What are we doing in Costa Rica?

I taught Graham to use his fingers for spraying, something I’m sure I’ll come to regret. 

 

Famous last words: “Don’t point that thing at anyone else!”

We’re here for too long. We’re not here for long enough. 

Someone once told me that it takes two years after a move to make a place feel like home. That was certainly true for me when we moved to San Marcos; it took quite a while to settle in, make new friends, and feel like it was home. I’ve grown to love it there. We have amazing friends, I have no trouble filling the days with things to do with the kids, and I feel like a part of the community. But for much of the first year I felt isolated and grumpy. 

We’re now 2/3 of the way through our Costa Rican summer, and the current plan is to spend our last 10 days in the center of the country. That means we only have ~16 days left here. It’s nostalgia time! We can now take inventory of what we’ve experienced and learned. What will we miss? What won’t we?

On the one hand, I feel like three or four weeks would have given me an ample taste of like on the Caribbean coast. That part of me feels like we should have divided our time equally between several areas of the country. It wouldn’t have been a bad approach. Some of my complaints about the trip would have been irrelevant, or else I would have had the distraction of changes in scenery to ease them. 

On the other hand, I think the best kind of travel is that which allows you to get a taste of what it’s like to live in a place, not just visit it.  Would I have gotten that with just a two or three week visit? I think not. We wouldn’t have bothered to settle in, arrange tofu deliveries, or make friends. And if we weren’t about to leave, we would be experiencing so much more here. I know that on some levels we’ve only scratched the surface. Having our own home here, the kids attending school, finding work locally, etc, would all have been interesting and enlightening, I’m sure. We’ve been straddling two worlds rather than fully plunging into this one, and of course that affects the experience. 

Three months is a long time. Graham was talking again today about how much he misses our home in Texas. He wants to see his friends, sleep in his own bed, know what the days will bring. I miss the people, the pets (including our poor Frida dog, who just had her surgery!), the luxuries of middle class American life. But I’m glad we did this. Three months is short in the context of an entire lifetime, and I’m glad to have spent them doing something so unique.

• I have not really improved my Spanish skills while we’re here. I have, however, gotten very good at combining my random Spanish vocabulary words with expressive and inventive sign language. So I’m making myself understood — and making a fool of myself, I’m sure. Oh, and I’m ok with numbers now.
• We’ve been eating way too much junk food. We can’t stop sampling all the brands of Costa Rican cookies. Oh, and visiting the ice cream stand. Mmmm.
• I think I’m going to cry when we get back home and I see our ugly, barren yard. But then I’ll step inside and see our cozy home and feel all better.
• Right now I’m blogging when I should be doing study questions for my midwifery school module. Oh for shame! 

This last weekend we got a taste of what the “real” rainy season here is like. Apparently, it rains really hard, and for a long time. We got a little stir crazy. 

On Monday I took the boys to the botanical garden, which was hazardously muddy, but a lot of fun.

Even the tree here have to decorate themselves so as to out-beautify.

This story is a few weeks old, but I didn’t want to neglect it:

As we came down out of the mountains on our way to San José from La Fortuna, the first substantial city we entered was San Ramon, the place we were to meet up with the interstate highway. As soon as we were within the city limits, we were flagged down by the transit police. Right away I had a lump in my throat, since I was driving with an expired license. Maybe they won’t care. It’s not a Costa Rican license anyway. By the way, this was one of those things on my getting-ready list that slipped through the cracks.

Señor Transit Police was middle-aged with gray hair. His English was just as bad as my Spanish, which is to say bad. He double- and triple-checked: “¿No habla español?” Of course he noticed right away that my license was expired. He seemed incredulous that I would just grimace and nod, and not try to make an excuse or beg for mercy (maybe it was just that I didn’t know the Spanish for “mercy”). He indicated that he was going to write a ticket, and still I just nodded and said “Sí, claro.” Nonplussed, he said he would go get his friend, who could speak English. I was beginning to wonder if they were going to take my family of four “downtown.”

I don’t know if Señor Transit Police numero dos could speak English, but he certainly didn’t attempt it. What he did do, was to ask for twenty thousand colones (equivalent to forty U.S. dollars) and insist that Elizabeth drive instead. Elizabeth and I started digging through our pockets. Between the two of us, we had around four dollars. I said I needed an ATM (Necesito un cajero automatico). He conferred with his partner, who said “¡Que lastima!” Various internet searches suggest that this either means “What a pity!” or “I’m in pain!” Take your pick.

The first cop came back to the window. He said he was going to help us by letting us go. I wasn’t sure I heard him right. I think what I said to him translates as “I can let’s go?!”

As I pulled cautiously away from the curb and took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths, Eliabeth said, “Was that a shakedown?” The fog in my head began to clear. “Yeah, I think it was.” Welcome to San Ramon, gringos.

Overall I don’t find getting around in Puerto Viejo to be all that intimidating. I’m comfy on my bike, the roads are bumpy but flat, and it’s impossible to get lost unless someone blindfolds you and spins you around. Even then, I think you’d find your way eventually. No one stops at stop signs, but there are so few intersections that it hasn’t been an issue. And for the most part, cars don’t drive insanely fast or close to bikes. (There are exceptions to those last two, and I may or may not have muttered a word or two in Dean’s hearing that I ought not to have.) 

I do have one complaint. Lanes mean almost nothing here. People pass like it’s the national sport, and sometimes, just for kicks, they stay on the other side of the road for a loooong time. On a two-lane dirt road, that means anyone coming in the opposite direction is in for a little suspense as to whether the passer is going to get out of their way in a timely fashion. Usually they do, at least for other motorized vehicles. I have yet to witness any accidents or be plowed down by oncoming traffic (knocks furiously on wood), so I guess these drivers know what they’re doing. 

The disdain for lanes extends itself to bikers and pedestrians as well. Most cyclists stick to the right side of the road, but just enough do not to keep me on my toes. I confess, it can make me a little cranky when I have to dodge a biker riding down his/her left side of the road, or a group of three or four pedestrians taking up a full half of the road oblivious to the traffic behind them. FYI, the wrong-sided bikers tend to be Ticos, but the walkers are usually death-courting tourists. [People of North America, please stop doing this. It really isn't safe -- I guarantee that the not everyone is looking out for you. They are too busy looking for an opportunity to pass other motorists. Thank you.] 

Really this isn’t a big deal. However, I think it’s going to be thrilling to return to the States and have cars staying in their own lanes, stopping at stop signs, and being somewhat orderly. Ah, sweet order! Who knew I was so uptight? Actually, don’t answer that!

We’ve noticed something really random about the diapers we’ve bought here. 

 

See it? How about a closer look?

 

All the diapers have one tab stuck to the inside of the diaper, rather than folded over neatly as we would expect. It’s odd. Of course, it doesn’t bother Dean! But does anyone have any theories about this? It’s a mystery!

Graham spent a long time conversing with this moth the other day. It hung out on the inside of the mosquito net for hours, so I guess the admiration was mutual. 

Shake the toilet paper role before tearing off your squares. 

This message brought to you after a near-miss with a VERY intimidating ant. 

Can I be honest? I’ve spent the past week or so desperately looking forward to going home. Paradise has felt especially un-paradise-like lately.

Nothing has really changed or happened to make me feel this way. It’s just the cumulative effect of a lot of factors that have been in place the whole time. Specifically:

• The bugs. Oh my word, if I could change one thing about this summer, it would be the &$(@#!! bugs. Mosquitos, no see-ums, ants, and the occasional mystery biting bug have been competing for my attention and wrath every single day we’ve been here. We cannot escape them, as we are outside even when we’re in the house. Mosquito nets help, but I can’t realistically keep myself and both children sequestered under them all day. Insect repellents, both natural and nuclear, help somewhat, but nothing stops the ants, and their bites hurt the worst. Last night I tried to count my bites. I stopped at 40, because I couldn’t decide if I should only count the ones that still itch (40), or if I should include the older ones that aren’t actively torturing me anymore. I am taking a mega B vitamin supplement, using repellent religiously, trying a variety of natural remedies to deal with the itching, and trying not to scratch the bites into open sores. Graham is also pretty afflicted, and there is no keeping him from mad scratching. To keep him healthy, I sneakily apply salves and antibiotic creams to his bites after he falls asleep at night. Dean and Zach are faring better, though they are by no means free from itch. 
• Lack of privacy. Our open living room means that other guests, the owners, and their employees can all look right in as they pass on the nearby path. Also, there’s no sound privacy, so our children’s frequent wails are very audible to everyone around. I find myself thinking that everyone is a one-kilometer radius must think I’m a terrible mother. I have to be fully dressed to get up for some water at night. I worry that we’re infringing on other people’s vacations. No one is trying to spy or eavesdrop on us, but I can’t help being self-conscious about how exposed we are. The property as a whole feels very private from the rest of the world, but I am pretty ready for enclosed walls. Blessed, blessed doors and walls.
• Loneliness. I miss my friends and family so, so much. That means you. 
• Insane children. The kids are on top of each other all day long, and are much harder to entertain here. I miss the structure of school, having a plethora of toys, having play dates, and BABYSITTING. Oh boy do I miss having a little childcare in my life. 
• Unsafe children. It’s hard to babyproof a home that your one-year-old can literally climb out of. Dean is so adventurous. I miss being able to lock up a cabinet, outlet covers, etc. 
• Street harassment. I had read about catcalling on the streets here, but I hadn’t really experienced it, because apparently the perverts leave you alone when you have a husband or child with you. As I’ve started making some more solo trips to town, I’ve had some nasty encounters/comments that I was simply not prepared for. 
• The smallness of my world here. It’s a small town, not much to do (at least that is kid friendly), and getting to other places is difficult/expensive. I am unused to feeling stuck, and I think of my regular travel radius in Texas with awe and envy. 

We talked about relocating for the last month. It’s just not practical. We may be able to travel somewhere else for the last 10 days or so, and I am crossing my fingers for that. I’d like to see the Monteverde area. We are also going to rent a car for a couple more weekends and do some mini-trips around this coast. 

All that said, I am feeling better today. I don’t want to give the impression that this summer has been a disaster, and I feel whiney complaining about this amazing trip. The things I was bracing myself for — no car, few consumer goods/groceries available, heat, etc. — I have dealt with well. The things I’ve listed above I either didn’t anticipate or didn’t realize would affect me so much. I am trying to focus as much as possible on the things I do like. So as not to be make this post a total downer, allow me to list a few:

• The surplus of beauty. Costa Rica’s every plant, butterfly, vista, and birdsong are all trying to out-gorgeous each other. We are the lucky beneficiaries of that competition. I see dozens of beautiful things every day, from hummingbirds to ocean. I’ve stopped remarking on it because I sound so redundant. “Oh, look how gorgeous!” I mean, come on, tell us something we don’t know, Elizabeth! 
• Puerto Viejo is charming, it really is. This is a cool area of the world. I may not want to come here for three months again, but I am happy to have gotten to know it. 
• Perspective. My sufferings (and yes, that is tongue-in-cheek) here make me realize how amazingly luxurious our life in Texas is. More than that, getting to know how people live here makes me realize how lucky Americans are. The minimum wage in Costa Rica is $2/hour, and while housing is pretty cheap, food and various goods are really not. People here not only have less in the way of material goods, but also less education (schools in the area being, according to everyone we’ve talked to, pretty bad and sometimes inaccessible) and fewer job opportunities beyond the service sector. Being in a different world is enlightening, even if it’s hard.

I don’t regret that we’re here. But it’s not paradise. It’s hard, fun, interesting, different, expanding, exhausting, educational… And itchy.