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?"

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.

Foreclosure Fatigue in the suburbs

April 2010.

That's it. That's all the patience I have. And all the interest.

3 moves ago I said "THIS move is the Very Last One , really. Next time it all goes into storage and I quit! No more moving and fighting and searching for mediocre or merely tolerable rentals."

Then there was the redneck, possible drug-dealer, drinking by ten a.m. Okay. Maybe if I move closer to civilization (read: Starbucks.)
Then there was the place with the self-professed super-charitable Christian 7thDayAdventist (sorry to reflect badly on anyone else but: he was) who, turns out, has extensive interaction with the local court system and sketchy green-card status.

The toilet didn't work. Well, it did if you kept a bucket by the sink and the top off the tank to fill it yourself like Little House on the Prairie. Even that wasn't the limit. Weirder things went on. Lets call them "cultural differences."

So, it took until this one - crazy, dirty, questionable, dishonest - for me to finally follow through.


But follow through I did and I write to you now from an outdoor cafe in Costa Rica, so near to the beach that I can hear surf rolling in over the reggae.

Wouldn't it be a great Getaway story to say: " I just grabbed my passport and fled to the airport with no thought in the world!" but that's not how it was and it's not how I operate anyway.

I research. I read.
Days online.
Hours at the library. At several libraries.
I inquire and weigh.
I'm one of those people you don't want to BE when you travel but you love to travel WITH, the geek with all the background information - who invaded first, who conquered whom, when, why and what's good to eat.
I know what shots you need and am qualified to actually GIVE them.

And I can cook. Like MacGuyver. Bok Choy and a book of matches and I'm good.

(okay, at least that's how it seems to me because I have nice low standards for eating: bok choy, book of matches, I'm good. Other people may not be as flexible on this point.)

Surprisingly, for such a planner, I'm not sure where I'll end up by the end of the week. Things tend to be in constant flux. But today, right now, I'm at the edge of the Caribbean in a little surf-tourist town called Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica not far from the border with Panama.
And it's Monday I think.....