MIAMI TO COSTA RICA

How I Roll.

I take cabs everywhere and one consistent downside is the Tico inability to give a straight answer, especially if it means possibly disappointing someone.

"Hola, sabes donde esta el Bar Snoopy en Escazu?"

"Claro, que si."

"Exactamente donde esta?"

"Eh...bueno, lo buscamos juntos."

"No.  Estoy en una prisa."

"Lo buscamos rapidemente."

No.  I don't want to freakin' "look for it in a hurry", I want to get there in my lifetime, without floatin' around Escazu pissin' away my time and money.  Aaarrrrggghh!  Once again, what I wouldn't give for a simple "NO."  I moved on to the cab behind this one and, as the next driver told me that, "yes", he knew exactly where Bar Snoopy was and I climbed into the back seat, the first driver got out and began yelling at this driver.  What the Hell?  Did he really expect me to roll the dice and ride with him?  We sped off and a while later pulled up to the Snoopy having gotten there quickly and, also, treated to a brief history of why that bar is so well known.
I have moments when I think that I might prefer my own car.  It might be easier sometimes.  Today, while leaving Parque de Diversiones, I walked up to the three cabs lined up at the park's exit.  I asked the three drivers standing together on the side-walk if they we're available.  They said yes and asked where I wanted to go.  "Pavas.  Plaza Mayor."  They looked at each other and one said, "3000 colones."  These were all Co-op cabs and I asked why the flat rate.  I was told that they drive from the park all the time, traffic is bad at that hour and that's just how they do it.  I rolled my eyes and got in to the first cab.  I've been through this before.  It was starting to drizzle and I could either walk (no way), call a cab from my cell and cool my heels in the rain while I waited for a taxi that might not come or just get in and get it over with.  Traffic was unusually light and when we arrived just a few minutes later after a super fast drive through a really crappy neighborhood, I said in English, "Well, that was a quick 3000 colones."  The driver laughed and said, "2000 esta bien."  Among the many nuggets of wisdom collected over the last few months are; never assume someone doesn't understand more than they let on and a little snark goes a long way.  The rain sometimes makes me want a car.  Getting a cab can be next to impossible once the wet stuff starts.  Calling is often a waste of time and schlepping out to the road to flag one down can leave you soaked by the time an empty taxi rolls up.  Still, despite some nasty drivers, drivers who've shut off the maria (meter) suddenly and quoted a price well above the one they just erased, drivers who've smoked, driven maniacally or cluelessly meandered down the road swearing all the while they knew how to get where I wanted to go, I've actually gotten to like taking taxis.  Not having a car, I don't worry about where I'll park, if I'll get broken into, insurance, gas, dings or dents.  More often than not I get some pleasant guy who makes small talk, teaches me some new (to me) Tico slang and gets me where I want to go relatively quickly and at a very fair price.  I've been offered other services from a flat-rate day-trip to Sarchi to an ounce of premium weed.  I still haven't gone to Sarchi.  Eventually, we may get a car.  I'd at least be able to avoid the look of horror on some drivers faces when they answer a call only to find me waiting with two dogs and a cat for the occasional trip to the vet.   Until then, I'm just going to look at riding in Tico cabs as part of my education here.  Improving my Spanish and my ability to deal with stress one little argument, negotiation and long-winded address at a time.

Pot.

I have a problem.  I need your help.  I've been trying to decide something very big and I can't seem to make a decision:
Should I get a tea pot? 
I've been making a LOT of tea lately and my little glass French press is put to work daily for a few cups of shade-grown and so far I've just boiled the water in an aluminum sauce pot.  But I hear the neighbor's kettle whistling a couple of times every day and I wonder if this might not be a better way to boil my water.  Less splashing onto the counter.  I could leave it filled without worrying about winged creatures and pet-hair.  But every time I get to the moment of truth, the moment where I select a tea-pot/kettle, I hesitate.  Do I really need one?  Will it be better than the pot?  Do I not violate the single use item ban by purchasing something that I'll only use for one purpose? 
I had one in each hand today.  One was steel with a snazzy padded handle and the other was aluminum with a plastic handle.  I put them both back.  I couldn't make a decision.  As I walked out of the store a few minutes later, I considered the possibility that I haven't got nearly enough going on lately.  An epiphany and something I promise to work on.  But, in the meantime, what do you think?  Pot or Tea Pot?

I'll be dead soon.

I have a sinus infection.  According to Dr. Samuel Flikier-Franjo, the otolaryncologist I saw at Cima Hospital, a nasty one too.  He stuck a metal wand, with a camera on it, up my nose and we watched it in full color on a ten inch screen.  Spelunking in my head.  Cool.  He pointed to the gobs of white pus hanging in the glossy pink cavern and told me that I wouldn't need an MRI because it was pretty clear what was going on.  I guess my telling him about the raging fevers, the three weeks of headaches that required Vicodin just to function and the domino-sized blob of green, brown and pink I'd horked up two days earlier weren't enough to assure him.  I was given a scrip for some monster anti-biotic and sent on my way.  I'm very anti-anti-biotics.  Haven't taken one in, like, seven years.  I'm convinced that if I take anti-biotics in the willy-nilly way everyone I know seems to, that one day, I'll come down with some Ebola-Marburg-Hanta-Avian killer flu and no medicine known to man will stop it and I'll die a slow and messy death leaving my darling husband to be cared for by our six-year-old because she's the only one who knows our phone number and address.  My neighbor, whose husband has terrible sinus problems, suggested I see someone when I was on day four of what I'd first thought was a migraine headache.  I don't like doctors and since I wasn't feeling congested at the time, I didn't want to find out that the skull-splitting pain I was having was, in fact, some inoperable brain tumor and I only had a month to live.  Granted, finding out that it was terminal would at least give me a month to write down information that my husband might need and make some of those depressing videos for my kid that you always see the tragic characters in movies making.  As it turns out, not only am I not dying, I should be just dandy in a few days.  My head will stop hurting, the dizziness will go away, the pain in my face will fade, no more chunks of ick, the sexy growl in my voice will leave with the sore throat and I'll be fresh as a daisy again.  Unless I drop dead suddenly from one of the side-effects of the anti-biotic.  I looked it up this morning on the Internet.  Seizures, heart attack, liver failure.  I felt woozy and went back to bed.  After a while I convinced myself that I really didn't feel my liver twitching and I probably wasn't having chest pain and I should just get up and carry on as best I could.  After all, I thought, I wouldn't want anyone to think I was being melodramatic.