money." There was no shame for her in being a thief. There was dismay for getting caught and losing a good job. The rationale is that I have so much, she has so little, so it's not stealing. She's helping me share. Gringo pricing taken to the next level.

And it's not just gringo to tico where P.D. exists, it's tico to tico, too. It's why, if one is involved in an accident, one waits for a cop without moving the cars involved. Even if those cars are in the middle of the road blocking traffic. Why? Because ticos don't trust each other to tell the truth about what happened. Fabrication for fun. Exaggeration is sport in Costa Rica. There's not even animosity about it.

Are gringos more honest than ticos? At the petty level, what I'd call "cash register" honesty, I'd say yes. But only then. We have cash register honesty drilled into us from birth (except for politicians. They'll steal anything not nailed down.)

Gringos certainly own their share of thieves, just not so much the petty everyday thievery. We prefer Bernie Madoff-styled heists. And maybe foreigners in the U.S. have to constantly count their change. But, at this moment, I'm sick of it.

2. You can't always get what you need. Or even what you want. Like real whole wheat flour. Like most vitamins. And no mega-dose vitamins at all here. Like real salt. Or just plain salt with nothing added. Even though it's mined here, they add iodine and fluoride to all salt, even sea salt. Argh. Like a host of gadgets: a dehydrator, for instance. You can't get these items here at all, not to be found even for a price.

The vitamin situation is ridiculous. You can't even pay duty and get vitamins shipped here - customs takes them. Last fall, they took my eight bottles of Omega3 vitamins, which cost $150 for the vitamins and $50 for shipping. Eight bottles for a family of four is not that much. For a family of one, it's not that much. But the sharp tacks at aduanas insisted I apply for an import license for vitamins. For 8 bottles. So I did. They denied it, of course.

So, they had the vitamins, they weren't going to give them to me for any amount of money or permission. What was the point of that exercise? And did they sell them? Take them? I'll bet they are still sitting there, rancid by now, of course. The entire point seems to be simply to show who's boss. Like me telling Morgan he can't do something "because I said so." Stupid.

Whole wheat flour does not exist here. What is labeled whole wheat in the store is not. For one thing, it's Betty Crocker-style ww: everything removed, the life bleached out of it, then some fiber, iron and "nutritional stuff" added back in. We guess it's better than white, but we yearn for the real thing.

We do have a few pounds of whole wheat berries and would grind those if we could. But, unless you buy a Vitamix here (for twice the price in the U.S.), you can't buy a good grain grinder in Costa Rica. We've finally given up buying expensive small electronics and equipment here. I have long suspected that manufacturers send their "seconds" to third world countries, because, no matter the brand, every small appliance we've bought in Costa Rica has failed in short order. We are on our fourth coffeepot in four years. The current one broke yesterday.

For everything you can order in - including books, now - you pay anywhere from 50% to 100% duty on it plus exorbitant shipping fees from your mailing service. If you can get the gadget here, it's double the price it is in the states. If you are moving here - and there are still more things I love about Costa Rica than not - bring everything.

Here's my question: who does all that duty benefit? It supports the customs industry, but anyone else? Does the government use this money (if they see anything over and above what it costs to run customs) to benefit ticos? It clearly does not. In fact, it only makes it impossible for the average tico to afford any cool gadgets. And if a tico can't get a visa to visit the U.S. (who can these days?), you can't even go there and buy one at Best Buys.

Some days, I yearn to walk into a big health food store and buy a couple of bags of whole wheat flour. To have that coveted dehydrator shipped to my door. Easy vitamins. Ryan to be able to get all the books he wants. In Key West, we'd buy at least five to ten books a month. Not now.

Perhaps it's the old 'merican "I want what I want when I want it. Which is now." But I can't help it: I do. In the big picture, it's a small price to pay. Right at this moment, I'm annoyed. OH, wait, I hear the girls:

Coup or No Coup?

Over on Costa Rica Living, we've been havin' ourselves a good ole time ranting and raving about Honduras and is it a coup or not. (It's not.) You can read the posts here (this is a 44 page pdf document... you have to be really interested!) The CRL camp is divided: half think coup, the other half think legal constitutional action. Both sides quote Honduras' Constitution. They've read it once and are certain they understand the details. I wonder how many have read the U.S. Constitution?

Some of the posters are downright hostile and very, very certain Honduras needs to take back Zelaya. Not me. I say goodbye to dictator-wannabes. Personally, I think Obama and Clinton are worried sick to see a citizenry kick out a president because he wouldn't follow the Constitution. Might give their peons ideas.

If you are interested in following this situation from a local's point of view, check out La Gringa's blog. I've been reading it since we moved here. She's paying attention, I trust her take.

I'm posting that pdf for hysterical historical purposes: in a few months or years, it will be interesting to look back and read what really happened then and what is really going to happen next. And how right or wrong those other people were. There's a lotta hot air on CRL. Not me, of course. Them.

In other news, I finished my second week of massage school and I'm liking it way more than I thought I would. In fact, it's quite satisfying. Bodies are cool. And I love being out of the house away from this computer! I've given a few freebie test massages and feel like I'll be good by the time I've completed the school. I might be too old, though: I keep forgetting if I've done a part or not. I don't really think it's kosher to ask, "Have I rubbed this leg yet?" Maybe I just need more estrogen.

I also have finished my second week of chelation using Andy Cutler's protocol. I take the chelation supplement (DMSA) on a low dose for three days ("on round"), then off for four ("off round"). The first couple of days off round, I feel pretty yucky, like I'm coming down with a flu: headachy, tired, the whole body flu thing. This means there is mercury in the old bod and it's moving out. Pretty weird, pretty cool. I'm sticking with it. I want that crap outta my body. Maybe I'll start to remember where I am.

On the home front, we are considering moving from this house. We actually considered moving to Heredia across the valley. We lived over there when we first moved to Costa Rica and it is beautiful. It's the country. It's really Costa Rica. Even though I have cows on my street, Escazú is like Manhattan compared to Heredia. So, we spent a couple of days last weekend driving all over Heredia, looking at houses. It's beautiful, it's peaceful, it's cheaper, we have some good friends over there... but I can't leave the city. I've made my life over here, I have friends over here, I have a routine, I know the area. The worst thing about culture shock is that Everything Is Different. Well, I finally know my way around here and I can't give that up. I like what little familiarity I've found, dammit!

All is well here. I'm working hard on the sites I manage, fitting in a practice massage when I can, exercising, chelating, worrying about money and teaching myself not to worry about anything. It will all be just fine, I know it will. Even if I have to go back to the states and live in my car, that would be a new adventure. (I'm still exercising so I'll be in good enough shape to live in a cardboard box if I have to.)

When I bought my first car in 1989, a Toyota station wagon, I bought it because my father had just died, I was in a rocky place and I figured I could always live in a station wagon. Hal's brother has our Toyota mini-van in Key West. We could all live in that. Camping under the stars, eating canned food heated up over a nice fire in the woods. That would be an adventure, now wouldn't it? See? Why worry.

Forget The Sewing Machines... For Now:

A Cabecar Indigenous reality

Posted by Ginnee Hancock
on the Costa Rica Living Group
Thu Jul 3, 2008 12:19 pm (PDT)

Yesterday a Cabecar Indigenous woman came down from the reservation with her mother and her child, a deformed two year old. The child has never seen a doctor and was born on the reservation. The birth was very difficult and one side of the child’s body is mangled. They walked for perhaps as long as 8-10 hours to seek help at the Mission. The child was carried and the Grandmother is not well herself. The Grandmother has either dementia, is in shock, is starving, or all of the above. Starvation contributes to the problems of the Cabecar Indigenous, mental illness and disease.

This Mother loves her child very much, she is not educated, speaks the Cabecar language, not Spanish, and is afraid of the Tico (Costa Rican) world because of years of discrimination and repression that she has endured as an Indigenous person.

A 5 year old child with a deformity was recently hung and murdered on the reservation. It’s a cultural thing. The Mother who arrived yesterday was fleeing with her Mother and child because she believes her child was next to be killed. I believe her.

The Voz Que Clama Mission near Turrialba took them in and they are safely hid for the moment. We are doing our best to get medical attention for the child. PANI (think children and family services) is out of the question as they will take the child and the Mother will never see her baby again. Rural local hospitals and clinics leave a bit to be desired and have few or no specialists.

This family can never go back to the reservation again, or they will be taken care of (the cultural thing I mentioned). The Mission has other residents who survived their own personal attempted executions on the reservation. One young man with a spinal cord injury that happened when he fell out of a tree, was beaten and stoned by his own family, he has scars from head to toe.

My daughter a volunteer at the Mission is renting a house by the Mission and I mentioned to her that perhaps the Indigenous woman and child could move into the casita at the house, so we are looking into that.

The Mission is in desperate need of powered milk, rice and beans. You can go to the Mission website http://vqcmission.com/ hit the Paypal button and donate now. We will then buy rice and beans to help these very poor Indigenous people, the first people of Costa Rica. Or perhaps you would be kind enough to collect bags of rice and beans from among your friends. We can arrange to pick them up from one central location. Perhaps Vicki Skinner would collect them for us. Bernie at the Pura Vida Hotel is always very kind to the Mission, I am sure he would also be a collection point if that works for you.

I would not ask you for help at this time if the need were not so overwhelming for us. Their reality is difficult to take in. How can these atrocities be happening in 2008 in our back yard?

Thank you for helping.

Blessings,
Ginnee
2531-1047

Ginnee y Felipe Hancock
Finca Quijote de Esperanza, SA
Costa Rica
http://www.costaricamountain.blogspot.com
ginnee@racsa.co.cr

--

I just went to the site and gave $50. Yes, the last of the Big Spenders. The PayPal button is at the bottom of the page, you don't need a PayPal account, just a credit card. Please give whatever you can: $5 in Costa Rica is a fortune, especially when you are talking rice and beans. I know all these people, have touched them with my own hands. Every penny will go to help the indigenous people. Peace.

Vexations

Man, my patience is tried. I'm fried, wiped out. I surrender. Ok, I almost surrender, but it's touch and go. When bad things happen here - just everyday bad things - you come up against the culture shock thing big time. Because simple solutions here are not... simple. Mainly because they take way, way, waaaaaay longer. And you can never get the truth about when that solution is going to happen.

Like, the house phone went out two weeks ago. Not that it's critical, but when you need a phone, nothing else will do.

It seems so silly now, but when we first got here, the telephone was, unexpectedly, a huge hurdle. It became our enemy, a thing of mystery. There to push our buttons. When you call someone who is not there, the voicemail tells you "GRA-see-us poor jah-MAR-may DAY-hay oon men-SAH-hay dayce-PWAYCE del TOE-know." Huh? We'd have to just hang up. Turns out that means "thank you for calling, leave a message after the tone." But at first it sounds like graseeuspoorjahmarmay, dayhayoonmensahhaydaycepwaycedeltoeknow. Say that really fast and record it as your Personal Greeting. See how many messages YOU get.

When you call a doctor or hospital or Pizza Hut and the person who answers says AH-low instead of hello - which happens 99% of the time - right away you know you're in trouble. Because that person speaks only Spanish, and sign language and facial expression are no help over the phone. And getting phone calls, oh man. We had no idea who was calling, why they were calling, what they wanted. We'd finally say, "Disculpe," [dee-SKULL-pay, sorry] and hang up. How we got around two years ago knowing only COMB-oh s-TAH and OON-oh through dee-ACE is beyond me.

The very first time I called voicemail to get my messages, I was on the phone for an hour. I kept calling back, listening to the initial instruction over and over again, trying to decipher it. In the end, I gave up. I stopped giving people my phone number: "Email me," I said. "I can read."

By the time we moved from the finca [FEEN-kah, farm] in barrio Jesús de Santa Barbara de Heredia [hey-SOOS, a little village outside the slightly bigger town of Santa Barbara in the province of eh-RAY-dee-ah], after only eight months, I could pick up my messages and get a phone number from information. A triumph.

In the Escazú house, there are probably 400 jacks. One worked. A year and three different handymen later, two work. When you call my phone number, half the time you get a fax tone. We don't have a fax. If you get a fax tone, just hang up, give it a minute and call again. We tried to have that fixed before we knew better. The fiasco went on for days and days with a million phone calls in halting Spanglish on both ends. Oy vey. You learn to let the little stuff ride, because that's how it's done here. "Fax tone, schmax tone. You get through half the time, that will do." There are only so many hours in the day. Who wants to spend it on the phone?

Occasionally, the phone would go dead. Usually just for an hour, then back on. We only knew the phone was out because ADT, our alarm company, would call and ask if we were being held hostage at gunpoint. (They monitor the phone lines and assume when there's no signal, the lines have been cut. High drama.) But after two days with no phone, we called the landlord. She called I.C.E. Still waiting. It wouldn't have been so bad to be without a phone the last two weeks except that...

Our kitchen gray water backed up - into the kitchen - after Day 6 of the last mighty rain. The plumbing in Costa Rica is something. I have a post written about the time, a couple of months ago, when all the grey (and none of the black, THANK YOU, JÉSUS) water backed up into the house in several assorted rooms and closets. We learned some very unpleasant plumbing truths that day. It was so traumatic I can't get back to the post. Someday.

So Friday morning, I'm washing dishes when I realize I'm standing in a burgeoning puddle. It is god-awful disgusting. Even though it's only gray water, it's horrible. I know I'm only 30' from where the black water goes, too. There is a tile under our sink that covers the open hole via which the grey water from the upstairs laundry room and the kitchen runs to the septic. Just pick up the tile and watch 'er flow. When it's flowing. When it's not, the gray water bubbles up around the edges. Ugh.

Hal looks up all the words for pipe, clog, drain, kitchen sink and disgusting, and calls Carlos, the plumber, who we've used before. Carlos says he will be there soon. He does not show. We call for two more days. He never shows. He's always lovely on the phone, makes promises, but he never comes around. Fortunately, as long as you don't overwhelm the sink, the water goes out, so the situation is livable. On Monday, we call the landlord (on the cel phone which gets spotty reception at our house). For some reason she decides it's time to have the septic pumped. Pablo, the septic guy, comes right away, pumps out the septic and our sink flows fine.

It flows fine 'til just after Pablo, who is also a plumber, and his truck disappear from sight. Then it backs up big time. We call his cell, trying to get him back up the road... no answer. We leave a message, call his other numbers, plead with his wife. We call Carlos again. After many broken promises from both of them and another week, Pablo showed up yesterday and in 30 minutes has us flowing downhill again.

You are so grateful he finally came, you greet him like family, forgetting all the broken promises. Your emergencies are not his emergencies. Ticos don't need to be heroes. He got here as soon as he could. It's a different mentality; being the Queen of Huffy is useless to me here.

I am not a wuss. It takes more than two weeks without a phone and 12 days of cleaning up grey water in my kitchen and dining room to wear me down.

It took the radiator busting in the car. That was on Saturday. Hal and I were supposed to leave Sunday for Rancho Mastatal for a night. We found a mechanic and he said bring it in Monday, he would fix it, same day. Late today, Wednesday, we got it back. I think we were actually lucky at that. Not having a car puts me over the edge: the women in my family are car people. Have car, am complete. When her kids took Granny Boo's car away (because she would drive down the boulevard in Ft. Lauderdale on the wrong side of the median), she never got over it. I understand that.

Still no phone, but the plumbing is fixed and we have the car. Unfortunately, just a few minutes ago, the water heater started leaking from the rusty old bottom. The valve to shut off the water going into the tank is rusted open, so we just have to keep towels on the floor and hope for the best. I shut the door to the laundry room so I can pretend it isn't happening. Besides, the plumber is coming tomorrow.

Stop Snoring Exercise Program: Discover An All Natural Method That Permanently Eliminates Snoring And Gives You A Freaking Awesome Sleep Every Night ... Completely Guaranteed!

Squatters

A woman wrote to me recently about buying a house in Key West. Once she found out I live in Costa Rica, she wrote this:

I have a question since you are living in Costa Rica. This is where my husband originally wanted to get a home. We had even started to look when we were told there is a really bad problem with people stealing and/or homesteading your property if you left it to go anywhere. Have you found this to be true? Linda

Hi Linda,

That is all true. When we leave to go anywhere, we hire a person to stay in our home, about $300/month. Right now, my mom lives with us so when she goes on a trip, we are here. When we go on a trip, she is here. We also have three dogs, so we'd have to hire someone anyway if mom weren't here.

If you leave your property alone for any length of time with no one checking on it occasionally, squatters will move in. There is a way to protect yourself from this - you put a lien on your property yourself so no one would bother; I can tell you who to talk to about this [Garland Baker]. But squatters have rights here and you have to be on guard.

Petty theft is rampant in Costa Rica. At our house, we have a monitored alarm system, bars on the windows and razor wire on our fence. We keep our doors locked and are very aware of the problem. As gringos (native speakers of English), we are targets. No matter how poor we really are, we will never be as poor as the poor here.

That said, this is the worst thing about life here. As a wise woman told me (over and over again because I never hear anything the first time it's said), "Everything has a price. Ask yourself are you willing to pay it?" Living with the threat of petty thievery, for us, is far better than living in the U.S., especially right now. Costa Rica is peaceful and beautiful, no terror alerts, no para-military police. The market is soft, but they just don't have the problems here they are having in the U.S.

Costa Rica is worth investigating, but petty theft aside, the culture is very different. We came here for a year planning to go home at the end of it. But we fell in love with living here so decided to stay. I strongly suggest renting here first for six months to a year, then make the decision. You will love it or hate it; you want to find out before you buy. In the big picture, life here is definitely worth considering.

--

Squatters are a huge problem* here. If you own property and leave it, you could lose your right to it or to parts of it. The vaquero [va-CARE-oh, cowboy] who lives around the corner from us wanted to hook up a hose to our outside faucet. He lives in a house with no running water... I can't even begin to describe the house. We said yes; he hooked up a long hose and had running water for awhile. I mentioned this to a friend and she said unhook that immediately. After three months, he can earn the right to use the water and you will be obligated to supply his water for life.

Is this true? Seems outrageous, but, after everything I've read and heard and learned, I think there is some truth to it. For now, I can't begin to decipher the laws here. And in other situations, like with squatters and employees, ticos can earn the right to all kinds of things you never meant to promise. You need a very good advisor here.

*Clarification: When I say squatters are a "huge" problem, I mean huge as in if it happens to you it's quite the struggle. Not huge as in it happens to everyone once... I have no idea what the statistic would be on how many people per year have a problem with squatters. If it happens to you, you will understand what I mean by "huge" problem.

Follow The Bouncing Ball

We are home again, back at my desk next to my bed wearing my sheets (the bed, not me). So happy to be in my house with my stuff. Overlooking my valley. Through my razor wire. Which seems to have lost its lustre. Sigh.

I have to tell you: I came back a tad confused. That's how good a time I had in Key West. The bouncer is me: here? There? WHERE? In limbo which is not a happy place.

Like when I first stopped drinking, there was a period of time where I wasn't really "in" with my new buddies who didn't drink, yet I no longer felt comfortable with my old buddies who still did. It was a lonely, scary time. Like when you first become parents. You have to make friends with people who are also parents because your old friends who don't have kids have no idea what the heck you are talking about.

Like the summer after my first year in college, I had a mini-nervous breakdown. My summer of madness. College was a huge culture shock to me. You've heard it before: from tiny town in KY to Indian guys in dresses, Jews, Catholics, virgins, people from Boston who talked funny, people all manner of color and eye shape and accent. Turned me upside down. It was exciting and dramatic to have this world unfold before me, like being turned loose in Disneyland with free tickets and all the strange and exotic characters were my friends. Then I went home for the summer and a strangeness took hold.

Plopped right back into my old Kentucky home exactly as I'd left it, everything seemed different, out of reach. I couldn't connect to the people I'd connected to all my life - they had changed. Like we no longer spoke the same language. Suddenly, I was isolated from the people and situations I'd known all my life. Right next to them but out of reach.

That scared the very breath out of me. Within a month of being home, I was having five and six panic attacks a day. I was afraid I was going stark raving mad and was powerless to stop it. I stopped eating, stopped drinking, melted down to almost nothing (madness is very thinning.) And all I could think about was getting back to Disneyland. To real life.

As obvious as it is to everyone now, it was years before I realized it was me who had changed. Everyone in KY was exactly the same; I was different. The panic attacks subsided just before going back to school. Part of it was being really sick of them. And I'd read a self-help book that suggested, when I felt an attack coming on, to touch my wall, touch my chair, name the physical pieces of my universe as I touched them. An amazing little trick that brought me right back down to earth.

Thank God I didn't go to a therapist who would have put me on drugs. I'd probably still be on them today.

That's what it was like going back this time: no panic attacks (too bad, I could stand to lose a few pounds) and I connected fine to my really close friends. But the whole scene felt different. I'm different. I bounce slower and at different stimuli. I was a professional Type A when we left Key West. I'm practically a B now. By the end of our three weeks there, I could feel the frenzy trying to worm its way back into my system. No thank you.

For now, I can't talk about the pros and cons of here vs. there. Keeps me in limbo and I can't live like that. It doesn't matter anyway. We considered going back, but nah. We are here, this is home. Maybe not forever, but for 2008, Costa Rica gets to keep us. If I keep comparing, I'll be really grumpy. There is at least as much to love about Costa Rica as there is about Key West. And we've only scratched the surface.

The world is in limbo right now. So much is changing: a new President, the housing market thing, a global correction, rampant inflation, a dollar in trouble... too much goin' on, too much movin' and shakin' for me to be changing my life, too. We have a sane, comfortable space here on the planet. I think we'll enjoy this for awhile longer, keep the world's insanity at bay for a few more minutes.

You know, I would buy a property here: like five hectares (10 acres more or less). Raise goats and make goat cheese (don't ask me how I, city girl, latched onto this idea.) It would be nice to spread out a little, grow herbs and tomatoes and chickens. Chickens for eggs. I don't think I'm up to killing my own pot pie. Although who knows? I've done a ton of stuff in the last couple of years I didn't think I was up to.

In America

"In America, you'll get food to eat. Don't have to run through the jungle and scuff up your feet. You'll just sing about Jesus and drink wine all day. It's great to be an American."
                      - from Sail Away, Randy Newman's clever slave-trade ditty

All true, so far. We're here in the good ole U.S. of A. Hal's mom was not well (she's better now), Spirit Air had tickets for $250 each = a good time to see what's up here. I guess the USA is still the same... but a few things struck me right off. Like:

• Once the shock of Naples' grandiosity subsided, it feels like we never left (Hal's mom lives in Naples)
• Cottage cheese is the best thing since sliced bread. We've eaten at least one large container a day.
• We are doing all day here what we do all day there: sit in front of our computers for work and play. Does it matter where we are?
• For all my whining about missing my buddies, we've seen and actually talked to those buddies more during our visits in the last two years than we did the 25 years before that. Ok, that's a slight exaggeration, but not far off...
• There are fewer people here who are really important to me than I thought. The really important people are in my radar no matter where I am in the world.
• Everything in Florida is flat, not a hill in sight. Except for the...
• Convoluted highways with overpasses three and four deep
• Drivers know how to merge
• Going 80mph
• Girls as tall as Morgan (6' 1")
• $2.50 tolls
• Too much English spoken
• Everybody comes to a complete stop at stoplights, then they wait till it turns green to go. What a concept.
• Country music on the radio
• All the roads have names. In Naples, they all have two-word names, like Rattlesnake Hammock Drive and Imperial Wilderness Way.
• I have not seen one guy peeing on the side of the road
• No farm animals tied up to people's houses
• No farm animals being herded through town
• No farm animals grazing along the road
• No farm animal poop anywhere
• If you don't jam on the gas pedal the second the light turns green, no one honks their horn
• Restaurants are EXPENSIVE. I will never not complain about Costa Rica's restaurants.
• Even though we constantly chat amongst our expat selves over there about how civil liberties are being sacrificed right and left over here, when you are here, you don't even notice. Which is, of course, how they get away with it.
• Everyone says "cahstah" Rica, even after hearing us say "coast-ah" Rica.

Have we really been gone two years? I feel like I stepped through a wormhole. The only way I know it's been so long is that I'm different: calmer, happier. And the boys have doubled in size. Otherwise, it seems so regular to be here.

I admit it: I love Key West. I love seeing my girlfriends, I love seeing Key West so green and lush - it's finally recovered from Wilma. The houses are so pretty, the streets so whole. The town maintains a prosperous air (even though it is most decidedly not.) A pretty, sunny, familiar face.

I spent last week running around, doing unexpected business. Like I got a new property management customer, wrote an offer for a buyer on a foreclosure (plenty of those around), joined forces with a long-time REALTOR® here, met with a REALTOR® up the keys who's had a Costa Rica real estate office in Heredia for 25 years. Perhaps I will do some referral work with her.

From here on out, it's playtime. Like there is some very fine music to be enjoyed. Photo left: Skipper Kripitz, Leanna Collins and Gordy Michaels make the jazz at The Gardens Hotel on Sunday Afternoons.

I saw a local dance company's beautiful production at the Waterfront Playhouse, one of the three busy theatres here. Starting top left in the photo is Kyra and Andres (oh my God, you cannot take your eyes off Andres), then Leigh, Denis (ditto Denis) and Mary Kay. Real honest-to-God dancers.

The Robert Frost Festival starts next week. Key West is famous for its talent. I'm suddenly very aware of it and determined to enjoy as much as possible. Because, you know, I'm a singer in a geezer band now. Gotta stay up with my people.

Key West's real estate market is suffering badly and the worst is yet to come. Like a house I sold (not pictured) for $850,000 the winter of '05 is now going for $350,000. I've heard of others. "Deals" like this are just now making the Coconut Telegraph. Countrywide has $500M in loans here in Key West; $90M are in foreclosure. The snowball is at the top of the mountain. Once all these foreclosures hit the local MSM, it's all she wrote. I'm thinking the bottom will appear in the next year to two years. Unless you are a savvy real estate buyer, save your money.

"Ain't no lions or tigers, ain't no mamba snake. Just the sweet watermelon and the buckwheat cake. Ev'rybody is as happy as a man can be. Climb aboard, little wog, sail away with me."

After being stateside these past few days, a Deep Thought crystallized. I've circled this bridge before and nobody wants to hear me say it out loud, least of all my husband. It's practically blasphemy in the expat world. But here it is: Costa Rica is not cheap enough to justify how hard the day-to-day life is. Hard being mostly culture shock, roads and crime. Feeling like a target all the time is wearing on a body. As is being jostled around in your car practically every minute you are in it.

It's not all bad: I love the life there. I'm looking forward to going back. We've made excellent friends. Nothing would have forced us to think outside the income box except living where that's the only option. Besides, what would my geezer band do without me?

If I were rich, where would I live right now? I'd live in Costa Rica and travel on a whim, no contest. But we're not rich and cost of living is key: it was a major consideration when choosing Costa Rica. Yes, there are places in the U.S. cheaper than Costa Rica. Not that I want to actually live any of those places, but at this point in my life, I'll consider anything. Necessity and all that.

In a year, Key West will be affordable. The really critical thing is: I can work here. I've LOVED working the past few days. I like earning money, I like dressing up and doing my thing. I spent twelve years building a business, then just walked out. I could still walk back in - that is compelling. I guess I miss that more than I thought.

Here's something else that been eating at me lately: the boys can get jobs here. They are ready and it's not possible in Costa Rica. Probably seems like a little thing to you, but niggling at me...

Plus there's Hansa's cooking. Oh my goodness. Spicy, delicious vegetarian food. Hansa can cook and I'm always welcome at her table. Like tonight. She told me I can go on YouTube and find videos for making her recipes. While her dishes are so exotic to me, I guess they are "everyday" in India... if I cooked in Costa Rica like Hansa cooks in Key West, I'll bet our food bill would be way cheaper!

For now, I'll keep pretending I'm rich: living in Costa Rica, traveling on a whim. One day at a time. This sure seems to be working for us. Funny, every time I think this issue is settled, something comes along to rattle that cage.

"In America every man is free to take care of his home and his family. You'll be as happy as a monkey in a monkey tree. You're all gonna be an American."

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!

"Mel Gibson, Please."

I thought of something else I need in 2008. I need to talk to Mel Gibson. If you know him, could you please get me an audience?

Why? Well, he's cute for one thing, although probably too old for me now. OK: DON'T tell him I said that.

Plus, he bought a huge chunk of land in Costa Rica, near Samara where Hal and Mo went for the airshow. Practically the next day, he had an audience with El Presidente during which, I have come to understand, he gave El Presidente money for charity.

Um, Mel, I hate to start off on the wrong foot with you, but, if you are looking to make a difference here, that's not how we do it in Costa Rica. Or anywhere, come to think of it. You just don't give money to a government if you want that money to do some good. You give it to the Actual People who are accomplishing the Actual Good. Who are personally, physically, hands-on doing the good.

I happen to know a few of those people. And they could use that help. Quality, meaningful help over time. The kind of help they won't ever receive from a government who, if it were ever going to help in a meaningful way, would have done so by this time. It has other fish to fry.

So I need to talk to Mel. Talk to him about the people who are making a difference in Costa Rica. I promise not to ask for much. As you know, it doesn't take much to make a difference around here.

So. I'll be checking my inbox. Looking forward to spreading a little prosperity, peace and love around to the people who are so hungry for it in Costa Rica. Thank you. Happy New Year!

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.