What are we doing in Costa Rica?

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.