When it rains...

“Weather is a great metaphor for life - sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, and there's nothing much you can do about it but carry an umbrella.” ~Pepper Giardino

Wow. I knew I was moving to the rain forest, but never quite anticipated the amount of rain in the forest.

I know I promised you blogs of farming and things, but for the past 4 days all it has done is rain… so there isn’t much else I can think about.

And when I say rain, I mean RAIN.

I know rain, I get rain. Come on, I have lived in the Bay Area for the past 10 years, I understand rain. Or at least I thought I did, until I came here.

I am not quite sure how to explain how hard it rains here other than to say that it rains so hard that you can’t have a conversation with the person sitting next to you without a lot of shouting and a lot of “what did you say?” It is that loud.

My Mother (and I love her dearly) has, for as long as I can remember, asked me about the weather in every phone conversation we have had. After I tell her what the weather is like where I am (which has for the past 10 years has been San Francisco), she tells me about the weather in Pennsylvania (where she lives). It has become a custom in our conversations, so I anticipate it, and frankly if it wasn’t there I would miss it.

I once asked my sister Rachel if all of her conversations with our Mom included talk of weather, and she said no. While initially that puzzled me, Rach and I then discussed that because she lives in New York City, her weather patterns aren’t that different from where my Mother lives… where as I am (except for now) in San Francisco where the weather might be totally different… and according to my Mother, might warrant a discussion in every phone call. Plus, I don’t have children, so really, what else is there to discuss?

But to be honest, I don’t mind the weather discussions, and will take them every day of the week over bird facts.

So that brings us to today, when my Mother is here, in the rain forest, with me… experiencing the most unbelievable amount of rain you could ever imagine. Which, while might not be ideal for my Mother, has turned out really well for me… because in the future when she asks me about the weather in Costa Rica and I say “it is raining,” she will be one of the few people who “gets” it.

I has rained for 4 days, NON STOP. As my Mom said this morning “I now know what it is like to sleep under a waterfall.”

I just can’t describe it to all of you, it is so loud, and so much and so amazing and beautiful, and it makes the entire property glow. But after 4 straight days it is also suffocating and just over all wet. I don’t think I currently own anything dry here… wait… did I mention that where I currently live does not have any windows? That is right, just screens, and while there is an large roof over the house that prevents most of the rain from coming directly in… there is a constant “mist” and the downstairs has now “flooded” for the 3rd time in 2 weeks.

Over the weekend I am moving into my next “home” on the property, with windows and air-conditioning. In the background of my mind the Jefferson’s “Movin’ on Up” theme song is playing on repeat.

Lara's Visit

“A friend is someone you feel comfortable with. You know that feeling you get when you put on your favorite big comfy sweatshirt or your favorite pair of jeans? Comfortable and relaxed. That's what it feels like when you are with a good friend.” - Unknown

As I told you, my parents arrived last weekend, as did my amazing friend Lara. Lara left yesterday so I thought I would get some pictures of her up and blog about her visit. But not to fret, I know that I still “owe” you a blog about my day of playing “farmer Becca,” which I promise to get up over the weekend. And with my parents here, there are certainly enough comical (and by comical I mean annoying) things to blog about to last for weeks.

If I have to hear one more bird fact from my Mother, I am going to begin shooting every bird in Costa Rica, one by one, in hopes of preventing further facts from being shared. The most annoying part (and let me tell you, it is difficult to choose the most annoying part as there are so many to choose from) about her “sharing” is that she starts every fact with “I know you don’t care but…” If you know I don’t care, then why the hell are you telling me? I have decided this is why she loves her dog more than she loves me, as I am sure he listens to her endless facts (but only because he doesn’t know how to use a can opener to get his dinner). My Dad also loves birds, and while he may not be able to resist the temptation of pointing them out and naming them, at least it ends there. Don’t they know I am trying to memorize and retain about a million new Spanish words? I don’t have room in my head for bird names!! I guess that is what I get for inviting my parents to visit me in a country where there are 54 different types of hummingbirds. The next time I relocate, I think it will be to Antarctica, it must be too cold for such a vast bird population there.

Anyway, back to Lara… who is also annoying, but only because she looks so unbelievable in a bathing suit that I will never go anywhere “beachy” with her again. I should have thought of that before I made my list of “approved visitors.” Frankly I can’t believe I didn’t think of that ahead of time as my beach planning is usually very well thought out. Every time I go to the beach I always walk along the entire beach before picking my spot to lounge. While some people might think that I am walking the beach to admire the beautiful scenery, that isn’t really the case… I am actually looking for the largest people on the beach so that I can lie next to them. I know that is terrible, and that I should be ashamed to admit it… but I got my father’s “bubble butt” and my mother’s thighs…what is a girl to do? I figure that is my greatest hope for looking smaller in my bathing suit. Then I have to go and invite my friend Lara to visit and that just blows my whole planning as I get stuck laying next to the hottest girl. Luckily she was only here for a few days. Good riddance!

All jokes aside, it was so much fun having Lara here; it felt like a little piece of my “real” life in San Francisco was with me in Costa Rica. While I wasn’t able to spend as much time with her as I would have liked (my job gets in the way every time), the time we did spend together was fantastic. For those of you who have the misfortune of not knowing Lara, she is one of the most kind and thoughtful people you could ever meet… and that girl can drink like a fish!

Today after uploading the pictures from Lara’s visit, I did a little research to find out when the camera was invented and why. As it turns out, George Eastmann invented the camera in 1888. According to Wiki Answers: “It was originally invented to capture a moment in time quickly and exact. Paintings often reflected the opinion of the painter in their art however photos show exactly what was happening.”

I would like to personally thank George for his wonderful invention, because while I may not be using it exactly as he intended, the camera has provided me with many benefits; the most recent of which is to help me to piece together my drunkin’ evenings during Lara’s visit.

I have included some of these fun photos below.

Lara, thanks for coming to visit, and for all the great conversations and endless love and support you provide to me and all those around you. I am lucky to call you my friend.



Here we are infront of the restaurant El Avion... I am sure you can figure out the "why" behind the name. The airplane is actually a bar. Pretty cool.

This was after dinner and a lot of wine at Kapi Kapi... which is fantastic, it is a "must go" here.

Here is Lara enjoying a drink out of a coconut, she also enjoyed a drink out of a pineapple, a glass, a bottle... you get the picture here.

Our romantic evening at Ronnie's Place watching the sunset. Don't worry Katie, there was no massage, wine, cheese or presents involved, so Lara has not surpassed you in "most romantic date ever."

Quick Update

Hey all, sorry for the lack of blogs. Had no internet for 6 days and my parents and friend Lara arrived over the weekend. Promise to catch you up soon, just wanted to let everyone know I am ok.

La finca

“Farming looks mighty easy when your plow is a pencil and you’re a thousand miles from the corn field.” – Dwight Eisenhower

Here are some pictures from the farm where I spent my day on Sunday. I will create another posting to tell you all about the day and provide pictures of the people… but there were too many beautiful things at this farm to not dedicate a blog posting to the sights… and as it takes forever to upload pictures here, I thought it made sense to do it in two separate blogs.

The farm was beautiful and there was every Costa Rican fruit and vegetable that you can imagine growing somewhere around the house: papayas, oranges (that are actually green or yellow here), apples (though not like the apples we see in the states), pineapples, avocados, bananas, corn…you name it. I am embarrassed to say that prior to my visit to the farm I didn’t realize avocados grew on trees, or that pineapples grew right out of the ground (I would have thought it would have been the other way around).

As you will see, the flowers were also just beautiful… but even better, the people were great. More about that in the next post, but here are some pictures for you to enjoy.

Something you MUST know

“The best reason I can think of for not running for President of the United States is that you have to shave twice a day.” – Adlai E. Stevenson

Before I get into my “real” posting, the quote above mentioned the President of the United States, so I feel compelled to give a “shout out” here. And no, it is not a “congratulations” to Jenna Bush for her nuptials this past weekend, although they did play the Texas Fight song at her rehearsal dinner. Really, she is the only cool Bush (I can’t believe I just used the words cool and Bush in the same sentence): she went to Texas, got arrested for underage drinking twice while there (which I would like to point out was 2 more times than I got arrested when I was in college…or ever… and I didn’t have the Secret Service to save my ass) and wrote a book about a young mother with AIDS…I think Jenna Bush is alright. Especially considering where she came from…

Anyway, this isn’t about Jenna. This is about my main man Obama.

More superdelegates than Hillary? How you like them apples?

Which leads me to another quote from Adlai E. Stevenson:

“I have been thinking that I would make a proposition to my Republican friends… that if they will stop telling lies about the Democrats, we will stop telling the truth about them.”

Though this wasn’t intended to be a political blog… I would love if Obama somehow pulled through in West Virginia.

Ok, let’s get onto the juicy stuff I came here to tell you about.

I discovered some very important information this weekend that I MUST share. The difficulty with this information is that it is kinda weird and gross, and doesn’t really “fit” into any other category of things I talk about, so I don’t really know where else I could possibly include information like this… so I am just going to come out with it.

Tico men shave their armpits!!!

Yup, you got it… nothin’ under the arms except possibly a little stubble. This may actually bother me more than the gecko that crawled across my back in the middle of the night while I was sleeping (ok, that didn’t really happen, but it is totally possible, and I am fearful of it happening every night).

While you may think, or hope in the case of all of my boys from the STOP AIDS Project (I am telling you the gay boys are rooting for me and the shirtless wonder… and it is not because they love me… though I am sure they do… it is because they are just dying to see pics of this man), that I came to discover this tid bit of information in scandalous way that would not be shared on the blog, sadly, once again that is not the case….

It is ok Skeemers and Dadders, you can read on… nothing scandalous here.

While I was working my new job as “Farmer Becca” over the weekend (more about that in the next post), I was around many Tico men who were either in tank tops, or without shirts (Don’t get excited, believe me, you would rather not have seen. Except for the nephew of my friend Enrique, now he was something to look at; but he is only 22… and while it wouldn’t get me arrested, it would make me feel dirty… and not the good kind of dirty… oops, sorry S&D).

I kept thinking throughout the day that something wasn’t right and looked odd, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then it hit me.

There is no hair under these grown men’s arms!! What a disturbing realization!

If it was only one man I would have probably chalked it up to some strange STD symptom, but surely all Tico men can’t be afflicted with the same disease. Though prostitution is legal here, so maybe.

After I concluded that it wasn’t a side effect of an STD, I thought that maybe it was caused by a parasite in the water. After all, I had to make my second trip to the pharmacy last week (luckily I made it through once again without needing to provide a “sample,” and am now boiling my drinking water). But if it was from something in the water, give me a couple gallons… loose weight and never have to shave my armpits again? Now that is the kind of parasite growth I would sign up for!

But then I detected stubble (something I never thought I would have to say about a man’s armpits) and concluded that it wasn’t a water based reaction resulting in loss of armpit hair growth. Damn! So I tried to think back to the shirtless wonder to see if I could remember seeing any armpit hair on him (and by “tried to think back” I mean “let myself daydream”). After all, he was half undressed at the time I internally asked him to be the father of my children. But as I “thought back,” all I could remember was that chest…and those abs… and that chest… and those abs… my eyes never made it to his pits… not generally an area I scope out on my future ex-boyfriends. So while I enjoyed my “daydreaming” it was no help to my current state of wonder.

Because this was something I had never seen before (except maybe on swimmers, who shave their whole bodies...but I don’t look very closely at them, those weenie bikinis gross me out) I thought maybe this was just the “cool” thing to do for this group of friends. However, if there is one thing I have learned during my time in Costa Rica, it is that my initial observations are not always accurate (Remember the whole “push” on the pharmacy door?) and decided it was necessary to “test” my theory. Sadly the shirtless wonder has not been spotted since the initial gawking (turns out I am a worthless stalker), and thus was not available for my experiment; so I was left with no other choice but to look through all of my pictures from the pool and the beach to see if I could detect hair in any Tico’s pits.

Yes, I know it is weird for me to search my pictures for men with armpit hair… but I was conducting a scientific experiment here. My friend Greg (the only man I know as smart as my Dad), who is a Biology professor, is coming to visit in July… I thought he would be pleased to know I was conducting scientific experiments prior to his arrival. Especially because the only “experiments” he has seen me conduct (in our almost 10 years of friendship) have involved wine… and they aren’t really “experiments” so much as “taste tests.” And by “test” I mean “gulp.”

And frankly, after all I have shared on this blog, I am already at the point of no return here… comparatively speaking looking for armpit hair in pictures seems pretty harmless.

Thus far the results of my experiment are as follows: I can not find armpit hair on any Tico men in any of my pictures.

However, I am not yet ready to conclude my experiment, as I feel it is necessary to take and study more pictures of shirtless Tico men on the beach before I present my theory. Don’t judge me people, this is science…I need to provide a comprehensive explanation for my theory, and my limited knowledge would not yet allow me to do so, thus more extensive research is required. If you don’t believe me, read this:

According to the National Academy of Sciences:
“In everyday language a theory means a hunch or speculation. Not so in science. In science, the word theory refers to a comprehensive explanation of an important feature of nature that is supported by many facts gathered over time.”

See, I am just looking for “many facts gathered over time”… 5 months to be exact. However, even with my continued commitment to scientific research in this area, I will still be left to decide how I feel about the results of this experiment. While I am certainly all for “manscaping” I think that shaving the pits might take it too far. How about we compromise on a trim?

My first fieldtrip

“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.” - Miriam Beard

Mitzi took me on a fieldtrip on Monday during our class time as she wanted to put me in more situations that required me to use my Spanish. Sadly these didn’t involve alcohol. Don’t worry, I still had fun, I am not an alcoholic people, I simply enjoy a few cold beverages in this ridiculously warm climate.

Speaking of which, did I tell you that in the Tico bars they serve cerveza in a bottle along with a glass of ice? If that doesn’t tell you how hot it is here, I don’t know what does. Having said that, I have not, and will not, take part in this criminal act and drink beer over ice. That is for rookies, not for professionals like me.


Our fieldtrip began with a bus ride to Quepos and a little tour of the local Tico spots, including the Tico grocery store. As all of you know, I have been going to Gringo Mas (really called Super Mas) for all my needs, but if you know enough Spanish to get by in a Tico grocery store, you will save yourself some money… though you won’t find Jiff or Kraft Mac & Cheese. In the Tico Mas, Mitzi made me ask where things were and locate certain products based on these conversations. Overall I did ok, well enough to go back without embarrassment.

Mitzi then took me on a tour of some of the local neighborhoods and towns. It is amazing the amount of people Mitzi knows around here. Everywhere we went she was saying hi to someone, or we were stopping by someone’s house. At one point she started chatting with this guy on the street and asked him where his fiancé was. He said he would go get her, and about 30 seconds later, the woman walked out of the house and greeted Mitzi by giving her a wedding invitation (in the form of a scroll) for her wedding this Saturday. I started to panic, the wedding was less than a week away, how I was going to get my “wedding skirt” here in time? I calmed down once I realized I wasn’t being invited to the wedding, Mitzi was. Close call.

After we walked through a couple of neighborhoods we came to a spot where we were required to take a short boat ride to get to the small town across the water. I began to assess the situation to determine if prayers would be required for this trip, as you all know that has become my “survival tactic” as of late. After scoping out the situation I decided that if the boat went down, it was only a short distance to the other side, and I certainly could swim that far. No prayers required, this method of transportation was going to be stress free.

We paid 30 cents and hopped on the boat. I sat down and as the boat turned around to head in the opposite direction, I noticed that we were only inches from water coming into the boat. No problem, there weren’t a lot of people on the boat, and like I said, it was only a short distance to the other side. Just as I was concluding that this was the safest form of transportation I have yet encountered in Costa Rica, I saw something in the water a short distance from the boat and asked Mitzi what it was. The answer was disturbing. Yup, you got it, a crocodile.

Knowing there were crocodiles in the water immediately changed my opinion of my current safety status. I decided I might just need a prayer after all, as I no longer felt confident about swimming to the other side of the shore in the crocodile infested water. Ok, “infested” may be a strong word, but in my opinion, 1 crocodile in the water constitutes “infested.”

You probably won’t be shocked to hear that my mind immediately went to the “I’d rather” game.

Would I rather be left overnight in the middle of the African Palms or be forced to swim for my life in filthy crocodile infested water?

It may surprise you to know that I was leaning towards the croc water as my choice. I mean with all the people in the water, maybe the croc would go after someone else, and certainly the time it would take me to swim to the other side would be much shorter than an entire night lost in the woods. More importantly, death by crocodile is WAY cooler than death while sitting next to a tree crying, frankly that would just be pathetic.

Then I remembered something from Mitzi’s day at my pool, she doesn’t know how to swim. Great, the boat is going to go down, and not only am I going to have to fight off the crocodiles, but I am going to have to save my teacher’s life too! Spanish lesson in the bar are way more relaxing.

Luckily we made it safely to the other side, where I was shocked to see small children playing on the edge of the water. However, Mitzi informed me that no child had ever been attacked by a croc in these waters. Hmm. I am not convinced.

The croc water, the "taxi boat" is the small boat in the water with the roof.

On the other side of the croc water was a fishing town. Most of the men who live in this fishing town work on a fishing boat for a couple of months, then come home for a couple of months; thus there were lots of people around. Great, more people for Mitzi to make me to talk to. In my conversations I found out that the government owns some of the property along the shoreline (no surprise) and that you don’t ever go fishing when there is a full moon as the fish don’t bite. (I am going to have to verify that with my friend Andrew, as I am not sure I believe it.) Mitzi also pointed out the amount of poor people/dilapidated houses with satellite dishes on the roof for cable. Just like home.

We walked past a small school and I asked Mitzi if it was fine for us to enter the property. As Mitzi’s husband is a principal of another school, and has worked in various schools, Mitzi knew some of the teachers and so we went in. Seeing this school was a reminder to me that I am living in a 3rd world country; it is an easy thing for me to forget on the beautiful property that I currently call home. Then I see these kids, whose “playground” literally consists of only dirt and whose classrooms have mostly barren walls and the reality sets in.

The kids (not surprisingly) were just as cute as could be, posing for pictures (and then wanting to see them immediately) in their cute little school uniforms. We didn’t stay long, as we didn’t want to interrupt their lessons, but it made me realize how much I want to volunteer with a school here as soon as my Spanish classes are done.

The buildings you see are the bathroom, the cafateria and a classroom. This dirt area is their playground.

The last stop of the day was to the bank as Mitzi had some business to take care of. There was a long wait at the bank, however it was air conditioned, with places to sit, so no complaints from me. While I have attempted to use ATM machines here (sometimes successfully, sometimes not… can’t explain it, it appears to be another “benefit” of living in a 3rd world country), I had not yet been inside a bank.

Upon entering the bank I was asked to remove my sunglasses by an armed man; granted, he didn’t point the gun at me when making this request, but I certainly wasn’t going to challenge him. The banking process in Costa Rica seems to take forever; I am not sure if it is due to slow computer systems, but there is some serious room for improvements in efficiency.

When you enter the bank you take a ticket (like you would at a deli) and wait for them to call your number. While there is a separate line for the elderly, pregnant and disabled, nothing else seems to get you preferential treatment, not even if you are a police officer. However, there is some sort of underground number exchange that goes on, which I can’t explain… but, while Mitzi “picked” number 78, she somehow ended up with number 30 a few minutes after we sat down. Puzzling, but probably saved us 2 hours, so who am I to question.

I would have taken a picture in the bank for all to see, but as the man with the gun asked me to remove my sunglasses, I was pretty sure that taking a picture would get me thrown in the slammer. Now that would be Spanish immersion in the greatest sense of the word. No thanks, I’d rather swim with the crocs.

Pictures from - Just know, if I die, it has been worth it

"It is worth dying to find out what life is." - T.S. Eliot

Tuesday night:

Here are Mizti and Herman along with the Superintendent of the School District and his wife




Herman singing karaoke with a fellow teacher (whose girlfriend is GORGEOUS by the way).

Mitzi's turn at karaoke, you can also see the guy in the cowboy hat next to her. We had to listen to him sing for about an hour and half straight, until someone finally pried the mic out of his hands.

Friday night:

Mitzi, Yuli and I (I found out Yuli spells her name like this, not like Julie as I thought)

Another teacher and his wife. You will see more pictures of the two of them as I have been invited to come to their farm this weekend for horseback riding and lunch. And yes, I realize that hair and mustache are an unfortunate choice.

Just know, if I die, it has been worth it

"It is worth dying to find out what life is." - T.S. Eliot

Ok Mother, don’t read this blog… and ladies of the quilt guild, my Mother will be better off if she knows nothing about this blog, so please, just tell her you didn’t see it.

I have told y’all what a great time I am having here and how much I am enjoying each new experience. However, if I make it out of here without dying in some sort of transportation accident it will be a gosh darn miracle.

You have already heard about the buses, that are frightening at best… and about the dangers of walking along the road… I haven’t yet told you about the cabs (which are possibly the least scary form of transportation around) or about riding with the Ticos.

I have mentioned previously how fantastic my teacher Mitzi is, she is one of the most kind spirited people I have ever met. Really, I feel like she is a gift to me here and she has given me so much more than I could ever tell you. I have continued to have one-on-one instruction with her for the last three weeks, and have enjoyed it thoroughly. Mitzi and I have really become close; we share in each other’s lives and just enjoy our time together.

Mitzi also knows that I am a little stressed about my Spanish acquisition. I just want to learn the language so badly, and as most of you know I am a Type A personality with low patience. I had totally unrealistic expectations coming here as I, for some crazy reason, thought that I would be fluent in Spanish after 4-6 weeks of classes. Um, not so much. Mitzi has tried to tell me “poco a poco” (little by little) but learning a new language is f’ing hard! However, if I can continue to live through these kinds of experiences, I might just be conversational by the time I leave.

Mitzi has been telling me I need to practice my Spanish more, and she is right… but I get really nervous about speaking in Spanish to anyone I don’t know. I am worried that what I say won’t make sense or that I will embarrass myself, so I do not embrace the situation. However as my sister Rachel pointed out today, I don’t make sense and frequently embarrass myself in English too, so maybe I should just go for it.

Mitzi is trying to help me over come my fears and on Tuesday night invited me to come out for the evening with her and her husband. I, of course, accepted the invitation and asked her where we were going. She said she didn’t know, her husband, German (Herman), would take us somewhere for some food and drinks. Fantastic this is my kind of Spanish lesson!

Mitzi told me they would pick me up at 6:30 and were at my house at 6:00. I can’t seem to figure out Tico time, it is either really late or a little early… and there seems to be no real form of accurate predictability to it. Anyway, we got in the car with German and headed out for the evening. I asked where we were going and Mitzi just kinda shrugged her shoulders and asked if I was nervous.

There were little things about our method of transportation that would cause my Mother concern (though luckily she will never know about them bc I am sure she followed my directions to stop reading earlier). For example, anytime we came to a stop, the car would stall… and I am pretty sure that instead of using the foot pedal for the break, German was using the emergency break to slow down and stop. While downtown this seems to be ok, on the hills around here I will admit it is a little concerning. I tried to tell myself that he was using the foot break and just pulling up on the hand break as an extra safety precaution… but really, I was just lying to myself. And as it turned out, that would end up being the least of my concerns on the drive.

Mitzi and German took me to a place outside of Quepos, which required us to cross a 1 lane bridge (the only way in or out of town). I haven’t mentioned this bridge previously as I am pretty convinced that no one would come to visit me if they knew that crossing this bridge was a requirement to do so. Crossing this bridge is possibly less safe than riding the bus, which I didn’t think was possible.

Really, my whole life here has become about choosing the least dangerous/scary method of transportation. If I could just figure out how to jump through the trees like the monkeys, my life expectancy would increase significantly.

Let me try to describe this bridge to you, but I first need you to remember I am living in a 3rd world country, so imagine it to be far worse than my inadequate description. It is a 1 lane rickety little bridge with wood planks as the only thing between you and the water below. I should also mention that there are quite a few planks missing, leaving gaps that could potentially be large enough for a tire to fall through. When I arrived in Costa Rica and Diane drove me across the bridge I was scared to death, but told myself that I only had to cross that bridge one more time, when I was leaving the country. That was before I became friends with the Ticos who live outside of Quepos. There is good news to report on the bridge front however, they are building a new two lane bridge that is made of cement and appears to be very stable, so by the time Greg and Katie get here, things may be more safe.. but sorry to say the rest of you are probably screwed.

Anyway, I told you this bridge is a 1 lane bridge, so there are “right of way rules” (I use that terminology very loosely) which from my understanding go something like this… if you are heading north on any bridge in Costa Rica, you have the right of way, if you are heading south, you have to wait until all the cars in the opposite direction have gone over the bridge before you can. As you can imagine, this can cause a considerable amount of wait time, and also explains why the drive from San Jose to Quepos can take 2 hours, or 4 hours. Maybe that also helps to explain Tico time.

When we approached the bridge we were heading north, so theoretically we should have had the right of way, however there were cars already coming in the opposite direction, so we had to wait. Once cars driving south have the opportunity to cross the bridge, they try to do so as fast as possible as to not allow any cars heading north to jump in. This, in turn, causes the people heading north to get a little frustrated and aggressive… which can (and did) result in a game of chicken… at night, in a car that stalls, on a tiny little rickety 1 lane bridge, with wood planks (missing). I have come to realize it is possible that as a result of living in Costa Rica I will “find God” as I spend about 85% of my travel time here praying.

Once we were across the bridge, in one piece, and I finally opened my eyes, I found that we were driving down a long straight road… with the car lights off. I am sure there was a very good reason for this (possibly an attempt to prevent the car from stalling while going 50 miles an hour) but it was not particularly comforting. We drove this way for quite some time while I sat in the backseat trying to decide which was more dangerous; driving with the lights off (“German knows these roads very well,” I told myself) or the engine stalling while driving 50 miles an hour (pretty sure the emergency break was not reliable enough to save us in that situation). I should also mention here that people on these roads are not very patient; “ride up” on each other’s tail and pass each other with no regard for oncoming traffic.

We then turned right onto a dark dirt road (strangely enough, right after a sign that said “Las Vegas”) causing us to both slow down and turn the car lights on. Thank God. But now we were faced with a new set of problematic circumstances as driving on these dirt roads stirs up an unbelievable amount of dirt
1. it is almost impossible to prevent dirt from getting into your contacts under these circumstances… though frankly, my inability to see was probably a blessing
2. it literally looked like a dirt storm in front of us which actually made our driving conditions worse than they were when we were driving down the road at 50 miles an hour with no lights on (but probably safer than the game of chicken we had played 15 minutes before).

We drove along these “back woods” dirt roads for quite some time, and I had absolutely no idea where we were. There were huge African Palms on both sides of the road, and every road literally looked the same. As I told you before, there are no street names/signs in Costa Rica and I have no idea how you give directions to a place like this. I also have no idea how you find your way out; which started to make me a little worried.

I couldn’t figure out where the hell we could be going that was this far back in the African Palms or this far off the main road… and started to wonder if Mitzi and German were possibly taking me somewhere to kill me. I started to think back to when I asked Mitzi where we were going and she shrugged her shoulders and asked if I was nervous. Maybe she asked if I was nervous because there was a good reason for me to be (I mean a good reason in addition to the obvious ones: playing chicken on a 1 lane bridge and driving at a high rate of speed with no lights or breaks).

So I started overanalyzing the situation (I use the word “overanalyzing” as code for “having crazy irrational thoughts in my mind.”) and realized she and German were up front speaking more quietly than normal. I was trying to listen for the word “muerto” (dead), as I had not yet been taught the word for "kill" (matar)… which led me to think that maybe there was a reason for that, maybe it was because Mitzi wouldn’t want me to recognize that word when the time came. And at one point Mitzi held up a set of keys to show German she had them. What were the keys for, a secret dungeon underground somewhere? Come on, I had just read the story about the father in Austria… this kind of stuff happens! I looked around the car to make sure there weren’t any plastic trash bags or large metal objects and didn’t see any, making me feel a little less stressed.

Until I had my next thought:

What if this was some sort of “Survivor Spanish Lesson?” What if part of the program was to drop you off in the middle of BFE to see how long it took you to get home? Mitzi had, after all, just said to me that I needed to be put in situations where I was forced to use my Spanish, was this her idea of total Spanish immersion? I started looking out the window to locate any houses or buildings where I might be able to find someone to help me, but all I saw were African Palms. I started to feel a little panicked, I don’t have a cell phone, and there is no such thing as 911 here, how in the world would I get help? I pictured myself sitting down under an African Palm, crying and praying for daylight so I could try to find my way out of this forest. I then realized that I only had on a skirt and a tank top, not enough protective clothing to get me through the night, you would not believe the size of the bugs here! How does one survive a night in such conditions? I should have spent much more time watching the Discovery Chanel before I came as I am sure it would have provided me with some very valuable lessons. Damn that “Rock of Love II,” it was just a waste of time, Brett and the whores were never stranded in the forest… a lot of good watching that show did me.

Look people, I know I am crazy, this is not new information for anyone… (well maybe the ladies of the quilt guild, but come on, they know my Mother, even if this is new information, it can not be much of a surprise) but these are really the sort of thoughts that go through my mind in situations like this, and when these thoughts occur, I start playing the “I’d rather” game in my head, as I did that night.

Would I rather sleep next to an African Palm for the night, or keep walking until I found a house?

Would I rather be eaten by a jaguar or bitten by a deadly snake?

After a few more “rounds” of this game I decided one thing for sure: I would rather they kill me than leave me alone out there to fend for myself.

Just about the time that I came to accept my fate; I came back to reality and realized we were turning into the parking lot of a small bar. I have never been so happy to see neon lights in all my life. We walked into the little local bar, which in many ways was just like any local bar back in the states.: there was an old drunk man sitting at the bar who had been there for way too long, a guy (who clearly had an inflated ego) singing karaoke, a group of girls in low cut shirts huddled together laughing and a group of guys watching said girls trying to determine when to go in for the kill. German and Mitzi knew a lot of people in the bar, as there were a lot of teachers in attendance who German works with… turns out teaching is the number one cause of alcoholism in every country.

We sat down at the bar, ordered a couple drinks and some food and had a delightful time chatting with the locals. I was so relieved that Mitzi’s idea of forcing me to use my Spanish included talking to nice people she knew and drinking beer, no wonder I love this woman so much. And I will tell you, after a couple of beers, my Spanish improves significantly… or at least that is what the Latino men tell me when trying to get me to dance. So we spent the evening drinking beers, eating food I had never seen before (some sort of ribs, though not sure about the animal of origin and yucca, both delicious) listening to Spanish songs via karaoke and dancing. It was a great evening, with plenty of fun and plenty of Spanish.

On a side note, the following day I “googled” yucca, as I wanted to see what it looked like in its original plant form so that I could buy some at the farmers’ market. I made the mistake of typing in the work “yuka”… which as it turns out is the name of an Asian porn star, who didn’t look at all like anything I have seen at the farmers’ market. Ok dirty boys, go ahead and google, but come back as I have more stories to tell you about Friday night.

I was invited out again for Friday night, as it turns out, I was a hit; seems as though, despite my limited vocabulary, I am funny in Spanish too. German came to pick me up (an hour and 45 minutes early this time) and took me to their house for dinner. I met Mitzi’s in-laws and German’s Grandfather, who all live together. Everyone was very sweet and Mitzi’s sons are just the nicest kids. While I was not worried on this drive about the possibility of him killing me or leaving me to fend for myself, there were still some interesting events that occurred on the way to Parrita.

First of all, from what I understood, an electrical pole fell somewhere in Quepos during the day (and while no one said, I am sure a bus had something to do with it) so getting out of Quepos was a challenge due to heavy traffic. It was also raining, and the windshield wipers on the car don’t work automatically, but work sometimes when German pushed the lever down. Also, the windows fogged up to a point where we really couldn’t see in front of us, which I decided wasn’t such a big deal as we were driving with our lights off anyway, what was there to see? However, the strangest part of the drive was at one point, when we were stopped, a man suddenly jumped into the backseat of the car. This man did not appear scary in any way so I didn’t feel panicked (funny how a stranger jumping into the car doesn’t make me nervous, but I have thoughts that Mitzi, one of the nicest people I have ever met, might be taking me to kill me) however there was no conversation prior to him jumping in, so I am not really sure what transpired or how he knew we would be offering him a ride. Turns out, he knew German and lived relatively close by, so German gave him a ride, which is certainly fine by me… I just still don’t understand how it came to be.

We had a nice dinner with Mitzi’s family (Really y’all, I am becoming a huge fan of rice and beans… I just need to figure out how to make them myself, can’t be too hard right? Make some rice and open a can? That is my kind of cooking.) and then headed out for round two of karaoke and dancing. We went to a different bar, this one was enormous (and reassuringly right off of a main road), where families sat around tables eating dinner and having drinks. There was also a huge screen for karaoke, and the microphone was passed around from table to table for people to take a break from eating to sing.

I thought it was supposed to be the Japanese who loved karaoke so much? Let me tell you, the Ticos have dominated the market.

Some of my new favorite things about hanging out with the Ticos

1. When you go to the local Tico bars, a group of 4 people can drink and eat for less than $30.
2. People in Costa Rica love to hear themselves sing.
3. Consequently, almost every local bar has karaoke and the karaoke videos play on large screens for everyone to sing along. These videos don’t just consist of the words to the songs as they do in the US, there are music videos playing in the background… all of which contain next-to-naked women. Apparently all you need to make a music video in Spanish is a beach and an almost naked woman. Maybe Heidi Montog should try her singing career in Latin America – she might have better results.


P.S. I tried to upload some pictures from each of these nights, but the internet connection is terrible and won’t allow me to do so. However, I will try to upload some tomorrow night, so check back to this posting for pictures.