MIAMI TO COSTA RICA

No zoning. Part One.

Little bitch of doom.

About a week into last December my doorbell rings and it's some little Tica chick wanting me to sign a piece of paper saying that I'm okay with her opening a daycare center two doors down from me.  Seeing as I'm not deaf, stupid or crazy, I had to say no.  Actually, I think I laughed first and then said, "No way."  She was none too pleased.  Her fake-o smile was promptly replaced with the psycho sneer I would see over and over in the coming weeks.  "That's fine." she said, "I'll just talk to your neighbors."  If you read my blog with any regularity or happen to know me personally, you'll know I don't generally trust most people to sit the right way 'round on a toilet seat but, for reasons I still can't explain, I figured that my neighbors would blow off this ding-a-ling and her daycare center as quickly as I did.  For a split second I considered running to the neighbors I know and pointing out what a HORRIBLE idea this rug-rat repository would be, especially after a few of them have been so worried about security and noise and odd cars parked on our street. It turns out that I underestimated psycho-Tica and overestimated my neighbors.  She came back the next morning and rang my doorbell and when I opened up to tell her to piss off, before I could speak, she waved a handful of signed papers at me and, sneering, said, "I don't need your signature, I have your neighbors and you can't do anything about it!"  I spoke to the neighbor between my house and the proposed day-care and, of course, she hadn't signed.  Then I spoke to the neighbor on the other side of me.  She had signed.  She said she thought it would be "cute" and that the girl had told her that she might be interested in hiring one of her teenagers to teach music.  The mother of twins signed because she was told that the girl would give her a discount if she sent her kids.  The teacher signed because the girl assured her it would be a bi-lingual primary school.  The old guy signed because she said it would be a school for 'special needs' children.  Two neighbors signed because they were told that another neighbor, who had refused to sign and begged them not to sign either, had had a change of heart and signed.  All in all, two thirds of the signatures were generated by Psycho-Tica's lies and the neighbor's gullibility (I'm being nice).  Christmas was right around the corner and those of us who hadn't signed decided to let it be until the new year and hope this chick wouldn't be able to rent the house or would move on to terrorize some other neighborhood.  I spent the next three weeks pointedly ignoring the neighbors who signed and hoping for the best.  The Monday after Christmas, I realized that 'the best' wasn't going to happen:  the 'Alquiler' (For Rent) sign was gone from the house two doors down and Psycho-Tica was in the front yard screeching at someone on her cell phone. My neighborhood nightmare had just begun.

Oooh, nature. Yuck.

Every day that I wake up in Costa Rica I try to remember what a gorgeous place I live in.  I try not to take it's beauty for granted.  The mountains, the greenery, the birds, the butterflies...all of it, sooo pretty and so special.  At least that's what I try to tell myself.  "Enjoy the beauty."  "Isn't this special."  All the usual bullshit.  Fact is, some days I'm just blown away by how much new stuff I see and how creepy or annoying some of it is.  Take the birds; I take my morning walk and see maybe ten different kinds of brightly colored birds sitting in the trees or flying around.  Yellow birds, green birds, humming-birds...these aren't just the usual pigeons or wrens, these birds are really cool.  Unfortunately a lot of them start singing at 3 am or make some repetitive shrieking noise, for hours on end, that makes me wish I had an air rifle and a Hefty bag.  I had a small butterfly garden in Miami and I saw a lot of zebra butterflies and monarchs but here, just walking to AutoMercado one morning, a blue Morpho flitted past me!  Right there on the sidewalk, this gorgeous iridescent blue butterfly just appeared and it's not the only one I've seen.  On the other hand, last week while walking the dog, I screamed loud enough to make every dog in the neighborhood bark for the next ten minutes when I felt something tickle my foot and looked down to see some HUGE black wasp-looking thing with blue wings crawling out of a hole in the ground.  I thought it looked a lot like a wasp I saw on Animal Planet that lays it's eggs on huge burrowing spiders.  Burrowing spiders...alrighty then.  Since then, I won't walk in the park without wearing rubber boots.  In Miami, the most common bug one comes across is the Palmetto bug - basically a humongous brown cockroach.   Inside, outside, day, night, rain or dry season, the creepy f***ers were everywhere!  I've seen maybe five palmetto bugs since I got here.  No run-of-the-mill roaches in CR, but I walked into the garage one evening to find a rhinoceros beetle toddling around.  Enormous.  Better than a roach though because my kid was fascinated by it and I was happy to pick it up and take photos of it to send to friends back in the states.  It was only afterward that I realized that my new Twinkie-sized bug buddy most likely used that huge horn for rolling turd balls and that washing my hands would probably be a good idea.  I've seen some cool spiders; golden orb weavers, crab spiders, skinny white ones, bright green ones.  I found a neon red one with twinkly little gold eyes waiting for me on my pillow one night.  I've found ticks on the dogs, moths in the pantry, ants (4 different kinds!) eating my shea butter hand lotion. Sometimes I'm not sure what kind of creature I'm looking at. About a month ago I was walking the dog in the rain and came across a blob of black caterpillars in the grass.  I whipped out my little digital and leaned down close to take a photo when the sky lit up and an enormous bolt of lightening struck close enough to make the dog yelp and run for the house.  I followed.  I still don't know how often people get struck by lightening here and I didn't want to find out first-hand.  Last night I came across another blob of caterpillars and was able to get a photo.  There is something sinister and icky about a whole group of these things crawling across the sidewalk together.  Like something out of a B movie.  In an effort to be more at peace with the creatures that make my life here a little bit more exotic, I'm trying to find the names of all the things I come across.  If you know what these black caterpillars are (butterflies?), if they're poisonous (I don't think so) and what they're doing (sex, lunch?) please tell me.  Maybe knowing more will suppress my urge to squash them or spray them with Raid.  

Lulu's hotel of choice.

My daughter and I finally joined my husband down here last December.  We flew down loaded with clothes, Christmas gifts and carting along our 9 year old dog, Lulu.  Lulu was the last of what had once been a mob of 12 dogs, everyone else having died over the last few years due to old-age or cancer, and she was still getting used to being an 'only-dog' when we uprooted her universe and moved to Costa Rica.  We knew we'd be squeezing into my husband's teeny apartment while we looked for a home and, not wanting Lulu to be any more stressed than we could possibly avoid, I sought out a place for her to stay so she wouldn't be too uncomfortable.  I asked for recommendations for boarding on a Costa Rica message board I'd joined months earlier and got a few suggestions but was still a little apprehensive at the thought of leaving our coddled, nervous, panic-prone mutt in the hands of strangers.  That's when I got an email from Leslie (or was it Lynn?) McPeak.  Leslie and Lynn are twins who have a place up in the hills in Alajuela.  They had just bought and moved into their place and were offering their kennel services.  I spoke to them via email a few times and found them friendly, sympathetic (our chihuahua had been killed a week or so earlier) and enthusiastic about hosting Lulu at their place as their first client.  So, two days after our arrival, I handed Lulu over to these two very nice strangers in the Denny's parking lot and hoped for the best.  We spoke to Lynn and Leslie via email often and got photos and updates of Lulu's stay.  We'd opted to have Lu stay inside their house and hang out with their little dog, Trygg rather than stay in a kennel.  Day one she leaped off their balcony and ran down the hill into an orchard and had to be chased and coaxed back to the house.  Fortunately their place is totally secure, our dog is just nuts.  I was just happy they didn't make us come back and get her.  Lulu stayed at Casa Modesto for almost 50 days.  We visited at one point and found Lu was sleeping on a cushy bed with a spectacular view of the valley below and seemed to be getting a five-star spa vacation while we scrambled to rent a place and get out of the closet-sized apartment we were in.  When we finally got her back, she didn't seem too thrilled to be home.  Gone was her view and her frequent snacks - she'd never been thin and now was porkier than ever - and she now had to share her home with a kitten and not Trygg who she'd come to like.  We haven't had an occasion to use Casa Modesto since, but we would in a heart-beat.  After the way Lulu was taken care of there, I can't imagine sticking her in some impersonal vet's kennel.  I know Lynn and Leslie are still boarding dogs and I can totally recommend them if you need a place to put your best pal and don't want to worry.   I'll bet after the last couple of months of being pummeled by our new English Bulldog, Etta, Lulu would be more than happy to spend some time at her favorite mountain retreat even if we weren't going out of town.

(Casa de Modesto- Dog Kenneling Service - Alajuela, Costa Rica
Home #- 506 2441 2450 Fax#- 506 2442 7857,
Leslie McPeak- lesliemcpeak@yahoo.com)

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.

Mommy's not a bimbo. Really.

I'm thinking about opening a special bank account for my kid.  One that, every time I do something that I think/know will result in a visit to a shrink many years from now, I will deposit at least $50.  Today probably would have been a good day to open that account. 

Costa Rica is known for it's cheap elective medical procedures and I'm determined to avail myself of a few of them.  I've decided to start with Laser Depilation.  Basically, a beam of light is used to zap body hair and, eventually, kill it at the root so that it never grows back.  I would have never thought to do something like this, but my pal Ana in Miami had it done and the idea of never dealing with a Brazilian wax or bikini emergency again sounded pretty good.  She did tell me that it would hurt a bit, like a rubber band smacking the skin, and it did.  The first time.  That first time I decided that the frozen water balloon used to freeze my bikini area before zapping me with the laser hurt WAY more than the laser itself.  That was until I found out that they increase the intensity of the laser with every visit.  No wonder the hair eventually dies.  By my third visit I was practically levitating off the table with every zap. 

Today I had my fourth procedure and it was the first time that neither my husband, nor the maid, was able to watch the kid while I went off and did my thing.  Not wanting to reschedule for the third time, I decided to take her with me.  While I think leaving the house without diapers when she was an infant (over and over again!) is still the winner in my personal gallery of crappy parenting, taking my prudish little germ-phobe with me to my laser appointment is definitely near the top.

She was already freaked out about being in a hospital ("this place is crawling with diseases!") when she asked me why we'd come.

"What are we doing here?"
"I have a doctor's appointment." 
"Is this like the boob squishing place?" 
"No.  I'm, uh, getting some hair taken off." 
"Hair?  Off of where?"
"Um...my, uh, hoo-hoo."
Stunned disbelief.  "Why?"
"Um...because.  I want to wear a bikini this summer."
"So shave it."
"Nah.  This is better.  Not so itchy."
"Yuck."

I would have left her in the waiting room but for the fact that she's 6 and was carrying lots of interesting electronic equipment to keep her entertained and I wasn't convinced that she wouldn't wander away to look for a magazine and get all her cool toys nicked.  When the doc's assistant came to get me, she just followed us into the room.

I won't go into every detail, but let's just say that my kid made it very clear that she thought I was crazy for letting someone "electrocute" me and freeze me over and over.  She did ask at one point why I would bother with this since "...no one's gonna see any of that anyway."  (Real ego boost there.)  She asked if there was any chance of my "hoo-hoo" catching fire.  I laughed so hard I had to translate this for the nurse, who proceeded to laugh so hard she had to stop for a minute. 

When it was over she asked that I never bring her with me to this sort of thing again.  "I didn't need to see this."  she said.  "I understand why you got a tattoo, but this was just stupid."  As I paid for having been tortured for 45 minutes, I decided that if and when I get my forehead Botox-ed not only will I hire a sitter if I have to, I won't even tell her I've done it.  Can't exactly spend years convincing her that Barbie is a superficial bimbo and then spend good money to take the crinkles off my face. 

Expanding my horizons....

Yesterday I thought I'd try going to see the new M. Night Shyamalan movie, The Happening, at the theater just two blocks from our house.   In the 7 months I've been here, I had yet to visit this theater, choosing to go instead to the the huge mega-mall with it's multi-screen movie house. I went by myself for two reasons; one - because Tom hates anything Shyamalan makes and two - because I'd been doing the single parent thing for 6 days while Tom was in Caracas and if I didn't get away and have some grown-up-alone time I was going to slit my wrists.

I got there early and went up to the quaint, old-style theater ticket booth and handed over my 2100 colones.  I expected the usual chit-chat before I got my ticket but I was surprised when the lady in the booth asked me where I wanted to sit.  Where?  "Yes, which seat would you like?"  I must have given her a deer-in-headlights expression, so she said, "Yes, you need to pick a seat."  That's when she swiveled round her computer screen and pointed at what appeared to be a seating chart similar to the ones where you pick your seat for a flight.  I couldn't tell which end was which so I just said, "I don't care, just not too close or too far from the screen."  She pressed a button and a ticket was generated with a random seat number - D5. 

I went upstairs still wondering why I had to pick a seat and bumped right into a little clump of theater employees milling around in the lobby.  A very perky Ramon (name-tag) lunged at me and grinned and asked me if I needed help finding my seat.  Um.  No.  I think I can find it...thanks.  Undeterred, Ramon, gestured to the door of theater 1 and followed me in.  He took my ticket and said, in clear, crisp English, "Let me show you to your seat."  (I don't have that much of a Gringo accent, so I could only assume that the "Aw, fuck." I'd mumbled when my cell phone let out it's final death-beep a moment earlier had tipped this guy off to my native tongue.)  I was the first person there and the lights were all on but he still used his flashlight to guide me to my seat, all the while studying my ticket as if it were a hand-held GPS device.  "Now," said Ramon "you can sit anywhere you like, but this is your seat and if you sit somewhere else and it turns out to be someone else's seat, you'll have to come back to this seat."  I hate being micro-managed while doing piddling every-day shit like picking out a place to sit.  I was there to see a (most likely) crappy summer flick, not attending an opera at La Fenice, why the hell did I need an assigned seat?  About that time, I realized that the large block of chocolate and four cups of coffee I'd had for lunch were now taking hold of my brain and it might be wise to just sit down and shut up before I pissed someone off for no good reason.  Once in my seat and smiling my thanks, Ramon slipped off to usher another theater-goer to their seat across the room. 

I had a good 30 minutes to kill before the movie started so I decided a little protein might make me more pleasant and went to the concession for a dog and soda.  Stupid.  The dogs were cold and nasty - no Kosher beef dogs here - and there was no relish or mustard, but I was offered a packet of mayo.  The drink took two tries because, apparently, the words "Pepsi Light" sound very similar to "Root Beer" and "Orange Fanta". 

I made it back in time to watch a chubby Latin kid, about 10 years old, throw his popcorn on the floor and scream at the two middle-aged women with him that he wanted more candy, he wanted to see Indiana Jones and that if they didn't take him right now, he'd scream through the whole movie.  I was relieved when the women took him at his word and followed him out of the theater.  Really, I don't think I would have been surprised if they'd just given him more candy and rode out the screaming...it's not like I haven't seen it before. 

The movie turned out to be, like other Shyamalan movies, a cool ride with a dull thud at the end.  As I  headed out to meet Tom and India at a restaurant across the street, I passed the kid who'd left to see Indiana Jones - he was lying on the floor in the lobby shrieking while the two women with him bribed him with a trip to Pops (ice cream shop) if he'd only stand up and follow them out.  Ramon, my usher from earlier, was nearly in tears laughing at the spectacle, but he still took the time to rush over and tell me that if I wanted a better seat next time, to ask for rows E, F or G, seats 7, 8, 9 or 10.  I like that dude.  I'll be seeing more movies there.  Like I've said before, it's the little things that make me love this place.

Catholic Country

Wanna know how Catholic?  Even the ants have a chapel in their nest....

Photo taken at the Children's Museum, San José, Costa Rica

Rain, rain, go away.....

...no, seriously, go the #*@% away!
It's been raining non-stop for two days.  The ceiling in the bedroom has sprung a leak.  Well, actually, several leaks, all in a row.  We've moved everything to the other side of the room.  The guy who's supposed to fix the leaks has made two visits - mostly reconnaissance.  The humidifier is overwhelmed.  The dogs are refusing to go out in the rain, so I've had other puddles to clean.  My meringues are coming out sticky.  All I want to do is take a nap and I may have to throttle the next person who tells me that it's only just begun!