lentajes

12:30pm Seems early for lunch unless you've been awake since 4am.
Time to try this famous dhal I've waited all day for --  sauteed spinach (from the store, strangely stalky, nothing like our spinach but only 400c: less than a dollar.)  I'm going to hope and assume people chop & use the stalks too since that's the bulk of the bag.  Rinse repeatedly.  It  does cook up bright green to add to the onion and lentils ...  

My first home-cooked meal in Costa Rica! 
(if you don't count all that toast & jam which I left behind at Vista Verde Hostel.)

A bird has landed on my livingroom railing. A fawn colored dove. Just resting, his previous many attempts at perching on a nearby palm leaf were just embarrassing.  I averted my eyes so he wouldn't feel like a klutz.

It's still raining but just mizzling. If I want to go out, what do I wear that can be completely wet and still bike-able?  The brown, gauzy sundress that I just bought for 4 bucks is AWFUL it turns out. (Mortified to see, now that I have a mirror, what I've been wearing in public for a week.)  It's a sack -- loose & cool in this weather but the size, color, and shape of a HEFTY trashbag, just not as sexy.
I'm puffy and pale with red blotches from burns and bites and tree thorns. (Those huge scratches are still up my arm.)  Where is the Beach Hotness? 

Late afternoon, still no sheets from Denise. (One thought is that Sylvia, who helps around the house, is shy enough that she's waiting for me to go out before she leaves them.)  There's maybe an hour of light left before full dark. 3 good sized geckoes have arrived - good, Eat Up the bugs.  The largest is making a quiet ticking noise & moving his tail in a way I've never seen. He might be thinking of sexing up the female but she's not as impressed with this idea, based on her speed.  So he lifts his tail like a horse and drops something 12 feet to the tile floor. "Pal, that may be where you're losing her."  Now all the tiny ants will invade in one long chain to work on the dropping for hours.   *sigh* I just swept these floors inside and out.
If I take the ipod and meditate with the bedroom door closed, maybe Sylvia will come...
It worked!

thursday morning wildlife

4:30am

I'm guessing that is the locally beloved   Howler Monkey ---like an asthmatic lion, growly, hyperventilating, honking.   It does sound like it's from a much larger animal than the guys I saw in the trees above my house.   They call and respond like the roosters in the other neighborhood. Then there's another growly honk, but NOT from far away. From Very Close.  By my open window, close.   (And keeping in mind that an "open window" here is a gaping 4 ft hole in the middle of your bedroom wall. When the windows are open, you are essentially outside.) 

Was I supposed to shut the house at night in case of monkeys?
Is he going to get in?
I was so relieved that there are no bad guys who break in at night up here, I didn't think about what else might ... 

It's VERY LOUD now, it's in the room....    it's Lou, the dog.
She has apparently been sleeping in my room all night.
(I'm a little glad to see her, even though she's not supposed to
be in the main house at Denise's.) I do like dogs. Except: when they join in with a howl that is shockingly loud and an accurate imitation of the monkeys.  She does stop when I sit up in bed and tell her to but then, can't seem to help herself when they call out again.

5 am.
It's not full light yet but then, it IS raining, there has even been some lightning and limited thunder.  I'm trying the stove again (maybe fresh eyes will change everything.)   Yes. It is still a stove.   No. Still no gas. Aaaand, the propane tank looks the same as last night when it didn't respect my wishes.   Okay. Well?
oh: the tree frog is now on the kitchen ceiling. That's fine but don't pee in the lentils. Say, maybe the overnight soak in cold water has softened them, even without heat from a stove.  They do look bigger but don't seem very soft and they taste ... um.. gee, maybe not like lentils.  (If the bag says "lentajes" what else can that be, right?)
Well, I could build a fire. I'm handy and it's not like there are Safety Standards here. Oh wait: everything is a sodden mess from the rain. Well, I could go sit on the sofa and look out at the sleeping, dripping hibiscus (right where a television would be. For that matter: where a  wall  would be.) 
Nearly 7am now
steady rain falling straight down, not even in drops just a lot of streaming toward the ground.  What's the line about (is it Mercy?) "droppeth from Heaven" -?  Well, rain here droppeth. I've been watching the hummingbirds before any flowers opened and they were still sleeping. Oh yes, hummingbirds sleep. They sleep like me: in short desperate bursts, probably yearning to sleep free. But now a few of the hibiscus lower on the tree have gamely opened, downward like bells and the hummingbirds are on their way.  At the top of the tree, those blossoms are getting the full impact of the rain and look it too. Like a bunch of wet washcloths hung over the faucet.
It's been 2 hours, maybe I'll wander back in the kitchen and look at the stove again (longingly.) 
Try the knobs.   Oh, you already did? 
Try them again.   
Now, try each one. 
Try each one and stick your face right down by the burner -- hear anything?  (not over this rain!) smell anything?  No. 
Try them all at the same time...
Stir the lentils some more.   Look  for  frog. 
Give up and have a PowerBar.
Bummer, I wanted to try my new "coffee maker".  This is a wooden stand, like a napkin holder on its side. On the bottom shelf you put your cup, on the top shelf there's a circle cut out (it does resemble an outhouse but don't lose focus: this is a culturally significant local tradition.) Then you get a cotton sack, like a tennis sock, that is hanging off a wire ring in the shape of a magnifying glass. Ring fits over hole in wood. Coffee sack hangs down to your waiting mug.  Grounds in sock, boiling water poured over: Voila (or whatever the Spanish equiv.)   All I need is the HOT in hot water. 
How is there no sign of life over at the other house?  They have a toddler.  
And now there is another sound from the trees, something that is also likely candidate for "Howler Monkey" (uhh, so what was the other thing? No more open windows at night.)

Hey! An umbrella ... someone is up... but the ubrella is leaving, that's not good ...  espera!
When Sondra said that life here makes you stronger because it is HARD, I thought she meant big things, real challenges, not constant, small things like making hot water.
Well, I'd love to stay here all day in my pajamas, cooking all day in chilly rain would be lovely but not without coffee (or cooking.)  (Hmm, is this headache from caffeine-failure or from using folded clothes as a pillow?)
When I finally do hear voices over at the house, I'm shy about going. No one wants to be a chore or the idiot who can't work a stove. Walking the ten steps over there, the voice in my head is pleading "Please, Please, let it be a legitimate problem with the propane tank! Anything but obvious."

Boiled Water! Boiled lentils, sauteed onion, it's a party.
The coffee project takes a little practice since the pans are a little ramshackle, missing handles or lids (or handles AND lids.)  The glass lid for the lentils has lost it's black knob, all that is left is the screw that once held it on and a chip of  broken material. Cooking is not for the weak down here. All of the coffee "equipment" is freshly scrubbed and ready -- it feels like a high school experiment but with more purpose. (This skill you will totally need later in life.) Spoonfuls of coffee into "bolsa", hang on wooden rack, cup underneath, use 2d mug to scoop hot water (since it is the same size and will hold the right amount of water ... see what I did there? right? Stay in school kids.)
okay, well, gee, okay. First time kinks, we can work those out.
(For the record, the second cup did go better and I took photos after lunch just in case my "two story out-house with tennis sock underneath" description was unclear. But how could it be?)

7 am wed

The phone rang upstairs in the office and I held my breath. That's the number I left on Denise's voice-mail.  Bah. How could it not be for me! Did she rent the house already? Would she have let me know?  Last night, trying to sleep after learning the realities of break-ins and machetes ... well, uncool.
What if I make peace with the idea of staying here at VistaVerde for another week?  There was the other house that I looked at, I can wait. Order. Sense. Calm. Toast. (-- yes, more carbs.)

What is THAT bird? he sounds like a turkey gobble  but with a noise on the end like a drop of water down a deep well.

"Lord, I don't need anything special but I'd appreciate a safe, quiet house with a kitchen so I can buy eggs and eat normal food; is that odd?"   I could go look at Tesoro hostel down Cocles beach, right next to the OM Yoga (but I'd actually have to share a bathroom & kitchen there.)  The truth is that I haven't really been praying lately, not the Rosary, not at all. So... if I haven't really asked for help, how can I expect it?
It's 9am. Check-out is 11am. That gives me two hours until I'm obligated to stay here another day.  If there's no call by then, I'll go out.  Meanwhile, I will sit calmly in this hammock and read my book.


1:30 pm          In my new house on calle Toucan. 
                        I have 6 eggs in my kitchen.
Right when I decided to lie in the hammock, calm down, stop thinking and read: Denise, her daughter and her fella wandered into the garden & asked Katty for me. When I briefly chatted with Clyde this morning at 7am, he said he had sent "good energy" to Denise, well...no joke.
She never even got my second message with the phone number!  She was just taking a chance, stopping by my hotel to see if I was interested. Unreal.

Packed up. Ran down to the bank, stopped to get a taxi for me, luggage and bike to my new neighborhood.  No problem 3,000 ($6) says Roy, my new taxi friend. (He has two boys 8 & 10 who are mad for basketball.)  I settled my tab at VV (90 usd) while Roy wrestled my bike into the trunk of his Corolla.  Short drive on bad roads and that was it.
Actually, it was thrilling driving over = finally, it's settled.   I'M settled. 
No internet yet, a drag since the first thing I should do is tell Clyde his "energy" worked (and maybe I should not have told him the machete-wielding, cat-killer, door-shaking story until after I was out of there.)

--- Did a bird just fly THROUGH my little house?--- zip through the kitchen and out to the jungle, where there are at least 7 monkeys visible in the tall trees over the house.

      HUMMINGBIRD    

A hummingbird is INSIDE my house; he's hovering next to me, looking at the house-plant & the mirror. Up. Over. Down. Looking. Looking.    Is it the smell of incense?  He's confused there are no flowers to go with it?  Because the ants, lizards, and Enormous Numbers of Mosquitos are so awful, I'm guessing that the decorative jars of many many joss sticks are not, in fact, decorative. Self-preservation.  Why would mosquitoes swarm around hanging clothes? (I'm a fast unpacker.)   Already covered in welts and it has not been a full hour.

3pm.  Okay, now it has been a couple of hours and the welts are INSANE.

Spray isn't saving my legs. Incense isn't stopping them anymore -- but as I move to get off the sofa, TWO hummingbirds buzz by my head, racing from the bedroom out to the front yard, felt like helicopter wash.

By 7pm the gas stove is seriously annoying. I've tried all kinds of things, even messed with the tank (which scares me a little but you've got to try, right?)  Denise is out for the night, I passed her on my way back from the market... walk over and maybe ask her boyfriend, Daniel (who speaks NO English, so first look-up "mosquito net" to thank him for setting that up. Then look-up "sheets" since D. forgot those. Okay, now look-up "stove"... This is going to be slow-going.)  All that, but when I walk over the gravel driveway, there is no one in sight. And no door to knock on. Stupidly, I stand around, shifting my weight. Do I push? Am I too annoying on my very first day? But in the morning I will Really be bothered by no stove. I stand there until the motion sensor kicks on the floodlight= still nothing. Okay.
Think: today all the clothes-lines were covered with laundry from wash day ... maybe there's a sheet out there in the dark - nothing.  Okay. I can live without sheets. And adapt to no pillow (the 4 in the house are black with mildew. Even I draw the line at that.) 
But I still want a HORNILLO.  The lentils are all ready to go, soaking in a pot of water - at least they will only improve overnight. Okay, instead of spinach dhal, eggs ...er. No.  3 onions, fruit or water?   
Half a papaya here we come.   And morning?  Oh well.

The night noise is so loud that I actually think to turn it off before remembering: I never did turn on music, did I?   It's bugs and frogs and ___ well, we'll find out what.   There's one large gecko protecting the living room but clearly more since he "TK,TK,TKs"  and several others respond "polo".  (I'm paraphrasing.)
I do keep an eye out for activity at the other house across the yard. Any sound, anything - but no. Do other people fall asleep at 7:30 sometimes too? It must be the heat & humidity.
  UH. Is that a FROG on my ceiling? Shouldn't he be a gecko?  It's very dim light... There can't be a full sized frog stuck 12 feet up on the wood beam but ... yup.  One frog.       So far.
Plus the 3 visible geckoes. When I arrived a pair of lizards was having sex on the floor.
"Seriously, guys, you're lizards. You can't take it outside?"

dawn Wednesday

5:30am  What was that last night?    Man!
On the phone Sondra had invited me to meet them out for a drink after their dinner party, around 10:30. That's shockingly late for me down here (tired by 8pm every night) but I pushed myself to stay up -- be good to be social and maybe Denise would be there (after leaving 2 voice-mails.)  First, I went to Jammin' where there was supposed to be "Ladies' Game Night", play backgammon, be forced to practice Spanish...  sorry, not this Tuesday. Okay. Across the street is Jungle Internet where they project movies from the bar on the second floor onto a screen across the street (dirt road). It's like a drive-in with picnic tables.   Words cannot describe how Bad a movie has to be before even I can't stand it. Wow. Bad. (No, truly. I couldn't force myself to stay there and kill time - free - outside and I have no other place to go: BAD.)
Here is the other minor problem (other than fighting the urge to doze off in the street): the bar she had told me was very close. Muy cerrado. Sooo. What do you do? You figure you got the name wrong and try a place with a similar name.  This would be a logical next step except, when there was a guy at the door gate to buzz me in - this ought to have been a clue.  Most places don't have walls.
Oh, if only I had writing skills enough to convey the ambiance of a dark, skanky bar that might only exist in the mind of Quentin Tarantino - only without all the action verbs he loves. Pot smoking surfers (one hopes they at least surf) are not famous for being  Men of Action. More men of drowsy sentences.
Five or eight guys sitting around long tables, dead quiet except for the TV. And it wasn't sports. Telenovella. (This is Mexico's version of daytime drama with a lot more cheese.)
It's dim to the point of candle-lit (without the candles).
I have a moment, standing by the iron security gate, to decide: am I in or out?  I ask myself if it's possible these could be friends of Sondra's, if they might be nice enough guys, if there's a chance she'll show up soon.  There's a chance.
I sit down on one of the long benches and the guys start introducing themselves. They're nice enough. Offer to share. Thank you, no. They speak plenty of english. One guy makes jewelry by hand and offers to show me some of his work. (Seriously?) Tight macrame woven into necklaces with semi-precious stones, amber and pearls embedded ... this is amazing. What am I doing here?
This is not the right bar! Those people from the dinner party are not coming here! I'm just sitting alone in a dark room with strangers and drugs.   ("Hullo? This is reality, you needed a Wake-up call?")
To their credit: the guys really were friendly and harmless; and to my credit: I do get points for just showing up.  It was probably the truest view of Puerto Viejo yet.

tuesday

3 In the afternoon Katty came to tell me one of the cats was found dead.
She asked if I had heard anything in the night. I was about to say no but, yes:  the cat fight.
That ridiculous, neurotic journaling is actually helpful. I check and can tell her the exact time I heard it. She points to the hedge and says it was just on the other side. That's what the other two cats were doing this morning at dawn. They were just sitting on this side, staring toward the hedge-row. It was so odd.

But Katty is certain it was not a fight. She says the animal was cut very badly across the skull; she thinks by someone with a machete.  I remember the window rattle. In hindsight, there was no wind to rattle the window and it would have been plural, right?  It would hardly be just one window.  I tell her this.
We go lock the door and then pull hard on the handle. Yes.  That's the sound.
The thought of someone trying to get in my room is awful. With a machete.  A person who would chop at a cat.
It's a little sickening in the pit of my stomach.
I'm the only guest here.  The German guy has left and Katty and her husband have an apartment on the second floor, on the far side of the building.
Sondra warned me against using internet cafes because people figure out where you live and know what you have. But who would have seen me? Oh. Upstairs.  To get a signal I have to sit by the balcony railing on the 2d floor porch. Anyone in the neighborhood could see that. 

It's not that guy from the restaurant up the road who made friends with me and asked me friendly questions, right?

It was one thing when I went to put on my Keds one day and realized they were gone, leaving me with only flip-flops. But, someone with a weapon at 4.30 in the morning, pulling on my door handle and killing a pet. wtf?
I should go; now please.


An hour later I go into town to use the phone at Caribeans & leave another message for Denise.

calming, warming Toast

9am  Bike in rain to Pure Jungle Spa  

At first, I attempt deft maneuver of one hand holding umbrella, like the local, elegant ladies do and always keep dry and tidy while biking.  For me, this is less likely. Keep trying. People ride with no hands and small children (small, less than toddlers) ride on the center bar, holding themselves on with NO assistance from the driver.  People ride with surfboards under one arm. (I passed a woman one day, biking along alone in a tiny bikini & board shorts with a surfboard, content, strong, gorgeous.)
Certainly, if I go slowly...  I can manage this... in  my new Used, half a sundress with bathing suit underneath: am I not acclimating myself to local culture?
Well   ---  I'll  tell ya .... 
Funny thing with umbrellas is that they catch air quite nicely. By "nicely" I don't mean nice & even like M.Poppins but quite well. Quite completely they gather up air currents.  So, if you're already wobbly and a large truck goes hauling by -- the draft off that sucker will toss you around like a bath-tub toy in the rain on a bicycle into a ditch. 
I Know. 
The umbrella got stuffed into the front basket with my purse which I had wisely and attractively wrapped in the plastic bags from last night's beans&rice take-out.
Eating  beans & rice, even switching to lentils (when I finally get my own house), this is Not the diet of the lean and lanky. I realize that. But it's cheap and healthy (in its way) and very Tico (local).  Biking will help and swimming *when I finally cowboy-up and go every day despite warnings of machete-wielding thieves on the beach and killer riptides and utter shame at my appearance (the equally disturbing scary whiteness and Gerber chub that has returned from childhood.)
I say all this, about food and biking and the swimming I intend to do because, after biking down to Cocles, calling Sondra from the Spa (she is not working today but is very gracious about my choosing the other house), leaving a voice-mail for Denise, and biking back in CONSTANT, STEADY, DRUMMING RAIN for 3 miles, I did all this, got to Vista Verde road, turned the very last corner five feet from my gate and  ran into a tree.
(I digress but it's worth it.)
Not just one tree technically since it has an Air Plant: Tillandsia, attached to its trunk --ohh,  just about face height.
It turns out, these fascinating "air plants" have tiny spikes. Shark-tooth shaped thorns that must also have a protective coating of something annoying to skin, like mild napalm.  The hand and arm I put up to slow the impact to my face (my real face, folks, including upper lip) are burning and studded with these tiny attackers.  Luckily, there were 2 things that saved this from being worse : the cold water outdoor shower just a few feet away (yes, in the StillRaining rain) and the fact that I had just run my face into a tree.

It's hard to take yourself seriously just then or to have a whole lot of self-pity.

Pulling thorns from my arm, hand, and face;  covered with angry, red scratches (that will last days it turns out) ...  the point of all that was to say:
I immediately wanted a coffee.  And toast.

And back again, sitting at my early morning table five hours later, hoping that Denise returns my call quickly so I can move right away; waiting with Spanish Diccionario & journal & coffee & jam toast,  I realize, "Oh my Lord, I've done it. It finally happened.
I'm having Second Breakfast."     

Damp, chubby, tree-bitten, constantly eating, rootless wanderer:  I'm a flipping Hobbit.


           oh dear

mediocre bird-watcher

 4:30am   is that knocking? rain through the night, drilling on the tin roof of my cabin but this is different. It woke me.  It's one of the wooden barn-door style windows, rattling against the little slide lock. Outside, cats are fighting (or a cat is fighting something shrieking? also likely around here.)

Well, now I'm up. (A relief to be out of all the stressful dreams, relentlessly about CHOICES, pressure, hurry, running out of time...)  No solid information after all about visitors, so - that helpful piece to house-hunting is gone again.

Okay, what if I pray about it? More specific even: what if I use a pendulum?  In Healing Touch class the instructor said anything will do, she has used her necklace and once a lifesaver on a string.
Unclasping my seashell pendant, reorganize it to hang in a straight line with the heavy shell where a crystal pointer usually is.
(No, this is not Dark Magic, it's not even as interesting as it seems when you first hear of it.)   Better use the ipod to help me concentrate (vs. cat/bird shrieking & the last thumping large drops of rain.)
Test questions (standard starting point): what is Yes and what is No?   (I don't know what I'm doing! but keep going.) 
Focus on the 2 houses: hold the picture of one in your mind (I can hear the instructor's voice, simple, calm directions)  and ask "is this the right house for me?"   Vague. 
Picture the other house.... =  Response.  Really.
Okay- deep breath- (ever the logical researcher): now we need to duplicate the results to confirm the outcome.
(That's not part of the class. That's just me.  This may be the less "Groovy & Intuitive/ Let it Flow" aspect of my brain but if the goal is to accept who you really are, the various sides of yourself,  shouldn't I equally honor the "Data Before Incense" kind of girl that I am?)
In a variety of ways the pendulum reads that the "Jungle House" is best f or me - for learning & growth, natural remedies and plant medicine. I even ask if I'm meant to stay and learn through July: Yes. August: Yes.
(Then I stop asking.)  (It's not for divining the future anyway and besides, I'm not HarryBloodyPotter.)
By now it's almost 5am - grey light is coming in at the roof line where there is a gap between the top of the wall and the corrugated metal.  Taking off the ipod, I hear the strangest, most amazing (if not melodic)  bird call. It might be two birds but it's one type: notes rising and falling but with a goose-like honk. Must be a good size to make such an awkward noise. (I mean: gosh, lovely, natural song from one of God's creatures.)
He or they are in the field on the other side of the hedge just outside. I push my big wooden door open enough to step out but stay behind it so they don't spot me and rush off.  (Picture jolly pink plaid pajama pants - yes, from my fancy Target collection, don't judge. I love them but camouflage they aint.)  To my left, on the stepping stones, are two cats, clearly out for the kill.  One has "treed" something in a shrub -- another green snake?-- and is staring, frozen.  The other is just shopping the area... 
Through the hedge, off to the right the goose-bird sound goes on and even seems to get closer! The hedge is so thick that I only have one hole through the leaves, they will have to go right past it if I'm going to see what they look like. But the noise is definitely moving toward me ...  Great!  hunch down, hands on knees, peering through leaves at tall, empty grass in the neighboring field when:  around my very door, onto my little square of patio comes walking that chicken-legged pheasant! With his goofy, reaching, long, chicken legs and bouncing jive step.
He gets around the door & looks up at me, just at the moment I realize the distant action I'm crouching and squinting to see is now AT my knee-cap.
My eyebrows shoot up!  His eyebrows (essentially) shoot up - we share a cartoon-esque ZOINKS!  "Oh My! You're RIGHT THERE!" and he turns to do a groove-hasty-hustle back to the forested backyard.
He could have moved faster or with more fear; I've seen him some mornings in a serious hurry, this wasn't it. So, that's good; maybe he's a little bit used to seeing me in the garden every day.
There's another hallway that opens to the back yard, I go peep around the back wall: two sleek blue chicken guys are gingerly poking long legs through overgrown weeds and whatnot. They're together, probably mates but no more calling/singing.  They've seen me "that giant pink-madras legged thing" they're thinking, and got spooked.  I watch them for a few minutes with their long crescent moon beaks, beautiful green-blue/black feathers that melt right into the ground cover. When they spot me again, they head around the other way by my bedroom door Step -- Step-- Step-- .  Oh No!
Did I just herd them toward the lurking cats? How awful would that be!  Rush back around to the patio:
2 cats, no jungle chickens. 
Phew! Relieved and apologetic, I return to my usual 5am book & journal routine. And try not to ruin the local wildlife.

Monday: First day of School!

Wow - slept until 6:30!  Probably because I was up until all hours (8.30pm)  typing with Clyde about visits, about maybe having his niece down for a month or more.   She just happens to need a new "project" since the one she was working on fell through... hmm. Good timing? A sign? This solves all my endless pondering and weighing of which house: I'm going to need an extra bedroom if people are going to stay for a while. (It has been obnoxious days of calculating and re-thinking, just when I've made the "right" or "smart" decision.)

Here's the deal with renting in PV: you can get a "cabina", a little cottage/cabin, sometimes with no kitchen or a shared kitchen in a different cabin, for very little - say $200-250 mo.
You can get a little house for around $300.(It helps if you know someone and they know someone.)  The little house I'm looking at is 350 for just over 5 weeks. The bigger house, with 2 bedrooms is $425mo for the first three months then goes up to 450 (I didn't ask about the logic of this, it must be a local thing.)  It is a big difference in price but the location has a security that is very unusual in Puerto Viejo.

Stepping out of my room a tiny frog "goes by". This phrase may be inappropriate since he's not an inch big and his hops are about an inch at a time so BLAZE BY, he did not. But what made me laugh was his color: Mint Chocolate Chip -- I mean, insanely, un-natural Greeen with brown spots, perfect & adorable. I thought to gather him up in the empty water glass I was holding so my poor phone would have a prayer of photographing him; but then I had a vision of Katty coming down (here she is now to unlock the day) and telling me, peering at my capture, "You knowww -- dis one quite poisonous, yaa?"

Meanwhile, time is flying by. Class begins at 10am and if you're new you get there early on Monday to begin with the group. Must shower & scrub off the grime (not an expression) for my first day. I'm nervous too. Goofy.
Bike over at 9am: wooden gates, ten feet tall, locked like Oz and no people in sight (of course, it is made of lattice.)
Okay, so I'm too early. The sign with school information was at Caribeans - just bike over there and re-read.  "Claro School 10-12". Well, plenty of time to have a coffee and email Clyde from one of the cafe laptops (you drop 500c in the paint can. No, really. That's a dollar.) But when I bike back an hour later: gates still locked. Okay, find another Spanish school, how hard can it be?
As I'm biking away, there's a one room, cinder block school house next door. They are clearly putting on a show since all of the children are out in the road (quiet dirt road) with the teachers; I'm guessing all of the parents are inside -- and this is "back stage".  Each student has a posterboard sign on string around his neck with a big picture of a strawberry or a carrot on each little belly. Classic! Timeless and apparently International is the "dance of the produce" in elementary school.  Someday they'll tell the story of how "I was a singing Zanahoria in kindergarten."  "Hey, me too! but I was a dancing apple in Massachusetts."

Sunday 4:45am

Rain started again, poking, plinking very few drops but they are Large.  Stepping out into the garden, I now think twice about letting the door hang open, since Katty helpfully told me about "all uf de creatures."  Of the item her cat was hunting "ooh, could be anyting around here."  (It turned out to be a green snake. Cat was last seen gnawing on its tail like a chew toy. Charming.) 
I told her how different these land crabs are than over at CocoLoco -- so boldly traveling into the lounge & greeting me in the morning.  "Oh, you mean  - - these crabs?" and she held her hands wide like she was telling a fish story.   UM. I'M SORRY. WHAT? To what could you be referring that is at least TWO full FEET across? Crabs?   "uh, gee, no, katty. I haven't seen one of those yet. Thank you."
Is that what I heard in the night when I got up to find the bano? something SCUTTLE-SCUTTLE across the tile floor ahead of me in the dark....  
Wait! This is why the guidebook recommends a flashlight. I have that! phew.  Aaand, well done too, flashlight: first step out the door and something has churned up my little door mat. (which might have been a place mat in a previous life - like when sold at IKEA to civilized people who don't need to check for giant crabs when they need to pee.)  

Ta Da! there's my culprit nearby, blue, normal size, bless him for that.  A good size, don't misunderstand: plenty of people would eat that guy in a bucket.  Before Katty's threat of Giant Monster Crabs in the Night, he would have been rated bigger.

Rain's not bad out here either, not nearly how it sounds from inside.  Sweeping the flashlight beam, the only other guy out of place is a toad by the breakfast bar. Which seems odd that a toad would be the one creature to come in out of the rain, doesn't it?    It's tempting to get up at this quiet hour and sit out here while dawn is just starting, kind of.  Wait until after 5am when it's full light and bring my books with and dictionary and ipod out to a table. But, what am I thinking? Ear buds are for people who need to block out the noises of their world, not when it's raining in Costa Rica with banana birds and snake-catching cats. 
"Dawn" isn't in this dictionary - really? "Dawdle" and "Abacus" we might need but "dawn" just takes up space? Let me know when I need the Spanish for "Gumshoe".

Someone is walking around upstairs but Katty's not awake. It's the new guy who arrived yesterday, older, very tidy. He smells freshly scrubbed and dipped in something medicinal that may pass for cologne where he's from.  Judging from his expletive when he finds the kitchen locked and the sign that it will be until 7am -- he's German. (that word does translate)

7am     I knew that I need daily "alone time", especially early in the morning -- it's calming to wake up slowly, not a lot of noise or action or interaction.   But, until the over-washed, sweet-smelling (not "sweet" in a good way, more like:  hard to eat while he's nearby sweetie smell)  guy sat near me for 40 minutes & waited for the kitchen to become available to him; I had no idea how prickly I am at dawn.
(Or shy: dreading small-talk with strangers at dawn, let's call that "shy".) (And: "understandable".)
When he's done in the kitchen I go in to make coffee & toast. The kettle is hot, so how did he light the stove? with difficulty?  Well,  if he can do it without lifting the stove grate -- so can I ... just... get that .. lighter in close.... HA!
What's that smell? ...   like burning hair ...  Quick check of hair = no.  Fingernail.  Hmm, how interesting.  Burnt fingernail smells like burnt hair. I'll have to make a note of that. (ew)   There's a little black char on the end of my thumbnail.  Just yesterday I looked at these long, formerly painted, now gone ratty things and decided to chop them all off  (in keeping with my new Bike Riding, beach-going, Usually Dirty, "get-in-touch-with my inner-10yr-old tomboy"  lifestyle)   but, think: if burning the nail means NOT burning the finger (like I've done to my knuckles every other morning) (Hey! it's a very small lighter, okay? don't judge)   then maybe I should keep them for safety purposes.
Uh Oh.  The nice morning has quickly changed into that strange, dark, almost grey/green color we get before real trouble starts (like: tornado warning color.)  Katty actually came back downstairs to turn the lights back ON over the tables so I can keep reading.

POUNDING RAIN HAS STARTED AGAIN -- AMAZINGLY, IT GETS EVEN LOUDER. IT WAS LIKE THIS IN THE NIGHT BUT THEN IT WAS COZY. NOW ... 
Look up "downpour" in my dictionary and almost announce proudly when I find it: Pago Initial! Wait, that doesn't seem right = "down payment".    AGUACERO or CHAPARRON.
Also look up "Borrow" = Tomar Prestado (take temporarily).  Maybe I'll ask Emma's mother if I can tomo prestado Emma to practicar mi conversacion.  I will trade her subtitled NANNY McPHEE.
4pm 
Later that day, after dropping my laundry (2 kilos @ 1,500c/k= 6usd) I see Mauritzio from LuluBerlu on my walk back. He's  biking the other way -- off to get his laundry from a llavanderia too (he pays 800c/kilo).  We chatted a bit, he reminded me about the rental house (or it might be a room in a house? it's unclear) for only 200usd, in town ...  I told him I'm looking outside the village but that I want to visit again and play backgammon and practice Spanish with Emma in trade for movies. He finds this funny.
We somehow get on the topic of family, standing there in the street. He tells me he had a twin brother who was killed a few months ago, murdered in Limon (a large-ish city north of here). There's crime and drugs and things get rough. It's not clear if he was robbed or what but -- the poor guy. How do you lose a twin brother? 
They used to surf together. I asked if sometimes it felt like his brother is still out there, when he's waiting for a set, does he feel it?  ...  he thinks maybe sometimes.  I told him that (despite the Irish tradition of constantly visiting  the grave)  I only ever accidentally "spent time with" my dad at the driving range.  One day, I actually heard advice on my swing. (Good advice.)  Looking behind me, around me, all empty mats and spaces ... Impossible. 
I don't go in for these stories except for 2 problems with my logic: I heard it.   And the advice was right on the money.  My next shot was long and straight.   Rats. Forced to admit to the possibility, I looked up and said "thanks for that."   (The poor golfer hitting balls 30 feet away looked over. It was just us out there.)

quiet Saturday

Sitting outside my bedroom door and a wee lizard just hopped out onto the front step.  (Yes, from inside my room.)  They really do leap, lizards.   Yesterday, walking down our dirt road in the front yard of a neighbor's house there was a Cat On A Table.  "Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!"   I thought of all those recitations in high school Spanish class we felt were useless and absurd but: That gato really is ON the mesa.  (I think we learned about that same damn cat in 7th grade French too; so I can locate a cat on at least 3 continents.)

Walked to the bank. So many people have warned me about the Criminal Element here and being followed after leaving the ATM; and worried about the exchange rate, how much to get out, what it is in colones (bike, hostel bill, first month's rent...)  Enough worries that I concentrated  SO MUCH on not being seen tucking away cash that I LEFT MY CARD and walked away. **God love that guy who ran me down to return it.  Can you Believe? What a train wreck.
I went directly to the big new supermercado for Coca-Cola Classic: can settle any stomach problem better than pharmaceuticals. 
BUT: across the street I finally stumbled upon the "artist's gallery" LuluBerlu: total Magic.   Immediately I knew if anyone comes to visit - this is the only place to shop for souvenirs. All other beach trinkets are the same from Bethany to Waikiki to Puerto Viejo (it's odd.)  This stuff is almost all local, wood carvings, mosaic art, jewelry, housewares, PV "fashion".  (A lot of cannabis factors into the designs, including a surprisingly sweet white sundress with leaves done in pink & green sequins, very Lilly Pulitzer.) 
One artist was there minding the shop and working a little on a project in the back - the patio is a workshop with a sofa and chairs and one large, low, round table made entirely of mosaic with a backgammon board built into the top.  Since there were no other customers he invited me to play & even ran across to the super to get beer. Funny.   Mauritzio is his name and hanging around him is a neighbor girl of maybe 8 yrs old. Emma or Ama. She helped me practice Spanish, she speaks a LOT of English and apparently moved here last year from France.   Amazing.   She said it took her 3months to learn Spanish.  I believe it.    She is crazy about green mango and got Mauritzio to pick her another off one of the trees and convinced me to try it with salt & lime juice --   a dangerous move at this moment for me but I look around and think: I am sitting in an atelier, drinking beer, getting tutored by an 8 yr old world traveler and maybe playing a little backgammon: when life is right in front of you, you need to participate.

On the walk back, dinner of plain beans & rice at the fried chicken stand (NO english = No kidding but it's good for me except I couldn't remember how you say "to go" lleva or llega?)  So, I got stuck there, sitting at the counter watching Adam Sandler's Big Daddy en espanol.  Not as educational as I'd hoped and a little surreal, alone with the fried chicken man sitting next to me.  When the rain started really pelting the tin roof, I thought I'd better head back and passed groups of people heading into town, all fancy for Saturday night in the bars. Wow. There is an unappealing thought.
I'd rather check the clothesline and get into bed -- but the rain is SO HARD I can smell it inside my cabina. Can't resist going out to look once more:  Beautiful.

6am Friday, my first morning with a kitchen ....

Early, early, as soon as it's light enough to creep out and sit at the tables, I go with my book and journal. The big garden is beautiful in the morning.  I take a banana off the huge bunch, hanging from a beam in the lounge.  

A land crab is hiding by the wastebasket so I dangle the peel for him (they like peels, right? what do they eat?)   WHAM! Wrong, Lady! He is  Angry that I'm up so early. He expected some "alone time". The kitchen is locked up until 7am. (I have a lot to learn about life in C.R. like locks on ALL doors, windows, the breakfast bar...)   So, I sit at a table and write and listen to Noni fruit fall onto a pile of leaves = Great! I can do something clever and organic and "natural healing" with that ... just as soon as I learn what that is.
A sort of small pheasant is tip-toeing through the plants, so well colored that only his slender yellow beak gives him away.  Even though I'm very still, he spots me and prances away in a hurry to be somewhere else.


Katty comes down the open stairs, unlocks the front gate, the kitchen, shuts off the night lights and fairy lights strung around the rafters. 
The crab and I are left to figure out the stove situation.
It's like camping with the Girl Scouts, even with facilities. 
Challenge one: can she get the sack of coffee open? What is the knife situation? Assess.
Challenge two: when was this coffee moka last unscrewed? (don't be filled with old grounds!don't be filled with old ground!don't be - aww, man.) 
2a: scrubbing dishes without soap but "con crema" which looks like green margarine in a tub by the sink. (Oooh, it may be my new favorite thing about Costa Rica.) 
okaayy...  ENORMOUS gas stove with mysterious European lid, seen only  in movies. And connected by hose to _ to_ to_ right? (I'm poking around under creepy dark counters, probably foolish.)
Two stoves, three gas tanks, hose-- hose-- wait for it... Okay.
   (Really, I JUST want coffee. A little espresso from this simple little pot -- why is that so hard? I would go build a fire in the hibachi out in the yard but cats are sleeping on it. Cats are sleeping everywhere.)
Gas stove, check dials, listen for hissing (not too close with the long hair) okay. Matches? If this is normal, there are matches riiiight here somewhere. Bic lighters, all dead, just sparking. (No, I'm not willing to get close enough to try the last spark with burner on HIGH.) Ha! I have a lighter in my little "kit".  But the kit does not come with balls so I find a dry leaf to light and stick into the gas: American style.  (Hey, we do light gas stoves but usually with a switch not with cavalier abandon, our knuckles ON the burner.) Good call too - it only catches if you Touch the gas ring.
Thank you, Lord of all that is good: coffee.
I'm exhausted. I sit back down at the table.


Things are falling out of trees as they ripen (or fatigue.) Cats are lounging, sleeping, cleaning, wandering everywhere. Some unknown bird just YELPed!  I might be late for yoga... I might not make it at all.  It's that place that I dragged Clyde to: OM by the beach. (We only went because I'd met the teacher the day before at the flea market. Clyde got a fancy "GUEST" belt.)  She's cool, Argentinean, and teaches in Spanish but that's only one day a week. So, she's not there today and 8 bucks a class ... seriously.


And then the coffee hits my system and, La La,  it turns out the slippery chicken is STILL not done with me.  (How is this Possible?)   "Well Lord, I wanted to lose weight in Costa Rica. I even jokingly hoped for a parasite: Reap=Sow, I get it."


Toast! Toast & jam is safe. And there's a regular toaster so, no problem, right? just put in Bimbo/Wonder bread  (set on 1? don't be silly, too low. 3.)
Ahh, the smell of toast is the smell of childhood, of Normalcy, of of Burning... 
Okay. I see now that 3 was VERY enthusiastic.  (so, what does 5 do - make coal?)

What SHOULD I do with my day if not yoga at 8.30?
The class at least gave structure to my day ...
STOP! THE INADEQUACY & OBLIGATION can stay inside the Beltway. I am in Costa Rica for pete's sake! If my brain can't finally be off duty for ten minutes here : when is it going to happen?! 
1. Buy a Spanish - English Dictionary -- Sondra said to start there. That's my job for the day.  One book. 
2. And swim.  To put on a bathing suit once a day and DEAL with it. (As a total neurotic) it's good to think of the the hardest thing you couldn't possibly do and then Do It.  (gee, that reeks of Unhealthy when you see it in writing; when it's just a New Year's Resolution it doesn't seem that bad)
(In case you missed it, publicly posting what a complicated mess you really are underneath is the Challenge for June.)

It turns out, none of my summer clothes fit (you thought i was making it all up. One year, two sizes.) I'll have to go buy something comfortable, especially over a wet bathing suit and on a bike. Eek.  How far to the fairy tale beach someone described: Playa Chiquita? Too far to bike this late in the day?  Or do people swim  in the killer surf across the road at Crocodile Surf Camp?  Checking the free maps that are found in stacks on every front desk, km 6-8 is Playa Chiquita, after Miss Holly's. We're at km0, in town.
ooh Hummingbird!  Yellow bird!  Squeaking bird!
(these are not the scientific names, mind you)

2:30pm back from errands "downtown" (in the village, locals say).
Left with a $20 and 3,500c ($7)... down to 1,300c ($2.60). No dictionary to be found.
Before leaving I coated myself with SPF 30 slimy spray and then some Very Strong eucalyptus oil bug repellent. (The bugs may or may not find this repellent. The tar-like coating that this blend creates on my feet and ankles and then causes all forms of mud, bike chain oil, and general debris to adhere to my skin while biking in flip-flops: I find Repellent.)  (It is also, apparently, semi-permanent. It does not rinse off. It does not wash off. It does not even scrub off. It requires scraping with a kind of scouring pad.)

Happily set off to town to look for beach dresses, window shop only at Miau* (fabulous hand-made beach fashion at full Miami prices, cute enough too.) Stop by fruit vendor to check price of mangoes and he gave me a wee, red pear-like "manzanita de agua", good.  Off to Maru's flea market -new& used clothes. She'll have something for sure, board shorts, extra bikini tops. Very common around here are crochet tops, string bikini to half-shirts.  (Of course, in my mind they are for only the most slim & confident women because my babysitter had one when I was five and she was a Senior. She was marvelous. It was the 70's so she probably knit it herself, she was so worldly & stylish) (She lived in the farmhouse next door.)   Holding up one example from the bin I have to question whether there is enough dieting in the world -certainly not in this town of pastry- to reduce me into a backless, halter, half-tank top with bits of string holding it on to my gringa, pasty white lumpy self. But I need a GOAL.  And a witness, I look over at my new friend Maru "Okay: this is mi sueno." 

We talked about the book we were both holding the day we met,  EAT, PRAY, LOVE.  She said, eagerly, "where are you? I'm still in Italy - don't tell me! All I want to do is eat what she does!" She even went online to see a photo because her back cover is different than mine so I show her my book (which is naturally in my bag - hers is too.)  Maru and I laugh about my open plan to stay in CR if I find a place, work, language school & a home here... "I'm flexible" I say.    "You're like HER! Do you write too?"  I did admit that some of the similarities are eerie.

It's so nice finding a yoga community in Puerto Viejo. On the local post board there's another class at C&J Natural Juices tomorrow morning at 6.30, pay by donation. Sunday morning there's a Satsang at AMMA up in Playa Negra - probably in Spanish what is not in Sanskrit but still, good experience or Maru is teaching Sunday morning at The Treehouse in Cocles.

I found a bikini top that wasn't the worst (compared to three others) and two dresses that are light & local that will work with bathing suits and bikes.  One white, terry cloth halter dress I leave behind as I'm already up to $14!  (but  it's only an hour later and I'm already thinking of going back for it...)

Have to break  yet another 20 anyway, right? Still need dictionary, paid $2 for 3 mangoes and wondered if that's the gringo rate, and then found a great little cafe with hundreds of used books all around the walls, local woodcarvings and art. They do have a dictionary but it's in their Not For Sale= Reference Section (bless them). Cappuccino, another $2 gone.

I could go find an internet cafe and check in but the truth is, after 3 days alone I'm more PRESENT without it, without thinking of email and skype and what time it is somewhere else. I write more often and more thoroughly, maybe because it's how I process all the things I would otherwise be saying to Clyde; things I've seen today, crazy moments, how I hit a car on my bike (hey, there was a big truck in my ear), how my feet are weirdly swollen and hurt by midday every day like a Denny's waitress on a double-shift, how the mangoes  were so ripe I could smell them in the bike basket, pedaling along -- lovely, even romantic (if you're into sugar & tropical fruit, which I am.)  I'd be telling him that when you eat them here it's at "room temperature" 96F and they taste sooo much better but messier that way.

So now it's 4pm and I'm meant to swim - as per my new regimen - orrr, I could search for that elusive book some more. Okay, and Yes, go back for the 3d dress.  (Really? Think about this: TERRY cloth. HALTER. USED. Are you hearing these words? Have you been drinking the KoolAid?)

7pm  Have had time for a (finally) thorough and serious scrub of gunk from ankles, deep condition of salty hair (why IS the salt content so high here?)   Felt lovely to be so clean, except for one glitch -or two: No hot water, No warm water even (as heavily bragged about) and umm - how do I tell Katty gently that the faucet gives a slight Electrical boost to one's system, making it hard to hold the water tap for too long without a buzzing ache up your hand.   At the end of my shower, now standing in an inch of water, I tried to think of solutions... cannot reach tap from outside the shower, nothing in this room will stop the flow of electricity to my hand. (It sounds silly but I was desperate enough to try using my towel as a buffer. No help at all. Obviously.)  Do I mention it or just rush off to the rental house that's available now, very likely with a voltage-free shower? 
Worry about it later. I've got a Skype date in five minutes with my fella.  (why do you think I scraped off the chain oil and beach debris? it's a whole new world with video.)

First Day at Vista Verde

Maybe it's Thursday - about 2pm.

TREMENDOUS Day So Far.
Coffee with Clyde by SKYPE at 8am.


9am. Taxi cab (friend of Manolo's of course) to my "hostel" summer camp room with barn door windows and great wads of bananas in the front yard (by a Magic Noni Tree.)


By 9:45am,  sprayed with SPF & natural eucalyptus oil bug repel (which I also spritzed around my bed and mosquito net for good measure) I hurry down the road to rent a $5 bike for the day so I can make my 10am first RENTAL HOUSE appointment with "Sondra". I'm nervous. (That's standard for me.)


Horribly red-faced from the heat and the hurry, soaking from perspiring under all that greasy Sporty Spray: what if she doesn't like the look of me?! I'm dirty and rumpled and probably look untrustworthy. (And dehydrated from losing weight to that slippery chicken dinner.)


+ Cross 2d bridge over river, Rio Negro (amazing views down into the slow, dark rio water, deep shade of tall trees in both directions - up to the mountain and down toward the beach.)


+Look for the road on the left by the garbage (wow. no lie. Can't miss the huge pile of black bags, some torn open by dogs amassing flies.  Collection is on strike.) okay.


+House is directly behind the trash. (Really, these are the directions you want to give? okay.)    Oops. SO directly behind in fact that I didn't see the little gate on my first pass ... but the next gate is not "red picket". Go back, clumsily maneuvering the bike in a tight U-turn on this little dirt road, like a middle-aged woman who hasn't been on a bike since age 10.   (Oh, Wait ...)


I'm anxious about approaching, possibly the wrong house, calling out to a stranger (in Spanish?) (but she's from Houston originally-?)


"Hola!" I try brightly.


She's gorgeous.


She's a massage therapist; nothing like the Yoga & Massage gals I've met already who live casually in a hostel-gone-commune.    This woman is glamorous; in dorky gym shorts and '80s knee socks she would stop traffic.   She'd stop your conversation.


But then we get talking, about why the house will be empty so long (5 wks) and her plans: Italy, Spain, a little France to see a friend's new baby. She speaks at least 3, working on 4 languages. So far.


After she gets back from that she's only have a few months before moving completely to Brazil.


I mean: Glamorous.


She leads me by bike over to her friend, Denise's house who is also renting out a plac; a little open air house, 2 bedrooms, jungle, garden, river going by: perfection at the end of a gravel road. Available now, before she goes home to the US for a long visit (425/mo).


They're both lovely and amiable and Denise has a daughter that hangs on her legs then yells for assistance from the toilet then hurries off to find a tree to hang on. There is, unexpectedly a Giant Fountain (really, like from a mall atrium, if your mall is Mayan.)  It's very tall - taller than the house by a few inches - with a cement base pool deep enough to get well past your knees. If only it was filled with water, I'd leap in and sit down, it's so hot I'm melting from every pore and desperate. I'm beginning to weigh my decision on which house solely on which might get more breezes.


Sondra's little cabina with it's wall-less living room and barn door windows in between the rooms (all with locks which are required Every Time you leave the house around here) is on a little garbage road but it ends AT a BEACH.    She warns me that, because the rio breaks out immediately next to the swimming area, it creates a swirling, dangerous current when it joins the Caribbean. "Walk down the beach ten minutes south for good swimming." That's a good landlord.


Denise's jungle house, up on the hill, has stairs (cinder blocks) that begin just under the bedroom window and go 30 steps down to the shady, dark water of a neighboring river, chilly as it comes out of the mountain. (Rio Cocles) It's fine to have a swim, she says, and shows me around her garden: basil, spinach, melon and papayas will come later...

After this, Sondra takes me to the  PURE Jungle Spa  where they work and it turns out: all the products  are hand-made, balms and tinctures, flower spritz, natural chocolate soaps; some are made by Denise in her kitchen I think.  I'm totally impressed.  Again.     It may be love.

Didn't we just learn to make balms & tinctures in Honduras? Is this a coincidence? Is this normal in Central America or have I stumbled into some Divine Enclave of creative, kind, amazing, world-traveling women? They seem to think it's all normal life.


Sondra and I sit and talk, sipping Agua de Sapo (this home-made ginger/lime cooling drink) for 2 straight hours. We talk about life and she gives me local advice and general advice and I soak it all in; "don't be afraid" (including using Spanish in public)  and " you have to be grateful right now for what you have, not always afraid to lose things, not 'what if?' Even if it will go, this or that, my job or my boyfriend = Right now you're blessed, enjoy it."

Sometimes she's speaking my thoughts, sometimes she sounds like Clyde's stack of books. It's spooky and wonderful. She tells me a private story of pain & illness and how her friends cured her with natural medicine and Complete Love. (She doesn't phrase it at all like that, she describes what they did and the truth is pretty clear to me. These people are wonderful. Unflinching, unhesitating, no-questions asked, stick beside you in Kosovo -- I even brought my toothbrush, kind of generous, fearless women friendship based in a "well, of course" kind of LOVE.)


We talk about Energy Healing and all the local healers she knows, praticing different forms. I tell her about Healing Touch and cancer. She tells me not to be alone, "there's no reason to feel alone, you can always come here to the spa, hang out, practice your Spanish, call me, we drink wine around here."


3pm - Back at Vista Verde Hostel, waiting for the heat to break so I can bike up to the supermercado and still make it for a late day swim: after 4.30 the sun eases off but sunset is 5.45 so you don't have a lot of time.


(what have I eaten today? still paying for that dinner.)


Super Old Harbour Mercado: coffee, milk in a box, cheap bread (Bimbo, like Wonder), jam and a papaya= $15.10 ouch. Many things in Costa Rica may be cheaper, food is not one of them.


4.30 The husband of Katty (who has yet to say hello) is just outside my window, playing some coin-throwing game with a German friend. They're not drinking beer. This confuses me. I wouldn't play a drinking game in 100 degree heat without drinking. Adding to my confusion at seeing them in action is that for 20 minutes before, I was sure they were playing quarters from the sounds.
 "Quarters? Naw. Too silly for such grown men but it must be - sometimes a coin hits glass. Well, it is steaming hot and after 4pm -- makes sense."


But no. Smoking yes. Iced beverages (?) but no beer.


So I change and walk up to find a beach I've been told is quiet enough for swimming -- horribly self-conscious about this process. Just Wearing a bathing suit is painful, being seen in one is a test of inner strength. But I force myself & go & unwrap & creep past sharp rocks at the water's edge, getting through to smooth sand and into a tide pool so warm it's like bathwater in shallow spots. There is one other woman in the water - a local girl, who it turns out when she stands up, is quite pregnant. There's also one couple nearby on towels, gringos who are not thinner than me so I should feel Normal and Fine and not a Circus Freak. But, sadly,  it's not that simple.


After a long day of moving, unpacking, biking, meeting people, biking, a lot of heat, a little swim -- I'm too spent to go find the shower room  and carry a bunch of gear. I love that every place, every house and business and some beaches, have outside showers. Cold water which is just what you want anyway.


Later, sitting on the porch railing of the upstairs lounge I try to get a WIFI signal.
Fail. Try again.
Fail. Fail. Fail.
Hey! one little bar, hanging on for dear life ... gmail?mmmmaybe.
Keep trying. Skype? go fish, sister, but it did dial Clyde's number at least before it failed again. Even Google chat didn't work. ahh well.
Welcome to Vista Verde.

More Day One

Coco Loco Lodge - same day. (It just goes On and On.)


After rest and decompressing, I walked down to the dirty beach for a test swim. "Really, it's called Playa Negra beacuse of the volcanic soil." This sounds more exotic and glamorous than the reality. Ma'am I have been to volcanic beaches. They look slightly cleaner.
This is the heel end of a bay (where that rusting hulk of barge has been left for decades? you get different stories from different people.) There's debris, decayed wood, rust, and charred bits floating in the water. At one point I looked up to check my bag and saw a rubbish fire burning maybe 100 ft. away, up by the road.

I shared my swim (technicallly a wade as I had to crouch down to be in the water even to my shoulders) with a four year old named Azan. He's knowledgeable about which are the most fun beaches and Very Funny. He gave me strict instructions for tomorrow: the double pools at Rocking J's. (R.J's doesn't have pools ... right?)
I had decided, between meditating over frozen coffee and reading EAT, PRAY, LOVE, that if being frantic about check-outs and phone calls and disappointing Katty is damaging my brain: Just Forget it for today.

Tomorrow I go to the hostel, back to Plan A, and see where we are with appointments.

On the way back, in a wet bathing suit and pareo wrap, looking for something basic to get as take out for dinner. I found Soda Miss Sam's, which may be in the guide book. (If it's not, it should be / or it shouldn't be depending on your feelings about sharing.)

They do this thing here with rice & beans. They add just enough coconut milk to suggest a taste but not so much to be obnoxious (which it really can be, let's be honest and I say that as a great lover of the coconut.)

So, I order the combo: chicken, rice&bean&  salad ( "salad" is a local enthusiastic description) to go because the lady (Miss Sam?) has been mopping and her floor is clean and wet and I am sandy and wet (with dirt and char stuck to me and inside my bikini.)

But when I get back to the bungalow, shower gratefully & into clean pajamas and finally sit down to open my dinner: facing me is a pile of spaghetti.  Oh no.
How did this happen? I was the only customer, no mix up. Did she misunderstand me?
But No, No = the spaghetti is ON TOP of my dinner order -- in case you believed yourself in danger of losing weight in some tropical paradise; like  Barbaloots in the Lorax, fresh fruit off the trees, swimming, biking, yoga every day... La La~~       NO.   Carbs for Everyone!
I have done things in Puerto Viejo that I wouldn't do in Vegas. All dietary. I don't even EAT white rice! I'm politically opposed on the theory that God gave it to us Brown, we should probably trust His judgement. Apparently, in P.V. -- all bets are off. Yesterday I ate a Chocolate Croissant. (?!) For some reason there are bakeries on every street selling croissants. What?    Nutella?    This is Central America!

And I, who have been known to be quite disciplined, sometimes for months on end in a "Salem Witch Trials" kind of fanatical dietary Puritanism that would make Dr.Oz look like John Candy -- for some reason, far from embracing the healthy: I have gone the other way.
(Okay. We were exposed a couple of times to second-hand dope smoke in bakeries ... could that be it? Or have I thrown in the towel since NONE of my summer clothes from even one year ago fit. Very sad.)


2 a.m. Awake for two hours ... strange dreams and stomach pain from over-eating (let's hope that's it.)

Now it's dogs dogs dogs barking at each other across the yards. WHY? What is the purpose for them? It doesn't sound like enjoyment. And now they've woken the local rooster who stimulates a distant rooster to challenge him and there's some kind of poultry one-upsmanship going on out there. And, maybe, beneath it all is the dull roar of the waves. They must be very big to sound like blowing winds all this way from the beach. I'd love to walk down there at night, alone on the beach -- finally quiet in town but it's impossible.
There's the night guard here at CocoLoco, the iron security gate,  and of course NO ONE would do such a thing in Puerto Viejo!   So I just lie here, listening to dogs and roosters and possible thunder moving in.