A Broad In Costa Rica

The Power of Paper: el parte dos

Like the last time I ventured alone into the disturbing netherworld of Costa Rican bureaucracies, by the end of this adventure (trying to get Morgan his driver's permit) I got back home wanting to cry, then choke something, with just a smidge of incredulity thrown in. Not incredulous that seeking The Final Stamp is so frustrating. That's a given, I accept that. Incredulous that I got sucked so easily into the vortex, led by the invisible (to me) ring in my nose through all manner of hoops until I was sure it was me who was unreasonable. Haha.

I swear it's like that. Go ahead, move here. You'll see.

8:15a Wednesday morning. After dropping Ryan at gym class, Morgan and I arrive at Cosevi in La Uruca, the sprawling government complex for all things driver's license. I pulled over in front of the gwatchyman (guard/watchman, the parking guy) to ask where to park. But another man immediately stepped up and asked if necesitan ayuda (do we need help)? If you don't speak Spanish, don't know the ropes and didn't bring your own helper, you want one of these guys to help, at least get you started.

After reading this, you will know that what you really need is a helper... I do. I was feeling all competent after being able to renew my driver's license so easily. Anyway.

Our guy directs us to a different building a little further up the road where Mo gets his documentos, blood test, and eye exam, all for just 20,000 colones. (I find out later there are several places around where you get all that done for 10,000 colones. Sigh. Si habla español, you will save so much money, trust me on this.)

By 9a, Morgan has gotten his initial paperwork from an efficient young woman at the front desk, had his blood typed* and passed his eye exam: 20/20. Ah, to be young. While Mo was in line for the eye exam, he chatted with a young woman who mentioned stopping at the bank to pay the license fee on her way back to Cosevi. We have to stop at the bank? Ok.

After the eye exam, on the way out the door, I ask Miss Efficient necesitamos ir al banco (do we need to go to the bank)? She says no to the bank, but informs us that Mo needs copies of both his passport and of the document she just gave him 20 minutes ago. I ask where can I get those copies, please? What a coincidence: she can sell me copies, we'll just need to wait our turn in her line. Again.

Now, why, after we waited in her line the first time, sat at the chair in front of her desk, gave her 20,000 colones for which she gave us the document on which she'd written Mo's passport number, which she got from - you guessed it - his passport which she was holding in her hand... why didn't she sell us copies then?

It is pointless to ask this, that much I know for sure. I assume I offended someone (been known to happen) and this is payback. I am suspicious now of any info she gives me, but will figure it out as I go along. (I'm clearly still way naive about my ability to "figure it out as I go along." Dumb may be the more precise word.)

Mo goes to the end of the line, which is now twice as long as it was the first time. Half an hour later, we are on our way back to Cosevi with los documentos originales y las copias.

9:30a: The Cosevi line, into the actual driver's license office, is out the door, easily a 30-60 minute wait. As we step in line, a nice guard lady walks up and asks what we need. We tell her Mo's looking to get his driver's permit (permiso para aprender a manejar). She looks at our paperwork, nods her head yes with a big smile and walks away. Good! At least we know we are on the right track. I leave Mo there and head off to get Ryan from gymnastics.

At 10:15a, Ryan and I arrive back at Cosevi just as Mo is just walking out. He does not look triumphant. Turns out, he got to the door and discovered he needs his original passport in hand. Of course, I should know this. Everyone** has to see the original passport, no matter that the first person who saw it vouched to the fact in writing on the official document. Everyone needs to see it. Fortunately, I have it. We head back to the door, skipping the line.

The nice guard lady is there, checking paperwork before people are allowed into the sanctuary. We show her the passport. She smiles, then looks at our paperwork again. Then she asks, "Donde esta su póliza de seguros y su receta del banco?" (Where is your insurance policy and your BANK RECEIPT?)

Remaining calm, I ask, "Póliza de seguros? El necesita una póliza de seguros?" He needs an insurance policy? I did not roll my eyes or mutter wtf, but it was all I could do to stop myself. Proof that I am still in control.

She smiles, "Si!" Then she explains that all drivers-in-training need this. Ok, at least this makes sense. Plus, we do need to pay 5,000 colones at the bank for the permit. I swallowed the prolonged whine at the tip of my tongue re. having asked the bank question of Little Miss Efficiency at la oficina de documentos. Still in control. "Par for the course," I tell myself. We thank Ms. Guard and head out.

Una póliza de seguros is not that simple to procure. For one thing, that's gonna be real money. And another bureaucracy. Oy vey. But at least I can do the bank - it's right around the corner.

10:40a and we are now in line at the bank. By 11a, we are in front of the teller. She looks at us expectantly (uh oh). We tell her we are here to pay for mi hijo's license (I'm not even trying to pretend I speak Spanish anymore.) She asks for the paperwork. I push it under the glass. She looks it over, then asks - you are going to love this - if he's passed the test?

"Que examen?" I ask, a smidge too loudly. She can see my frustration (because she's a Rhodes scholar and not because anyone in their right mind would be taking a step back from me) and patiently explains that Mo has to pass a test. I tell her everywhere we've been, we've been told something different to do. The teller nods sympathetically. I continue in Spanglish: "Like the inefficient señorita at la oficina medico?" (She nods.) "Like la guarda at Cosevi?" She nods. Because she knows. She tells me to wait, she will bring me the phone number that you call to make an appointment to take the test. She asks if we have the booklet to study. Mo says he does - we thought that was the booklet for the driving test, not for the learner's permit.

She takes our 5,000 colones, gives us the coveted receta, leaves for a moment, comes back with the phone number. She smiles nicely, confidently. We adios, feeling perhaps now, maybe, we are on the right track.

11:30a, we are back home. Actually, three and a half hours is not a bad Costa Rican bureaucratic time sink***.  Mo goes to the phone and calls for an appointment to take the test. The guy on the phone asks for his cedula number, his passport number, name, phone number, date of birth, address, favorite color and shoe size. Then he tells Mo to come down to the office to make the appointment. Mo, with a sweet teenage wtf written all over his face, asks if he can't make the appointment over the phone? The guy says, "Oh, no, no hacemos citas por telefono. Usted necesita venir al oficina." No appointments over the phone, silly. You have to come to the office.

"Donde está su oficina?" Mo asks. Gets answer, eye roll, a gracias and hangs up. Where is the office? Cosevi in La Uruca, of course.

WTF.

*His results say O+. I thought he was A+. While I'm waiting for Mo to have his eye exam, I notice that the results for next three people who walk out of the blood test say O+. Perhaps we will have Mo's blood tested again.

**This is important and worth repeating (although it didn't help me - I forgot!) Whenever you do anything bureaucratic in Costa Rica, take all your original documents and at least two copies of everything. If there are pertinent stamps in your passport, make sure you copy those pages, too. The bureaucracy will not make copies - most of them don't have copy machines. And if there is one in that department, it won't be at your desk. It will be a few desks down and you'll have to wait in line in front of that desk, get your copies done for a small fee and come back. So be sure to bring all originals and at least two copies.

***Hal spent six hours at migración once. He arrived in the morning on time for his appointment. They said wait over there, we'll get your file and call you. Six hours later, he was told they couldn't find the file and could he come back in two days?

Too Easy

We renewed our driver's licenses last week. We both dreaded the event. Costa Rica is not known for its efficiency... In fact, remember 27 January - almost three weeks ago - when we were headed back to migración for a stamp? ONE stamp? Had everything we needed because we had already been to the correct office and gotten a list of what forms we needed? Praying for short lines? My post on that trip (not yet up because I'm suffering P.T.S.D.) is titled "I Just Want Someone to Choke." If you look up S.N.A.F.U. in the dictionary, there oughtta be a picture of Costa Rica's migración HQ. That place is seriously f---ked up. Seriously. Worse than customs at the airport.

Even thinking about going to a second Costa Rican bureaucracy in a single month gave us serious agita. We put it off as long as possible but it had to be done: Costa Rica changed its driving laws and increased the fines for driving without a current license. After you've been in Costa Rica for three months, you are required to have a local license. Then it has to be kept current... ours were expired for a year. Yeah, procrastination r us. Who knew what kinda time and headache that little detail was going to add to the task. Still, even though the job had to be done and we both knew it, it took a burst of loud, persistent nagging by one of us that managed to drag the other one out of his chair and into the car for the task.

CONSEVI (Consejo de Seguridad Vial, the Council of Roadway Safety) is in Uruca, about 15 minutes from our house. Not a long drive. At least if we got lost we wouldn't be far from home... Going anywhere new is still an adventure. If you don't get lost the first time, it's still a miracle.

To get there, take the circunvalación away from Hatillo to the end (which is Uruca). Go right at the light. Go about 1/2 mile and on your right you'll see the word "CONSEVI" painted on the side of a building. If you are lucky like we were, there is a parking space right there under the sign with a gwatchyman. (Gwatchyman is Spanglish for guard to watchy your car. Get it?)

Now, here's a phenom in Costa Rica that I suspect is the same in other developing nations. There are guys that hang around bureaucracies, waiting to be hired to interpret and guide. (Like at customs where I foolishly refused the help of the drunk guy. Sigh. Live and learn.) No different at CONSEVI: a guy timidly walked up to us and kinda stood there (he musta been new at this). We knew why he was there and were just as happy to have the help. We smiled which is like the implied contract. He started walking. We followed. So simple.

First stop is the "doctor's office" which is a block or so up the road past the CONSEVI building on the same side. You go here for the "medical exam." Like in the U.S., we call this a charade. We paid 15,000 colones ($30) each for the exam and 11,000 colones ($22) each for the new license. Fifty bucks each for a new driver's license. Maybe "charade" is the wrong word. Maybe the word I'm looking for is "racket."

The medical exam consists of answering a few questions asked by a doctor, reading one line on the eye chart and, these days, a blood test to find out your blood type. I assume this is in case you're in a traffic accident, they'll know what to pump in.

The blood test gave me pause. If you are going to get your driver's license, get your blood typed at a lab and bring the documento to CONSEVI. I knew my blood type and had been told by others that they just ask, no documento required. Well, that was yesterday. Today, unless you have the documento with you, they perform the blood test right there in that dingy, government building. It was not just a finger prick. And it was a little unnerving.

The room was clean. Trust me, I looked. In desperate need of paint like every other government building I'd been in so far. At least they don't waste tax dollars on government buildings. I prefer a poor government with prosperous citizens. Like the U.S. government, they are still working on prosperous citizens. Working on them as in doing their best to make them less so. But I digress.

We were in a tiny room off the main room. La enfermera (la in-fair-MARE-ah, the nurse) had sterile needles, cotton balls, alcohol... she looked prepared. Ok, I take a deep breath, a little reassured. She pulled off a hunk of cotton, sprayed it with alcohol... then placed it alcohol-side-down on the desk. WTF. It sat there soaking up desk-germs while she pulled off a second chunk of cotton for afterwards, got her needle and rubber thingy ready.

There have been too many times in my life when events unfolded in front of me like in a dream. Like it's happening to someone else and I'm watching. In my mind, I'm saying, "Jesus, I wouldn't let this happen to me/my child/my husband." But I do. She picked up that definitely unsterile cotton ball, swabbed my arm with it, stuck in the needle (painlessly at least) and confirmed what I'd told her. So far I'm still alive.

The doctor signs the medical form and we walk back down to CONSEVI to get the license. You walk in thru the massive gate and walk all the way back to the last office on your right. If you lived here, you would not believe what I'm about to tell you: there was no line. No line at all. No line at a Costa Rican bureaucracy does not happen ever. Ever. I guess the gods were trying to make up for the migración fiasco. They were making headway. This was sweet.

We each sat in front of a bored employee, handed over our medical form and old license. The fact it was a year expired was not mentioned. As it should be. The employee typed some stuff and told me to get my picture taken across the aisle. I did. Less than a minute later, the new license popped out and we were on our way. The whole thing took less than an hour.

The first half of the drive home was spent in silence, waiting for the other shoe to drop. We were half expecting an official car to pull us over and drag us back for all the paperwork and stamps we'd neglected to get. But didn't happen. By the time we got home, we were giddy. That was too easy. Still not going back to migración anytime soon... not unless they promise me someone to choke on the way out.

Rancho Photos and About That Mud

The photos are finally online - see the previous post at the bottom for the slide show. By the way, if the slide show slows everything down, please let me know. I can always just post a link to it online. Thank you.

Our drive to Mastatal so soon after the six days of Alma's downpour was eye-opening. You hear about landslides but it's like hearing about floods. You know they are devastating because you hear they are, you see pictures, news reports... but it wasn't until Wilma flooded Key West, till it happened to us, that we really "got" it. The word devastation just begins to cover a flood.

Likewise seeing the evidence of a recent massive landslide: suddenly, you get it. You can imagine driving along, then suddenly seeing and hearing - hopefully, only that - the mountainside in front of you slide off into the road. Often taking the road with it. Whoa.

During the two weeks after Alma, the ranch was inaccessible because there were so many landslides between them and Puriscal. They nearly ran out of food and water. The phones were out, no electricity, no running water... In a real emergency (?), they could have walked to town, climbing over slides as they went. Yeah, green acres is where I want to be. Farm livin' is the life for me.

Right after Alma passed over, one of Hal's Nature Kids' English students who drives a tourismo van, was stuck for FOUR days, along with 30 other cars, between two landslides on the Cerro de la Muerte [SAIR-oh day lah MWHERE-tay, hill of death]. Four days. Thirty cars. Fortunately, they were near a tiny village so they could get some food and water. Apparently the nights were the worst because of the cold. Who carries a spare blanket in their car in June?

Driving through this mud was another thrilling experience. We drove through this a total of six times, back and forth between the ranch and our guest house. Each time, when we got halfway around the curve, even in Timo's bigger car, the mud, so deep and sucky, grabbed our wheels and tossed us across the road to the outer edge. Fortunately, Hal (who drove it twice) and Gabriel (Timo's tico mechanic who is used to these roads and drove us the other four times because it was so terrifying) knew how to regain control of the car and get a grip. I sat in the back with my eyes closed and prayed. Hard. I don't ever want to do that again.

Yes, we have it good:

Next time you are driving in Costa Rica and a little annoyed, picture driving in India:

Thank you, Wolfie!

Road Perspective

Last week, I was whining sharing about the roads here. I got some nerve! My Key West friend Marina just returned from India... she says:

Darling,

You ain't seen nuthin' til you do India.

Bumper-to-bumper cars, buses, taxis, trucks, bicycles, motor scooters, motorcycles, tuk-tuks, elephants, cows, donkeys, horses, camels - and then, all the same with carts, small, medium and large, and even pedestrians - all weaving in and out of every available little opening, 4 vehicles abreast, no lines, no lights, no regulations, no enforcement.

And that's in the cities on pavement, where the air quality is minus 10 from exhaust, wood burning, cow paddy burning, and dust, because it doesn't rain 8 mos. of the year and there's no wind to clear the air.  Walls beyond the shoulders are lined with Langur monkeys taking in the entire scene - with amazement? - amusement?

Out of the cities, all is the same except the road is only wide enough for one way so vehicles play chicken and at last moment veer onto the shoulders, and because of the rocks, pits and every imaginable hazard in the road, you are jostled about in your seat, clinging to the grab bar on the seat in front of you, lurching from side to side or having your knees thrown into the seat in front of you from the constant braking and re-starting.

I'm exhausted just remembering it.

Our tour bus had one accident, hitting the back of a heavy metal transport cage vehicle, wrecking the front of the bus, but no damage to the struck cage.

Fortunately, but for one 6.5 hr. drive, most drives were 3.5 to 4 hrs, punctuated by bathroom stops.  If you haven't done roadside bathroom stops in Asia, I should tell you that you straddle a hole, hope for the best, and ladle water into the hole after you make your deposit.

However, the trip was worth it all, though I should have done it twenty years ago.

Best wishes,
Marina

Unbelievably, it all sounds so very strange and enticing...

No Wonder They Are Broke

Costa Rica's roads are in deplorable condition. I may have mentioned this. During rainy season the potholes they fixed last rainy season open up again. My brother, a criminal defense lawyer in KY, likes to point out how getting people off is his job security, seeing as how most of them will kill again. Funny, haha.

Well, that seems to be the attitude on fixing the roads around here. I saw a team the other day: a truck with asphalt, a guy following along behind pushing a wheelbarrow and several other guys walking behind him, carrying shovels. They find a hole, dig up some nearby rocks and dirt, shovel that into the hole, pour some asphalt over it, pat it down, move on. I may have also mentioned I'm no engineering whiz, but this does not look like a long-term solution to me. This is all they can probably afford to do, however, because...

We were driving along one day during rush hour on the pista [short for autopista - ow-toe-PEE-stah, the highway] and traffic is at a dead crawl because we are approaching a toll booth. Three lanes of rush-hour traffic is slow as molasses anyway. Add a toll-booth and you may as well recline your seat.

We settle in for the ride - which, despite all the whining sharing, will really only be a few minutes. We crawl for a bit... when, suddenly, traffic starts moving. Fast. In fact, we find ourselves sailing right through the toll booth, all three lanes. I have to pull my seat back up to see what's going on. The toll booth guys are still there, but now there are cops waving us through. We don't question, we don't toss 75 colones (about $.15) at the guy. Just breeze through. Great! But, curious.

After the first few times, we are no longer surprised. Plus, when you get waved through, you feel kinda special. On one hand, it makes perfect sense: when traffic gets too backed up and the line of cars may have to wait more than - God forbid - ten minutes, just stop collecting and wave everyone through. When the jam clears up, start collecting again.

On the other hand, this is more evidence that ticos are on tico time unless they are driving. Then they become crazy fiends in a big hurry. Screw the money, get out of my way. Just like 'Merikans. Except for that "Screw the money" thing.

Do not anyone tell them about Sun Pass.

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.

Do You Know The Way To Santa Ana?

So Mom takes off to do a little exploring. She's been dying to see Ciudad Colon [see-ooo-DAHD co-LONE... only she says see-YOU-dahd... makes me nuts]. She drives over there, looks around, loves it (she loves everything) and heads back. You have to drive through Santa Ana*on the way to Ciudad Colon, and back.

On the way back, she's not exactly sure she's headed to Santa Ana. She pulls over to a bus stop and asks the old man sitting there, "Santa Ana?" and points vigorously with her finger in the assumed direction.

The old man brightens up and says, "Sí!" Then he gets in the car with her. He thinks she's offered him a ride to Santa Ana.

Giving rides is a very common courtesy: you see people walking all the time, then a car stops in the middle of the street, the driver and the walker chat for a moment, the walker gets in, off they go. Most of the gringo expats I know who are familiar to the locals offer rides all the time.

Cars are still not "one to a household" here. There are locals who have only been in a car a few times. In fact, still those who have never been in a personal car. I suspect this is why so many people who don't own and are not familiar with cars are killed running across a highway or walking down the narrow roadway at night wearing dark clothes... they simply have no idea they can't be seen. No idea how powerful and fast a car really is.

Mom is, of course, delighted to give the man a ride. Thank God they were on the road to Santa Ana... She dropped him off when they got to town. I'm wondering what they talked about.

*san-TAN-ah, by the way. If you say SAN-ta AN-ah, everyone knows you aren't with it. Like saying LOU-ee-vill instead of the proper LOU-uh-vul. Be cool.

Comments from a Tico Reader!

Last month, Manrique wrote a comment on a post and I loved getting it. Write more, Manrique! So valuable to hear perceptions from his side of the fence:

Hi Saratica!

First please excuse my english if I don't write it perfectly (I read it more than I write it). I am a Tico (34 years old, live in Heredia, work in Santa Ana, (1 hr drive each day for 20 km) and has recently been fascinated by all the expats blogs and travelogues. There is really an "underground" expat culture going on of which most ticos are unaware and it is quite interesting! Not only I like to know what "extranjeros" think of Costa Rica (good things and bad) but also I like to wonder about the changes my country has gone through in the last couple of decades, many of which I am still not sure if they are good or bad. I want to share with you my point of view on many of the things you have mentioned. Also, I work for a US company and travel a lot to the US (which I like) so I want to provide my perspective (some benchmarking) on both countries:

Driving in CR: oh god, this is really like being inside a video game (and walking across a street is just like playing Frogger). I remember my first time going around a roundabout. I was scared to death! However after a couple of weeks things seemed so natural. Ticos just don't notice there are no signs for places and its just natural for us just to stop and ask someone. I have noticed many of the signs are actually misleading. On the contrary I find driving in the US a pleasure (except Boston). Signs everywhere, just drive and go (I love exit numbers). However, I am always scared to death of "doing wrong". I don't know why but I feel I will end up in jail if I don't yield correctly. At least if you violate a street sign in CR (and are lucky not to crash) the most you will get is some honking and cursing and it just seems normal. I once merged too slow in the US and got "the finger" and I felt really bad the rest of the day!

Customer Service: this is awful in CR (maybe its because we don't have a real tipping culture). Slow service, long lines, lots of redundancy, "I don't care" or "that is not my job" attitude. Yes, its the way it has always been ( I found the same on a trip to Spain so ummm maybe its in the genes!). Sure we are used to it but younger generations are not as tolerant and I start to feel some positive changes. We actually need your help on this. Although you may come to expect it, always let the person know when service was bad! Little by little we will change things. On my trips to the US I have always seen big smiles and "how can I help you" most of the time and its so refreshing (seem a little fake sometimes but hey I will take it). This does not apply at US airports (oh my god what is going on there, do they smack all employees each morning?).

Family: CR is a family oriented country. As it is so small, no need to leave home for college (my brother lived with my parents up to when he was 35 years old, my mom at this point was ready to kick him out, thank goodness he got married!). I find that in the US people are more community oriented and this community can be friends, neighbors, members of a class, group, volunteering, etc. Usually brothers, sisters, aunts/uncles, live farther apart. In CR community most of the time means family as in brother/sisters, uncles, etc. It is sad but I don't really know my neighbors.

Beaches: CR beaches have gone a transformation. I remember going to Jaco and Tamarindo with my parents, almost no buildings in sight, CR run sodas and hotels, no traffic and deserted beaches. Imagine we used to drive our cars ACROSS THE RIVERS in order to get from Jaco to Manuel Antonio (I remember a few times after crossing the rivers we had to open my dad cars' doors to let the water run out (it was an adventure getting to MA!). There were only 2 or 3 hotels in MA. I am talking circa 1987 here! Nowadays its sad but its more difficult for us ticos to enjoy our natural beauties. Most tourists that come to CR get to see more natural wonders in a week than any tico will see in 10 years and many in a lifetime. Where paying $15 (and all charges were in colones) a night was the average 15 years ago in Manuel Antonio, Tamarindo etc, now its nearly impossible to do. Last time I spent more than 2 night in a beach was 5 years ago and have only been once to Arenal and Puerto Viejo. Sad, but I guess this is the price we need to pay to cash in the tourist buck.

Malls : Oh yes malls! What we ticos used to do 10 years ago on weekends I have no idea! I really hate going to the mall on weekends (I prefer to go at lunch hour to Multiplaza when I actually need to buy something). Metropolitan ticos seem to love this gift from US pop culture. Now if only we could imitate your excellent water parks!

Prices: Costa Rica used to be extremely inexpensive for the average gringo. Not so anymore although I still tend to believe that "what is expensive in CR is inexpensive in the US and vice versa". Real Estate prices have skyrocketed. Probably you wont believe me but 20 years ago you could build a real MANSION with $100,000. Curiously enough, it has never been so easy for middle class ticos to buy a home (which is not the same as "afford"). Colon interest rates are at a historic low (down to 12% from 21% a year ago). I believe this is not sustainable and might cause a lot of trouble down the road as many people who can afford a $40,000 homes are buying $75,000 homes.

TLC [CAFTA]: Free trade agreement with the US? I have no idea if this is something good in the end and I am sure no one in the country really knows (who has time to go over those thousands of pages). People will vote on this based on gut or passion. However, I do believe that if it does not get approved we will be in trouble just because most other countries have already embraced it. Just keep my cell phone bill as it is!!!!

Wrap up: the US and Costa Rica have many many things in common (I'm talking about actual real people, not governments) and also many many differences. I think this is what make us attract to each other so much. The magic will end when CR becomes so similar to the US.

Congratulations on your wondeful blog! I hope you are with us for a long time!

Thank you, Manrique. Me, too!

Freight Train № 2

You'd think we'd have learned our lesson. You'd think we'd have put it together by now that freight trains in Costa Rica don't sound like those cute train whistles or Thomas. Or even real freight trains. They sound unremarkably like 18 wheelers. EXACTLY like 18 wheelers. And such an unremarkable sound, you can't find a .wav online... not like you can train horns!

Monday morning, Day One, and we've departed for whitewater rafting at 7am. Been driving 30 minutes, now in San Pedro in front of the University. We missed a sign and had to turn around... now coming back up the hill... At the top of the hill, there is nothing to grab our attention. Cars have slowed but that happens all the time for no particular reason. You stop noticing. There is no stop sign, no intersection, no railroad track sign: we are all the way over in the left lane of three lanes... maybe there is a sign on the far right hand lane? We don't even see railroad tracks. Till we are on them.

My husband, the world's most cautious driver, sees nothing extraordinary goin' down. We are inches from the tracks when we hear it: that 18 wheeler horn. Nothing odd about that, it's a common enough sound. Except... isn't it kinda loud? And isn't it coming from an odd angle?

As we hit the tracks, that lonesome whistle blows again and the four of us - in a collective moment of horrific déjà vu - whip our heads to the right. Holy Freight Train, she is Right There. For the second time in our lives, we come within seconds of buying the farm. Including poor Jacob's farm who is thinking maybe he'll hitchhike to the coast. You know, meet us there.

We spare ourselves the long moment of silence and tear immediately into why don't Costa Ricans have those railroad arms or flashing lights or the zillion other things they COULD have, SHOULD have at an active railroad crossing??? None of us mentions we might have slowed down and looked both ways at the tracks... which we SHOULD know by now to do. Which we'd sure as heck BETTER do next time because you know what they say: third time's charm.