Making friends with the Ticos

“Life is partly what we make it, and partly what it is made by the friends we choose.” – Tennessee Williams

Ok party people, I am sorry that it has been a week since I last blogged. It is amazing how fast time goes here between school and work. But I have had some great experiences with the locals, so let me catch you up on my weekend activities. I don’t have time for a long blog, but promise to get some more things posted over the next few days because I do have some funny stories to tell. In the meantime, I will give you a quick glimpse at my weekend.

I invited 3 of the teachers from the school to bring their families to my house on Saturday for a day of swimming and fun. I had invited them the week prior, but Mitzi told me that she didn’t tell her children until the night before because if she told them any earlier her younger son, Jose, would keep asking about it and drive her crazy. Turns out kids in Costa Rica are very similar to kids in the US.

We decided they would come over at 10, which would give us a couple of hours to swim before lunch. I spent Friday night “cramming” like I was getting ready to take a final exam because out of the 9 people coming over, only 2 spoke English, and both told me that they would only use Spanish on Saturday and expected me to do the same. Talk about getting thrown into the deep end. And while it is necessary and very beneficial, I was nervous all morning.

They arrived around 11:15 (Tico time), and the boys were so excited they just ran straight to the pool and didn’t wait for the adults. While these kids live by the ocean, they don’t get to swim in pools very often and were thrilled with the opportunity. They really were so sweet.

Everyone left around 5:30 and shortly thereafter I headed back over to the pool to join a small going away party. While I was having a few beers with my “neighbors,” 3 of the teachers (one of whom had been at my house during the day), Roger, Julie and Victor, showed up to invite me to go to the "disco tech" (read: hot sweaty bar where people dance). Of course I said yes, wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to have some cervesas and learn a little Salsa.

We had a great time, spent the night dancing and stayed out until 4 a.m. (which is way too late for my old self) When we left the bar, all 3 teachers came back to my house and ended up sleeping in the beds downstairs. The following morning Victor and I went to one of the local "sodas" (small local restaurants serving Tico food) to get breakfast for everyone. It was only my 2nd time to ever eat beans and rice (the 1st was the day before at lunch) and the 1st time I have ever had them for breakfast.

Here is what I learned about Costa Rica in my night on the town:

1. There is a reason Latina women "slick" their hair... you sweat your ass off so much here that by the end of the night your hair is wet anyway, so it might as well appear wet and stylish from the start.

2. When you hear that women in Latin America wear short tight clothes, you have no idea how short and tight they mean. I am not sure how some of the women moved in the skirts they were wearing...and let me tell you, there is no "rule" as what size you have to be before you stop participating in this fashion statement. There were women of every size flaunting what they had. Oh, and a lot of them also choose not to wear underwear. Nothing but class.

3. Old gringo women seem to be prime time targets for young Tico men. Not sure if it is a physical thing or a financial thing or both… either way it is gross to watch.

4. Hangovers in Costa Rica feel worse than in San Francisco because of the heat, however, lounging in the pool is a great hangover cure.

5. Surprisingly, rice and beans are really great hangover food. They taste delicious and provide you with carbs and protein all in one!

More to come, but here are some pictures of the weekend activities…

Roger, Julie and Victor at the disco tech. Roger and Julie both grew up locally, but Victor is from Columbia.

If any of you are wondering if I am happy in Costa Rica, I hope this picture answers your question.

Here we are at the end of the night. We closed the place down and they had to sweep around us while we finished up our Salsa lessons.

Julie and Victor dancing.

All of us having lunch next to the pool. 1st time I have ever eaten beans and rice. Delicious.

Julie, me, Mitzi enjoying a beer by the pool.

Julie, Jose, me, Mitzi enjoying a beer in the pool.

The Costa Rican Funk

“It is better to be rich and healthy than poor and sick” – Dave Barry

Well, it happened; I got the Costa Rican funk. I went to bed reasonably early on Saturday, woke up in the middle of the night with pain in my stomach and though “this can’t be good.” However, when my alarm went off at 6:00 on Sunday morning, I got up for my daily hike with Carl. I figured if I had not yet thrown up I was safe for a little while, and worst case scenario I would throw up on the hike and head home. While I continued to have sharp pains in my stomach, I thought I could be a trooper. I really enjoy my hikes with Carl; I didn’t want to miss one.

I should probably back up for a minute to tell you about Carl, as I am sure there are some of you hoping that this is something spicy. Unless of course you are my Mother, who in our phone conversation on Saturday warned me not to be too “racy” on my blog as her quilt guild friends are now reading it. I have a few things to say about this…

1. As I don’t know a single person in her quilt guild, I was certainly not the one who provided them with the URL for this site… so my Mom kinda brought this on herself.
2. The stereotype of quilters would lead one to believe these are not wild and crazy women my Mom is spending her afternoons with. Therefore I think they should be thanking me for providing their life with a little flavor. Con mucho gusto (it is my pleasure).
3. I have not actually done anything here…merely joked about it. And if I were to do something, my blog certainly would not be the place I would discuss it, I am a lady after all (I hope none of you that know me were drinking when you read that last statement as I am sure it would have caused you to spit your beverage out in a fit of laughter).

Ok, back to Carl, sorry ladies of the quilt guild, nothing spicy to report here. Carl is a 74 year old Dutchman, who has lived all over the world and in Canada for the last 40+ years. Carl is fluent in 5 languages and has spent the last 9 years avoiding the Canadian winter by spending the cold months here with his wife Joanna. Carl lives 2 “bungalows” up from me, and every morning while “Crossfitting” on my front porch, Carl would walk past me heading out on his morning walk. The first few mornings Carl stopped to chat, ask me questions about what I was doing and would ask for a demonstration. Clearly he doesn’t know that we time our workouts at Crossfit, thereby creating a situation where I would not beat my best time. However, while my “lady” status may be questionable, I was certainly raised to be polite, so I always stopped what I was doing to chat with Carl. On the 3rd or 4th morning that Carl walked past, he let me know that he takes a walk every morning and invited me to come along. I agreed and told him I would join him the following morning, I figured a nice stroll after a few rounds of squats, pushups and box jumps would be nice.

Let me put this mildly…. I grossly underestimated Carl. When Carl said he went for “walks,” I imagined that this kind, 74 year old man, went for leisurely strolls along the road. As our driveway is at least ¼ of a mile long, I figured we would walk to the end of the driveway, across the street and back. Boy was I wrong; Carl’s morning hikes (not walks) are straight out of the Grand Canyon’s Guide to Hiking. We hike all over the hills and through the rainforest… and Carl is showing me some of the most beautiful places and views around. Not only is Carl a very kind, intelligent man with amazing physical stamina (I was so thankful on our first hike when he told me he needed to rest for a minute at the top of a very steep hill we had climbed, as I was getting ready to ask him for a piggy back) but he knows more about the secret places around here than most people who have lived here all of their lives.

Carl reminds me a lot of my Dadders, he is kind, brilliant and loves soccer and nature. Carl actually still plays soccer with a team of “young guys” as he calls them (men in their 20’s and 30’s), 3 nights a week back home. That would have been valuable information to have known before I committed to taking a casual stroll with him. Since that first hike, I have hiked with Carl at least every other morning, taking longer hikes on both Saturday and Sunday mornings when I don’t have to rush back to get ready for school. Unfortunately Carl leaves in a week to go back home to Canada, so I only have a few more hikes left with him, which is why I didn’t want to miss my Sunday morning hike.

Usually after our weekend hikes, Carl and I grab breakfast together, but on Sunday morning I headed home at 7:30 as soon as our hike was over, and got straight back into bed. I didn’t even shower first which should tell you how badly I was feeling… I have mentioned before how hot it is here, so I was certainly a sweaty mess.

I fell asleep almost immediately and was out cold for about 4 hours. When I woke up I decided to take a dip in the pool as I thought maybe this illness was heat related. While I felt better in the pool than I did on my hike, I was out of the pool within and hour and after attempting to eat something, was back in my bed for another 3 hour nap. I then went back to sleep by about 8:00 that night.

When I woke up Monday morning, I continued to have the sharp pains in my stomach, but got out of bed and headed to school. Had I been in college, I would have certainly stayed in bed, but in college you had a whole semester of classes you could attend… and that was my parents’ money not mine… I paid for Spanish school myself (just kidding M&D, I went to class every day starting my Junior year)! As there are no refunds or make up days at Escuela D’Amore, I am not going to miss class unless I am physically unable to get out of bed, or the shirtless wonder is lying next to me (that one was for the quilters).

When I got to school Roger told me that I didn’t look very good… which could have been true, but also could have been his attempt to make clear that he is not interested in drinking tequila and taking off his clothes for me.

As I was telling Roger that I didn’t feel well, Buddy, the owner of the school, walked up. Buddy told me that I probably had an ameba growing inside of me. Delightful. I then asked Buddy if this ameba would cause me to lose weight, and when he told me yes I decided that a few sharp stomach pains every couple minutes might not be so bad. Buddy asked me if I wanted a ride to town to go get some medication, and I said I was going to give it one more day to see what happened. Look people, I don’t like receiving medical care. The only time I ever want to see a doctor is if we are on a date, otherwise I prefer to avoid them… especially in 3rd world countries.

However, as is no big surprise, Tuesday morning I didn’t feel any better. When I got to school I told Buddy I was going to take him up on his offer and he said he would take me after class to see Carlos at the pharmacy. As it turns out, in Costa Rica you don’t have to see a doctor to get a prescription. You simply describe your medical condition to the pharmacist (in this case Carlos), pay and walk out the door with your drugs. I am not sure if Carlos does this for all medical conditions, or if he has just seen enough “ameba infections” in his day; I hope I am not put in a situation to find out.

I spent our break time at school looking up all the necessary phrases and words to describe my medical condition to Carlos, as I was slightly concerned about the potential results of the language barrier, only to find out he speaks beautiful English. I love Carlos. However, this brings me back to my previous pharmacy post about the need for a “private meeting” with the pharmacist.

When I walked in I asked for Carlos and told him I was having stomach pains. Carlos began to ask me a series of questions that many would consider private, and doctors in the US ask behind closed doors. Carlos was perplexed when I told him that I while I had sharp pain in my stomach, I had not thrown up and had not had diarrhea. He then asked me if I was constipated (still no) or could possibly be pregnant (not without divine intervention). While these questions did not provide Carlos with the symptoms he was looking for, he asked me if I was allergic to any medications (nope) and told me that he would prescribe 3 days of medication for me. Carlos said that if I wasn’t feeling better after I completed the medication I should come back, he would give me a container and send me home to provide him with a “sample.” I did not like the sound of that one bit. It made me realize, I have never given a “sample” of that kind before… and the thought of possibly having to go home, provide said sample, pack it in my backpack, get on the bus, walk through the town, take it back to Carlos and hand it to him over the counter, was not very comforting.

In the few times that I have had to give urine samples in my life, I have always overanalyzed the process causing myself unnecessary stress. I have spent more time than I will admit trying to determine how much pee they really need to conduct their tests. For some reason that is unexplainable, I don’t ever want to fill the cup to the top as I feel like they will think that I pee too much. On the flip side I don’t want to give just a little drop because then they might think something is wrong with me or won't have enough pee to run whatever tests they are trying to run. So I go into the bathroom at the doc's office, pee some into the cup, the rest into the toilet and then stare at my cup analyzing if it is the “right” amount. I envision the test tubes from biology lab and try to do some sort of crazy mathematical equation to figure out how much urine each of those would take. I then try to figure out how many tests they are going to run, and provide an amount proportional to that.

Over the years, I have come to the totally irrational conclusion that a little less than half the cup seems to be the right amount. This sometimes results in me pouring some of the pee out of the cup, putting the lid on and washing the outside of the container. And on one occasion I poured too much out and decided I should stay in the bathroom, finish my bottle of water and try to fill the sample cup up a little higher again. God forbid I don't provide them with enough and they have to ask me for another sample.

Comparatively speaking, my over packing issues now seem very normal, don’t they.

So while waiting for my medication at the pharmacy, I started to think about the method one would use to provide a stool sample. Do you try to poop right into the cup? I mean you never know how big your poop is going to be until it comes out, so the approach of going right into the cup seems very risky to me. But what is the other option, going in the toilet and fishing it out? Also not appealing. And I have told you how much time I spent analyzing the “correct” amount of pee for a sample, how in the world does one determine the right amount for this kind of sample?

I began to wonder if the “sample cup” came with instructions that would help to answer my questions, and then realized the instructions would most likely be in Spanish. It is not like I could ask Roger to translate for me, what would he think then?

Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, Carlos called me over to give me the instructions for my medication, at which time he told me I should not drink any Coke. WHAT? That is like telling Amy Winehouse not to smoke crack. Impossible task! And why don’t they have rehab for Diet Coke addicts anyway?

While I am proud to say that I have had less Coke over the past few days, I would be lying if I said I had none. How do they expect me to go to school, come home and work, study in the evenings, and provide you with entertainment, with no caffeine? Some people just expect the impossible.

The good news is that after 1 ½ days of medication, I am feeling better and even told Carl to count me in for the hike tomorrow morning (I have taken the last two days off), though asked him to take it easy on me. Pathetic that I have to ask a man, who is 40 years my senior, if we can slow down a little. I only hope that 40 years from now I am hiking with someone less than half my age, showing them the sights, as Carl has done for me.

One last interesting fact about medications and pharmacies in Costa Rica… not only is there no requirement to see a doctor first, without health insurance, my two medications came to a grand total of $26.00. That is less than my co-pay would have been back home with my insurance. (If you haven’t already, you should see Michael Moore’s film “Sick.”)

So I am hopefully on the mend… and am crossing my fingers that this was the only time Carlos and I will have to hang out. But if I do have to go back, I promise you I won't blog about the details.

Below are some pictures taken during my hikes with Carl… and I even included one of myself bc some of you continue to hound me about getting some pictures of me up here. I assure you that no picture of me could ever be as beautiful as the pictures of my surroundings….but I will work on getting more pictures up of the people who I talk about in blogs… wouldn’t it be great if that included the “shirtless wonder?” That would just send the quilting bees over the edge.

la playa

“Sponges grow in the ocean. That just kills me. I wonder how much deeper the ocean would be if that didn’t happen.” - Stephen Wright

I have come up with sort of a weekend routine, Saturdays I go to the farmers’ market and explore the town and Sundays I explore the forest and go to the beach. I took the pictures below on my beach trip last Sunday. There was not a lot of sun that day; however, it didn’t take away from the beauty of the rainforest and the beach intersecting… though that is difficult to represent in pictures.

When I first arrived at the beach I was surprised that the beach wasn’t “longer,” as I am used to the beaches of New Jersey and Hawaii (quite a variation I know) where you literally can’t see the end of the beach in either direction. In Manuel Antonio you can see the “end” of the beach as it transforms into rainforest. The entrance for the National Park is actually at one “end” of the public beach.

I decided to walk along the beach from one end to the other, enjoy a nice stroll and really take in my surroundings. There were many families enjoying the day and it just brought happiness to my heart. You would not believe how beautiful the little Costa Rican children are, and these families, many of whom have very little, still find such joy in spending the day with each other. I love this place.

At one point I came across an older man who stopped me to show me the tiniest snail you have ever seen. He works in the National Park, had a laminated page of all of the indigenous animals and gave me a mini Spanish lesson. He was very, very kind and we spent about 45 minutes together talking… though truth be told there was only about 10 minutes of conversation and 35 minutes of charades. This man, Papo, has been working in the National Park for 49 years. Amazing. At one point we sat down towards the “top” of the sand away from the water and closer to the forest, and he pulled a leaf off of the tree and did a sort of fortune telling. Papo is a very wise man, and some of the things he said were very eerily accurate. As I found out 3 days ago, Papo lives across the street from me, and I plan to spend more time with him during my trip. I can't think of a better way to learn about my surroundings than spening time with an old, kind hearted Tico.

One thing that won’t surprise you is that as Papo and I were sitting close to the rainforest, we turned around and saw monkeys. I don’t think I will ever loose the excitement I feel when seeing them.

After Papo and I finished talking, I headed back down the beach to catch the bus home. Along my way I was stopped by a couple of native Tico surfing instructors who asked me if I was interested in lessons. I told them that I was not interested that day; however I would be back once I mustered up the courage. They asked what I was afraid of, and I told them the sharks. They tried to assure me sharks wouldn’t be a problem, though I was not particularly convinced of their answer as they were trying to get money from me. I then asked if there were a lot of sharks in the water, to which one instructor responded “There are more sharks on the beach than in the water.” While that is not very comforting, it is probably very accurate.

Beautiful beach pictures below…

One way to prevent your things from being stolen while you are in the water is to tie them to a tree. Genius... and only in Costa Rica. I have never seen a tree on a beach in New Jersey.

Monos, monos, mas monos

"I learned the way a monkey learns - by watching its parents." – Prince Charles

While Crossfitting with the monos was pretty amazing, a couple, who I have become friends with, told me that the monos are in full effect at their house every morning at sunrise and every evening before sunset.

I went to their house a few nights ago to experience it for myself, and it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. The monos were literally a few feet away from me, and there were mama monos with little tiny babies on their backs. I am posting the pics, I hope you can see them clearly. There must have been at least 25 monos running around, these are only a few of the pictures I took. I also have a video and will try to figure out how to post that at some point too.

For those of you who were smart enough to "sign up" to come visit me... I promise to take you by so you too can have this experience.


It is hard to see, but the monkey on the top is a mama with a little tiny baby on her back. The little white you see there is actually the baby's face. Those little ones just cling to their mamas and it is amazing to watch the mamas jump through the trees with the babies just hanging on.

This guy was hanging on a vine type thing very close to where I was standing. He was swinging back and forth, would hang down like this and pull himself right back up. With his flexibility and muscle tone, he reminded me of Coach Boz from Crossfit.

Here he was after he sat back up, just swinging back and forth enjoying himself. It was amazing.

Escuala de Espanol

"Learn a new language and get a new soul." ~Czech Proverb

As all of you know, I am desperate to learn Spanish… and not only because I want to talk to “the shirtless wonder,” but because I want to spend time with the locals and really learn about this beautiful place which I presently call “home.” I have now completed 2 weeks of lessons, and while I have certainly made significant progress, I also feel very overwhelmed.

After my unnecessary bus ride last Monday, I arrived at the correct school where I was immediately given a “test” to assess my level of competency in Spanish. I don’t know how long these tests usually take, but mine took approximately 18 seconds. As the result of my test, I was given one-on-one instruction for the whole week. Ignorance has its rewards.

There are 6 instructors at the school, ranging in English proficiency, and the instructor I had the first week was Roger. Roger is a 22 year old native Costa Rican who grew up, and still lives, on a farm about 45 minutes away from the school. That is 45 minutes of commute time, which for Roger involves a motorcycle and a bus (it is a wonder he is still alive) while his farm is probably only 10 miles outside of town. Roger speaks VERY good English, though he often acts like he doesn’t understand me in order to force me to communicate in Spanish… a successful tactic that I am sure I will thank him for later but right now frustrates the crap out of me.

My first two days of instruction I felt overwhelmed and thought I would never learn Spanish. By Wednesday I felt like things were really starting to click and by Friday, I was speaking in complete sentences, albeit very basic ones. Roger said he is very impressed by how quickly I am picking up that language and that in his 3 ½ years of teaching he has only had 2 other students who picked things up as quickly. I tried to explain to him the level motivation that “the shirtless wonder” provided, but as he forces me to speak to him only in Spanish, I don’t know how well it translated and he might have thought I was asking him to take off his shirt. And while his compliment made me feel very good, I am not willing to rule out the possibility that it was made because of the bottle of tequila I gave him at the end of the week as a thank you. Great, now he probably thinks I am trying to get him drunk to take advantage of him.

I left school Friday feeling great and even went out that night for dinner and drinks with a couple of the other students. During my cab ride home I had a brief conversation with my taxi driver in which I successfully communicated where I needed to go, that I was a student learning Spanish at Escuala D’Amore and that I was going to be living in Quepos for 5 months. Not too shabby after only one week of lessons and muchas cervesas.

On Saturday morning I awoke and prepared for round 2 of the farmers’ market with the goal of speaking only Spanish during the entire excursion. Not that I put too much pressure on myself or make lofty goals or anything. So I studied my fruits and vegetables before I left the house and felt prepared. I chose to walk to town again and lost approximately ¾ of a pound in sweat… which was great because I planned to stop by the Amish stand and buy some of their delicious desserts.

Overall my farmers’ market trip was a success… and I mostly got along in Spanish, though truth be told I was, for the most part, resorting to 1 or 2 word requests and not full sentences as I had planned. Turned out I was much better “versed” when I had the time to put my thoughts together and practice at mi casa. Once I had groups of people around me who were waiting for me to make my purchases, I clammed up a little bit. And while I had practiced the fruits and vegetables for my trip, I also went to the grocery store, where on my list of things to buy was charcoal. I won’t even begin to tell you the difficulty of that purchase.

What is worse than having to resort to 2 word phrases is that I understood almost nothing that was said to me as everyone talked so quickly that words ran together and I couldn’t decipher any words I recognized. Which reminds me of a story about my Mother…

As you all know, my family is British, thus my parents have British accents. When we moved to Texas, although English is my parents’ native language, people seemed to have a very hard time understanding them. Therefore they were often treated as though they were speaking a foreign language (one that was different than the Mexicans used, causing great confusion for the very simple minded).

One day my Mom was in a hardware store (no idea what she was doing there as she is STILL amazed that you can record one show while watching another… so I don’t really believe she was particularly inclined to fix anything on that day) and asked the owner of the store for something. The man didn’t understand her and asked her to repeat herself, which she did. He still was not able to understand her although she was speaking perfect English (the same language he was allegedly speaking) and said “Ma’am if you are gonna want to talk with people in these parts, you are going to have to slow down.” While I always thought of that man as a simple minded “good ole’ boy,” I now get his point.

This week I continued one-on-one instruction, though my instructor was Mitzi, who is a 33 year old mother of 2 boys. Mitzi lives a little farther away from the school than Roger, though her commute does not involve a motorcycle, thus adding at least 10 years to her life expectancy. Mitzi lives with her husband, sons and in-laws and is a devout Catholic (which is common in these parts). While we all know I am not a particularly religious person, I understood her religious devotion as I decided I would probably pray a lot too if I had to live with my in-laws.

Mitzi is a very kind woman with a great spirit who, while not particularly comfortable speaking in English, can literally write out every word in English that you can imagine. She is currently taking English classes 1 night a week as her goal is to teach at a public school like her husband. While I really enjoyed my time with Mitzi this week, I didn’t feel like I absorbed as much as I did with Roger, but that could be due in part to the fact that I feel as though my brain is going to explode with the amount of Spanish I am trying to take in.

I found out today that there aren’t any new students coming for 3 more weeks, so I will continue to have one-on-one instruction as there will only be me and 2 other students at the school. I definitely feel like I am getting my moneys worth.

I thought I would close this posting by telling you the most important things I learned in my first 2 weeks of Spanish lessons…

1. Native Costa Ricans are actually called “Ticos” or “Ticas” so I was wrong in earlier blogs when I called them Ticans. My apologies.

2. While the local Costa Rican beer is Imperial, the Ticos actually prefer to drink Corona. I wonder if the Mexicans drink Imperial?

3. My spelling is no better in English than in Spanish. Actually it might be worse. The other day I was IM’ing with my friend Brooke and was adding in Spanish words here and there (Brooke is wicked smart, so I always try to impress her with my “vast knowledge”). At one point Brooke responded that I “must be learning a different type of Spanish than she did as she thought…..” So much for trying to impress her, as I had to explain that it was the same type of Spanish… just a worse speller attempting to use it.

4. When you ask a question in Spanish, you move the verb in the sentence, thus making my pick up line “Es usted medico?” instead of “Used es medico?” Thank goodness I learned this important lesson prior to actually using my line; I certainly wouldn’t want the doc to think I was uneducated.

5. Firefighters in Costa Rica are not what girls’ fantasies are made of. When we were playing a memory game to learn the words for professions, I stated “Me gusta bomberos” (I like firefighters). When asked why, I explained my fascination, to which Mitzi responded “Not in Costa Rica.” I then went online and pulled up pictures of the Houston Fire Department’s calendar (which was coincidentally sent to me via email the day before….no really, I swear it was) to visually explain my interest as there was a good chance I didn’t communicate it particularly well in Spanish. When Mitzi saw the pictures she was very surprised and assured me the bomberos of Costa Rica were nothing like that. I am glad I found this information out so soon, as I had certainly planned a field trip to the local fire station. Guess I will go to the beach instead.

6. The words married (casada) and tired (cansado) are very similar. Do I really need to make an additional joke here?

7. While the word “caliente” means hot, it should only be used to describe something like a cup of coffee, and never yourself. When you use this word in the form of a self description, you are actually professing to all those around that you are horny. Now this is the sort of stuff the Spanish cd’s should be teaching. This is much more useful than learning the word “cauliflower” as I can’t think of a single situation where I would ever embarrass myself using that word. I also can’t think of a time where I would use the word “caliente” to describe myself to others, as I think those feelings should be kept to yourself…unless of course “the shirtless wonder” is at your house and you have had a few glasses of wine. A girl can dream you know...

Ok, off to practice new pick up lines… I mean Spanish.

Crossfit and monos

“Culture is roughly anything we do and the monkeys don't.” – Lord Raglan

I have been working hard to try to get into a Costa Rican routine. Part of that routine includes an early morning workout, which thus far has occurred on my rather large front porch area. While I am accustomed to morning workouts due to my 6 a.m. San Francisco Crossfit routine (aka “God’s Workout" http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/23/magazine/23wwln-medium-t.html?_r=1&emc=eta1&oref=slogin ), it feels different here for a variety of reasons.

First of all, it is already sunny and about 30 degrees warmer at 6 a.m. here than in SF… add in the humidity factor and you have yourself a workout. Additionally, I miss all my morning peeps… they are a very friendly bunch at 6 in the morning. And while I hate to admit it, I also miss the coaches pushing me to go harder, do more etc. I am trying to channel Coach K and Boz in my mind and push myself to do one more round or get my pushups or squats closer to the ground. One of these days I will do a burpee (notice I said “a”) and make them proud, though not quite yet.

There is a gym in between my place and downtown Quepos (which, believe it or not, is actually air conditioned) and I have thought about stopping in to inquire about their rates (and more importantly try to buy a set of dumbbells from them for my front porch workouts). However in the times I have driven past, I have never seen a woman in there. And of greater significance, getting to that gym involves a bus ride in both directions, which I feel would be a waste of time and an unnecessary risk of my life every morning.

Once my Spanish is better, I will be daring enough to walk in and not be so concerned, but for now I am going to stick to my weightless front porch workouts. Lord knows my ass is big enough that certainly I am getting a workout just carrying that thing around. I figure in another week or so I will know enough Spanish to make the attempt to communicate my need for dumbells. And I now have more motivation than just trying to stay in shape (and cool off) to enter that gym..

The other day I was walking down the road across the street from our driveway (the old road between Quepos and Manual Antonio), when I saw literally the most beautiful man I have ever seen. When I first saw him, I was unable to see his face as he was walking down the street putting on his shirt… so my first glimpse (read: gawk) of him was his chest and abs… and holy mother of God, I almost fell over. With a body like that, I can understand why he would wait until he was in public to get dressed. Really, it is form of public service… a charitable act of sorts. He is clearly a very kind and giving person who is simply trying to make life a little better for those around him… and I, for one, appreciate the thoughtfulness. Once he pulled his shirt on and I saw how beautiful his face was, I decided then and there that he had to be the man my boss’s psychic told her I would meet (more about that another time). But frankly, even if his face wasn’t beautiful, that body was enough. He could have been the Elephant Man at that point… I told you it gets dark at 5:30 here…

He smiled at me and said hello, along with something else I didn’t understand… which I have replayed in my mind to be "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I want you to bare my children... Oh, and by the way, Soy médico." (I am a doctor.) I decided then and there that I was going to practice my Spanish for hours every night so that I could have a conversation with this man sooner rather than later… that is if I ever see him again. But that brings me to the point of the gym, there is no doubt that this man works out… no amount of genetics or manual labor could create this work of art… so if I go to the gym, I may just run into him again (and by “run into” I mean stalk). That my friends, is worth risking my life on the bus.

Ok, enough about my future husband….back to front porch Crossfit.

On Wednesday morning I was doing “double unders” on my front porch when out of the corner of my eye I saw something moving in the trees above me. I looked up and there were at least 10 spider monkeys (arana monos) jumping around in the trees. I couldn’t believe it. I ran inside to get my camera and took the pictures below.

Sadly the monos move much faster during their morning workout than I do, so the pictures didn’t come out great… but you will get the idea. I stood watching the monos for about 15 minutes before they decided to move onto other areas of the rainforest, at which time I went back to my double unders, totally distracted by the fact that moments before there were monkeys, in the wild, just a few feet above my head. This place is magnificent.

And now that my hero Aaron has created a blog to record the daily SF Crossfit workouts, I can do those workouts and feel a little closer to my peeps back in SF, while hanging out with my monos here. Best of both worlds.

Now, if I could only learn Spanish, get to the gym, find my man and have cervesas with him at sunset, all would be right in the world. But knowing my luck, he is the guy who gave the STD to the girl at the pharmacy.

http://sfcrossfitlog.blogspot.com/
http://www.sanfranciscocrossfit.com/

If you look closely, you can see thier tails and bodies...
There he is, up in the tree... they really do blend in well.


Right before this picture, he was standing on his hind legs... doing a balancing act tight rope walk.

The sign says it all

If this sign doesn't say it all, I don't know what does. This is the sign that is at the end of our short little driveway.

Watch out for children, dogs, sloths and monkeys (and not necessarily in that order).

Notice it is not a warning of danger, rather a sign requesting that you drive slowly to avoid hurting one of the mammals listed. I just think this sign is fantastic.

I am sorry that I went for a few days without blogging. During a rainstorm on Thursday, we lost our internet and didn't get it back until Saturday night. I have already written the blogs from those days, and will upload them with pictures Monday or Tuesday... I have been busy practicing Spanish and trying to catch up on missed work from the internet outage...but I promise to get quite a few blogs up this week as there is a lot to catch you up on.

Love to you all. xoxo

Yo quiero aprender Español

“The more you let yourself be distracted from where you are going, the more you are the person that you are. It's not so much like getting lost as it is like getting found.” – William Stafford

Aside from figuring out how to open the door and avoid STD’s at the farmacia, my only “job” on Sunday was to determine the location of my Spanish school, as I had to be there by 8:30 Monday morning. While this should seem like a very simple process, as you have probably learned from this blog, things aren’t as easy in Costa Rica as they are in the States. At least not for me.

One of the problems with determining the location of a place in Quepos is that people/businesses in Costa Rica don’t have mailboxes, which, in this case, rules out the ability to have a “physical address.” Come to think of it, I haven’t seen a single street sign here. I am not even sure the streets have names; though the names of the streets would surely be in Spanish and of little use to me at this point anyway.

This leads me to a story about a traveling dilemma of someone I know well. While I will not name him (as I did not get his permission to tell this story), I will give you a hint about his identity by telling you that he might be the father of my sister’s children. When I say “might,” I am not trying to imply that there could possibly be another father (if you saw these kids next to their Dad you would have no doubt), I am simply trying to be subtle with my hint. Clearly subtlety is not my strong suit. This should come as no surprise to anyone.

Anyway, this man, who I will call Tony (because that is his name), was in Moscow for business during a very cold time of year (which based on my limited knowledge of Russian weather means that it could have been absolutely any time during the year). During this trip he had some free time and decided to venture out one day, taking the subway to do so. As he doesn’t speak Russian, he came up with a great plan to ensure he would easily find his way back to his hotel; he memorized the Russian word on the sign at his subway stop (which I am sure looked something like this ЛЕНИЙ) and proceeded on his way.

After he made his way around Moscow (or went to the local watering hole, not really sure), he got back on the subway to go home. While on the train, he was watching for his “sign,” was pleased with himself when he saw it, and got of the train. I can understand his pleasure as I am sure that memorizing a sign with symbols/letters which you do not know, and remembering said symbols/letters after spending the afternoon at the watering hole, is not an easy thing to do. However, as is often the case with a good plan, this one had a flaw.

Upon his exit from the train he realized he was in the wrong place, so he got back on the train and headed to the next stop, where he again saw the sign he had memorized. As occurred at the previous stop, he got off the train to realize he was in the wrong place. After this went on for a few stops, he sadly realized the flaw in his plan was that he had memorized the word for “platform” which happened to be at every station. Not such useful memorization after all. “E” for effort. “F” for flaw. Luckily for me, I am not in Russia and while the words here are in a language I don’t understand, at least the letters are the same. Though I don’t seem to be fairing any better than him.

As there are seemingly no addresses or street names in this town (and possibly in all of Costa Rica), my usual method of getting my directions from Map Quest was not going to work. Damn. So I went with what seemed like the most logical next step, to ask my “neighbors” who live here year round.

I first asked Richard (the property manager), who is very kind and helpful, but he didn’t know. I tried knocking on Marianna’s door (an Argentinean woman who has lived here for years), but found out she was out of town. I had even previously asked a couple of Ticans who were at Barba Roja the night I watched the sunset. When I asked them if they knew where Escuela D’Amore was, they asked if I was going to the school down by the soccer field… to which I wanted to respond “If I knew that I wouldn’t be asking you where the school was!” Did they think that was my pick up line? Come on, I am much smoother than that… “Usted es medico?”

After finding out Marianna was out of town, I walked over to the pool to see if there was anyone there who might know. There were 2 people at the pool who said they were pretty sure my school was down by the Tulimir property and that all I needed to do was catch the bus heading towards Manuel Antonio Park and tell the bus driver I needed “escuela.” I asked if the school was close enough to walk as I thought a little more exercise would do me good, but they said it was a couple miles away, mostly up hill and dangerous. Good point. Walking along the side of the road here can be equated to being pushed off the Golden Gate Bridge, while death is not guaranteed, it is likely. The Ticans may stop to pick up a sloth, but they will not slow down to avoid killing someone, though they are not above slowing down to “cat call” or honk as they drive by.

I went to bed early on Sunday night in preparation for my “big day,” and awoke early the next morning to work out and get ready for school. I got up at 5:45 as I wanted to have plenty of time workout, eat breakfast, take a shower and find the school. Clearly I was giving myself a significant window in case of error. For those of you who know me well, you know that there is nothing I hate more than being late (not exactly true, there are things I hate more, like GW being President and people touching me with their feet… but I really don’t like to be late). And based on my previous traveling incidences and challenging Costa Rican experiences, I decided to err on the side of being early. Turns out I made the right choice.

I packed up my backpack grabbed my bottle of water (don’t want to be without fluids as I am trying to avoid having to go see Dr. Salas for dehydration, or anything else for that matter) and headed to the bus stop. The buses here run “every 20 minutes” however there is no bus schedule and the “every 20 minutes” is a very loosely based timeframe which I will refer to as “Tican Time,” meaning the bus will get there whenever the hell it wants to get there. I left my house at 7:15 with my backpack on and headed to the bus stop, half expecting my Mother to be waiting with a camera to take a picture of my first day of school. It then dawned on me the significance of the little piece of paper our Mothers used to pin to our shirts on the first day of school which said our name, our bus number and our teacher’s name. This is really very valuable information to have when taking a bus (or any form of public transportation) that I took for granted growing up.

As my Mother was not here to pin a slip of paper to my shirt outlining who I was and where I needed to go, I was forced to once again make a shotty attempt at communicating in Spanish. I sat at the bus stop (for more than 20 minutes I might add) and continuously rehearsed what I was going to say to the bus driver once he arrived. However when I got on the bus I fumbled and mispronounced escuela. The bus driver corrected me and nodded, possibly indicating he would tell me when it was time for me to get off the bus. Note I said possibly. As he was clearly not the friendliest of drivers, and the only indication I had that he might help me was a slight nod of the head (I am using the term nod generously, it might have actually been a mild twitch that was a reaction to an untreatable STD), I decided that I had to watch like a hawk out the window in hopes of seeing the school. Usually this would have put me in a small panic, but the thing about having only one road in between Quepos and Manuel Antonio is that there are only two directions the bus can go, thus preventing me from really getting lost. I figured the worst case scenario here is that I would miss my stop in which case I would just keep on riding, which after a short time, would bring me back my stop again.

That is what I thought was the worst case scenario…

I am sure it comes as no surprise to you that the buses here are not particularly new or high tech. As it turned out that morning, I stepped onto one of the older busses, and after riding it for about 30 seconds I was not convinced this bus had the engine power to get us up the hills. As we rounded the corner to go up a rather steep hill, the bus literally stopped moving. Now, I would like to point out, the driver’s foot was not on the brake, the bus was simply failing to move forward as it seemed to be in too high of a gear to maintain forward momentum. When I say too high of a gear, I would like you to know the bus was only in 2nd gear. Not very comforting.

I was trying to remain calm, and was looking around me to see if any of the other passengers were registering any level of panic, when I realized that instead of switching gears, thus preventing my impending death, the bus driver decided to change the radio station. EEHHMM, excuse me, Mr. Bus Driver, even with my limited exposure to Costa Rican American radio stations, I feel confident that I can guarantee in another minute and a half, a new Madonna song will come on the radio (and by new I mean different Madonna song from the 80’s), if you could kindly pop that sucker into 1st gear, that would really help to prevent me from losing my shit. The only thing currently preventing me from losing my shit was that while we weren’t moving forward, we also weren’t moving backwards, though I was convinced we would at any second. Luckily, right before that happened, the driver found a Jackson 5 song that seemed to suit his needs, popped the bus into 1st gear and we began to slowly chug up the hill. While Michael was singing “I want you back” I was repeating the mantra “I think I can, I think I can, I think I can” in hopes that my positive affirmations would help get us to safety.

At the next stop, a kind woman across from me got my attention and said something in Spanish that I didn’t understand, however she pointed, indicating that it was time for me to get off the bus. Thank God.

I got off the bus and walked only a few steps before realizing I had gotten off the bus at the COSI School (another immersion school), which was not the school I had signed up nor paid for (but was across the street from the soccer fields). While I realized this before the bus had driven away, I made the executive decision to find my school on foot. Although I know the roads are dangerous, I figured at this point my death by bus/walk was at even odds.

I walked for a short way when I came to a sign that said “Escuela D’Amore.” Hooray, I found it. So I walked inside and introduced myself, just to find out that this school was the “Academia” and that the school I needed was back in the opposite direction. Hmm. I then asked which bus stop I needed, to which the man replied “Mono Azul.”

Mono Azul (the blue monkey) is a hotel and restaurant….right across the street from my driveway….which is where I caught the bus to begin this journey.

So I crossed the street to wait for the bus going in the opposite direction, to take me right back to my place of origin. That is an hour of my life I will never get back. Coincidentally I was picked up by the same bus driver who dropped me off 100 yards back approximately 15 minutes before. He was perplexed when I got back on the bus but I just gave him 110 colones, smiled and took my seat. Some things are better left unsaid, especially when you don’t speak the language.

The good news is that the school is approximately 2 New York City blocks from my front door, so I can leave my house by 8:15 and arrive at la escuela with 5 minutes to spare. And while I have to walk down the main road to get there, I now feel as though my chances of being hit by a car are surprisingly less than being in a bus that rolls backwards off a cliff.

When in Rome… I mean when in Costa Rica…

“I make it a policy to try never to make a complete idiot of myself twice in the same way. After all, there’s always all kinds of new ways to make a complete idiot of myself. Why repeat the old ones?” – Margot Dalton

One of my “coping” methods for living in a country where I don’t know anyone or speak the language is to watch other people around me and do what they are doing. However, I have discovered this will not work in all situations. For example, there is no way in hell I would have picked up Sally the sloth to carry her across the road if she happened to have been on a date with Sal.

One of the other things I learned about sloths, but didn’t post, is that they are flea infested. No, thank you. I will leave the carrying of the sloths to the Ticans… they seem to be handling the situation just fine. And frankly, Sally needs to set her standards higher anyway. I personally would not want to go on a date with anyone who would risk my life like that. Then again, maybe Sal was just trying to impress her... “Look Sally, I can cross this dangerous road without being killed.” Clearly Sal has played one too many games of frogger.

Alright, back to my coping method…this method does often work … I used it at the farmer’s market and had an overall successful time there. I used it at the grocery store, the bank and to catch a cab… all successes. However, sometimes this method just makes me look like an idiot. It’s a game of odds really.

Take yesterday for example, one of my “neighbors” (I’ll call her Jackie) had a migraine and asked me to stop by the pharmacy and pick up some Tylenol with codeine for her during my trip to town. Jackie is from Canada and Canadian over-the-counter medications are much more potent than in the US, so she is used to the “good stuff;” therefore my offer of Advil was not sufficient. Thus I agreed to go; I figured it was good experience for me to go to the farmacia anyway.

Additionally, while Jackie is very, very nice, she is also a little “interesting” (case in point, she can often be found strolling the property in a bright purple velour dress and the only make-up she wears is very thick blue eyeliner on her bottom eye lids), and frankly when she starts talking to me, I will agree to do just about anything to get our conversation to move along a little faster. Jackie is vacationing here by herself and has come here for the past 6 or 7 years, so she is full of “advice.” Some of her “advice” is very helpful, other "advice"… well not so much.

For example, the other day at the pool (while I was clearly trying to read my book) she told me all about sloths (She didn’t know I had bonded with Sal the day before nor that I went online to read all about him for my “evening entertainment.” Surprisingly, sloths and wine make for a great time on a Saturday night.) and warned me not to let them wrap their long claws around me, as they are very strong and sharp and might cut me. Really? Of all the sloth advice out there, that is the best you've got?

While I will say that I am not particularly afraid of sloths…as I am certain I could “out-run” them by simply taking two “scissor steps” forward (Simon Says, anyone?), I don’t make it a practice of holding hands with wild animals. Therefore, while well intended, the advice was pretty useless.

Jackie claimed that this migraine was a “prediction of rain,” as her migraines are generally due to change in barometric pressure or something (don’t remember exactly what she said as I was only half listening, she sure talked a lot for someone who had a migraine). So she advised me to bring my umbrella and “prepare for rain.” While I am not discounting the possibility of her migraines being weather induced, I would like to point out we are living in THE F’ING RAIN FOREST, predicting rain is not that much of an accomplishment.

Ok, back to the farmacia… it is located across the street from the bus station next to “Super Mas” (overpriced grocery store). When I walked up to the glass door of the farmacia, I realized that farmacias in Costa Rica aren’t anything like the Walgreens back home. The farmacia sells only medications, and everything is behind the counter, so you must ask the clerk (I use the term clerk because I am 99.99% sure that neither of the people working were licensed pharmacists) to get you what you need.

Upon realizing this, I start to feel a little stressed because when I envisioned this excursion in my mind, it involved me walking in, choosing what I wanted, giving them thousands of colones and walking out. I didn’t picture any conversation above and beyond me saying “Gracias” and the clerk saying “Con mucho gusto.” Turns out that wasn’t in the cards, a conversation was going to be required.

And while my Spanish cd’s had taught me “Usted es medico?” (Are you a doctor?), my fantasies about using that phrase involved a bar overlooking the ocean, drinks with umbrellas and a gorgeous late 30-something gentleman (whose as it turns out, is a doctor). Clearly that was not going to be the scenario here.

But, I had committed to getting her some medication, so I walked up to the glass door and attempted to pull it open, no luck. I then realized that there were no lights on inside, so I looked all over the door and shop front to try to find a sign stating their hours of operation. While I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to read the words on the sign, numbers are luckily the same in English and Spanish, so I thought I stood a chance of getting the information I needed using my deductive reasoning skills (aka number recognition, maybe Sesame Street would prove to be useful after all).

While I couldn’t find any such sign (once again Sesame Street, of no value to me), I noticed that there was a woman inside making a purchase, which was an indication to me that they were open, despite the fact that the lights were off (which as it turned out was due to the fact that it is HOT AS HELL here and they were trying to help keep the place cool). Also, it was the middle of the day so they should have been open; as I am sure the fake pharmacists don’t start their work day nearly as early as the Madonna loving construction workers.

So I pulled on the door again, nada. Then it dawned on me that there might be some sort of process where in only one person enters the pharmacy at a time. This made some sense to me; I mean in the US we have all the HIPPA regulations, maybe this was an extreme version of that. Maybe the woman in front of me was in need of some sort of medication to cure an STD, which I think justifies a private conversation. While you may think I am jumping to conclusions here, I would like to point out that on my first day in Quepos I picked up the one page tourist map of Quepos and Manuel Antonio which highlights every restaurant, tour place etc. Amongst the advertisements along the edge of the map was an ad for

Centro Medico, Dr. Carlos Salas
“Primary care physician with open access. Let me deal with your complaint.”

The “treatable” complaint list included:

minor surgery (in-grown toenail removal I assume), sun burn, dengue (disease from mosquitoes, remind me to buy bug spray), dehydration (I can see how this would be possible), travelers diarrhea (guess he is not interested in treating the locals' crap), food poisoning, constipation, swimmers ear, sinusitis, fever, ear wash, sexually transmitted diseases

When you are living in a place that lists the treatment of STD’s right next to “ear wash” and beside an advertisement for the “Canopy Safari,” it doesn’t seem too outlandish to me that one would have to wait outside the pharmacy for the other person to exit. So I stood there for probably a minute, being patient, hoping someone else would walk up to confirm I was doing the right thing… when a woman, who was standing next door (and apparently watching me), casually came over and pushed the door open for me. Oh.

When I pulled the door and it didn’t open, it never occurred to me to try to push the door open. Yes, I know, doors both push and pull in the US, but come on, I was simply trying to be respectful of the woman in front of me with the STD. And if I seemed too anxious to enter the pharmacy, then people might think I had an STD. I am new to town; I can’t risk gaining that sort of reputation.

And the truth is, while I was trying to be respectful of her STD treatment, and figure out how Costa Rican farmacias worked, I will admit I was a little distracted by the overriding thought in my mind which was “I can't believe she got an STD, how does anyone have sex in this heat?” Which was quickly followed by the conclusion that it must have been in the shower.

Water conservation at its best.

Cauliflower and the Amish

“Life is the art of drawing without an eraser.” - John W. Gardner

I got up this morning after a night of somewhat restless sleep; you would not believe how noisy the rainforest is at night! It is going to take some getting used to. Car alarms and buses? No problem, but these damn geckos kept me up half the night.

When I got up, I decided against taking a shower as I was going to head downtown to the farmer’s market and knew I would just need a shower again as soon as I got home. I am trying to conserve where I can because clearly it won’t be in water intake or toilet flushing.

Instead of taking the bus I decided to walk downtown on the dirt road that used to be the only road between Quepos and Manuel Antonio. I thought it would be a nice way to see a little more of my surroundings and get a little exercise. I would like to point out what a courageous move this was considering the heat. The dirt road to downtown was an obstacle course, but with a beautiful view of the water that made it worth the sweat dripping down my back and almost broken ankle.

When I got downtown, I went to the farmer’s market and I bought fresh produce from kind merchants who were very patient with my lack of understanding of the colones (Costa Rican currency). I could do the dollar to colones conversion no problem, but couldn’t understand the numbers that they were saying, which were usually in the high hundreds to thousands. Sadly, all the years of watching “The Count” on Sesame Street did not pay off, as I didn’t buy a single thing that was uno colone.

To my surprise, there was cauliflower at the farmer’s market. Apparently the people on the “number one selling language cd’s” knew what they were talking about after all. Though I still feel as though “coliflor” should not be high on the list of things to teach in the first lesson.

The most surprising thing to me, however, was that there were Amish people there selling breads, jams, pies etc. I am used to seeing Amish people when I am at my parent’s house in Pennsylvania, but Caucasian Amish people in Costa Rica? Now that was a surprise. I would have taken a picture of them, but if I remember correctly they don’t believe in photographs, and I didn’t want to be disrespectful, especially because I hear their pies are to die for.

My afternoon ended by lying in my pool for a few hours reading my book. Rough life, I know. However, I would like to tell you that tonight after the sun went down; I did my first Costa Rican Crossfit workout on my front porch. Let me say this, while the sun was down, the heat and humidity weren’t… and if I had balls, I would have sweat them off. Just one more reason I am glad I don’t have them… the first of which being they are kinda weird and ugly.

Ok, off to bed, tomorrow I have to locate my school as I start Spanish classes on Monday. I can’t wait to begin learning the language as I am desperate to communicate with the Ticans in their native language. While they are very generous and gracious, and most speak English, I want to totally immerse myself in this Costa Rican experience.

As you can see, my first few days have been fantastic and I am already so glad that I moved here. Best decision I ever made, aside from bringing the floatie with drink holders… now that was genius.

Pictures from day 2

The view during my walk along the dirt road on the way to town.


The farmer's market is usually along the wall by the water (which is also apparently where the drug deals go down at night), but they had some sort of event there today so it was set up behind the bus station instead.


Not only did the farmer's market have great produce and Amish pies, it also had live musical entertainment. These gentlemen were playing music on what appeared to be a wooden xylophone. I am sure there is a name for it, but I can't be bothered to look it up.

Life in Costa Rica, "take 1"

When the winds of change feel too strong, close your eyes and let the wind blow through your hair.” – card given to me by Doodle (aka Katie), the night before I left.

I am here, unpacked, safe, loving it… and HOT! Holy moly is it hot here.

It isn’t so much the heat as the humidity. Guess all the “Texas girl” in me is gone because I am sweating my ass off. I don’t know how they expect people to conserve water around here. All I do is drink glasses and glasses of water and pee it out. Do you know it takes 4 to 7 gallons of water to flush the toilet?

I was considering “copping a squat” outside my house to try to save some water, but had a flashback of the time my friend Stephanie and I, during our Freshman year, were walking home from happy hour. Despite the fact that we were only 4 doors down from the bar we just left, we all of a sudden realized how desperate we were to pee, and decided we couldn’t possibly walk the additional 2 blocks back to our dorm. We decided to walk behind a building and relieve ourselves, in broad daylight, in a parking lot. As if that isn’t bad enough, because we had just left happy hour(ssss), our balance was not all that great and we fell onto the rocks where we were peeing, so not only did we sit for a minute in our own urine (attractive I know), but we also cut our butts on the rocks. That was 17 years ago, and I still have the scars to prove it (don’t worry, I will not post pictures of them on this blog). After our small fit of laughter, we looked up to realize we were peeing in the parking lot behind the Baptist Student Union. Guess God wasn’t such a fan of that.

So to catch you up on my first day in Costa Rica…I flew in late Thursday night and was picked up at the airport by a friend of my landlord, Diane, who could not have been more kind. Because I flew in so late, she said we should wait until the following morning to make the 3 hour drive to Quepos. Apparently the only people who drive after dark in Costa Rica are the taxi drivers and the drunks. Great, let’s wait until morning.

Diane lives reasonably close to the airport, so I said I would get a hotel room for the night and we could leave the next day. However she was house-sitting for a friend and said there was plenty of room and invited me to stay. She took me to this gorgeous house in Atenas to spend the night in the “guest cottage” which was a studio apartment adjoined to the house, but with its own private entrance. It was late when we arrived, but we sat on the back porch and had a drink, my first Costa Rican beer, Imperial. Muy bueno.

When I awoke the next morning in my “oh so cozy” bed, I was terribly confused as to where I was because while my clock said 5:42 a.m., it was totally sunny and Madonna’s “Holiday” was blaring on a radio outside. WTF?

Here is what I learned about Costa Rica my first morning:

1. Costa Rica does not observe daylight savings time.
2. In Costa Rica, the sun rises around 5:30 a.m. and sets by 6:00 p.m. every day of the year.
3. Due to the early rising and setting of the sun, people begin their work days very early. Especially construction workers who like American music.
4. The local “American” stations are a little behind the times…and by “little” I mean 20 years or more (I felt like I was back at a junior high dance, and was waiting for Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine’s “Conga” to come on so I could skip around with Kimberly Paggi).

After lying in bed listening to a few more 80’s songs, I decided “the rhythm was going to get me” (sorry, I couldn’t pass up that opportunity) and I got out of bed and walked outside where I sat on the porch next to the pool and looked out at the gorgeous view of the mountains. Not too shabby for my first morning in Costa Rica (pictures posted in the blog entry below).

Diane and I left for Quepos around 9 a.m. at which time it really hit me that I was living in Costa Rica. However, despite my complete nervousness in the week leading up to my departure, I all of a sudden felt very calm. It was beautiful and sunny… and did I mention it was hot?

It took us about 2 ½ hours to drive to Quepos, and when we arrived at the Las Palmas property, the property manager met us and gave me the keys. When I walked into my “new home” it was exactly what I had pictured, a little Costa Rican “cottage” with a bedroom downstairs and a loft bedroom upstairs. It is perfect. Additionally, the property was so much more beautiful than in pictures, pictures just don’t do it justice.

After we brought my luggage in, we turned around to head to town so Diane could take me to the grocery store before she left. As we were driving I was looking all around at the scenery and surroundings trying to get my bearings when all of a sudden Diane said “There’s a sloth!” I started looking up in the trees and asked “Where?” To my surprise, she responded “In the road!” Not what I was expecting to hear. She immediately pulled the car over so that I could get out and take a picture.

There he was, my good friend Sal the sloth, crawling slower than molasses across the road. Keep in mind; this is the only paved road in between Quepos and Manuel Antonio National Park, making it a very busy road, thereby making Sal a very crazy sloth. Cars whip down this road and pass each other, with no regard for traffic coming in the opposite direction. Luckily a scooter had stopped right in front of Sal, as did the car on the other side of the road. People were watching the sloth for a minute or so (during which time Sal had only moved about 4 inches), when all of a sudden this Tican (native Costa Rican) man jumped out of his car, picked up Sal and carried him to the other side of the road. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing; this man, just as casual as can be, picked up this sloth (which literally didn’t move, just sat there motionless) and carried him across the road! The man then put Sal on some foliage on the side of the road, walked back to his car, and drove away… just as if he does this every day. Unbelievable. I am living in a place where Ticans jump out of their cars to casually carry sloths across the road. Fantastic.

After the sloth was safely on the foliage, I walked up very close to him to get some pictures, he casually looked at me as if he was posing and didn’t mind me being there a bit. It really was a surreal experience.

Here is what I have learned about sloths:

1. Sloths are the slowest mammal on earth (which I totally believe after watching Sal today, he was seconds from death and barely moved).
2. Male sloths have an area on their back that looks like a scar (I was educated about this after mentioning how sad I was for the sloth that he had some how been injured, but not surprised because clearly this little guy was a careless risk taker).
3. Sloths come to the ground to urinate and defecate only about once a week (clearly they are not drinking as much water as I am).
4. Adult females produce a single baby each year. What is more amazing is that they give birth upside down hanging from a tree branch (having 10 lbs babies or twins doesn’t sound so tough anymore, does it?).

After hanging out with Sal, we headed to the grocery store so I could buy the basics (you know, toilet paper, bread, diet coke, cervesa). We went to the “tourist” grocery store, which means it was overpriced, but they carried Jiff. Worth every penny. While I didn’t want to take too much time at the store, as Diane had a 3 hour drive back home, I was amazed by some of the things I saw. Did you know you can buy tuna fish with jalapenos in it? Well you can here!

After getting back from the grocery store, I said goodbye to Diane, put my beverages in the fridge, put on my bathing suit and headed to the pool. Total heaven. And, for the record, I am sooo glad I packed my pool floatie because there wasn’t a single floatie here, let alone one with drink holders.

Despite the pure pleasure I felt at the pool, I came in after a short time because I had promised myself that my first night in Costa Rica I was going to watch the sun set. I heard from Diane that the best place to do that was Barba Roja (the red beard), so I jumped on the bus for 110 colones (about 25 cents), kindly asked the driver to tell me when we got to Barba Roja and made my way.

When I arrived at Barba Roja, I discovered it was an outdoor restaurant (as are most restaurants here) with a gorgeous back patio area on the edge of a cliff. I sat down, ordered a cervesa and sat there thinking how lucky I was, and how amazing it was that I was going to live in this beautiful place for 5 months.

As the sun was setting the waiter came up to me and pointed in the opposite direction from the sunset. I couldn’t figure out why in the world he would want me to look anywhere other than over the ocean at the setting sun, until I turned around and saw the rainbow behind me. Are you kidding me? Sunset over the ocean in front of me, and a rainbow over the rainforest behind me? It couldn’t have been more perfect.

Despite the kind people around me who I was chatting with, and the amazing sights I had just witnessed, I left the restaurant after the sunset, as I don’t think it is wise for me to have muchas cervesas by myself in a country where I don’t know anyone and don’t yet speak the language.

Note to self: I need to make some friends and learn the language quickly. Good thing school starts on Monday.

So, I left and took the very crowded and hot bus home, which means with my 2 bus rides in Costa Rica, I have officially now ridden the bus 1 more time in CR after living here for 1 day, than I have in San Francisco after living there for 9 ½ years. Pathetic I know.

See pictures of my first day adventures below....

Pictures from day 1

I couldn't figure out how to get all of these pictures in the blog in their appropriate place, so I posted them all in this separate blog.

The home where I spent my first night in Costa Rica. I have to say this house set a very high standard.

p.s. This house costs about 1/4 of what a one bedroom condo in San Francisco costs. Unbelievable!


The view from the house, just down at the bottom of those mountains is San Jose.

More of the house and the view. Can you believe how beautiful it is?

Here is my good friend Sal being picked up by a local Tican man. As you can see, Sal had not made it very far across the road. According to my estimations, at the rate he was going,
it would have taken him approximatly 22 days to cross the road.

Here is Sal, just chillin' while being carried to his destination. He literally did not move a muscle during the time he was being carried, though I am sure he was so relieved.

Sal, slowly climbing into his new spot. I have to admit, he did move a little faster when climbing, though I was able to get many shots without much effort... so he wasn't moving that fast.

You can see in this picture what I thought was his scar, though it really just means that it is Sal the sloth, not Sally the sloth.

The sunset at Barba Roja.

The rainbow behind me.