Costa Rican Lessons Learned

Just taking the opportunity, while spending a bit more time at the Zen Cafe, to put down a few lessons learned in my time in Costa Rica so far…

1.  When you are taking a Coke into the car and then driving on roads made of dirt and potholes, it is advisable to open the Coke BEFORE you get in the car.

2.  Actually, just don’t take a Coke in the car.

3.  When you are dragging a giant log from the back of a motorbike with a chain, there’s really no point in wearing a helmet.

4.  The only thing worse than visiting a country with almost no workable septic system is visiting said country and having your period at the same time.

5.  When foreign currency is so devalued that it takes thousands of units just to buy a smoothie, why not switch over to monopoly money?

6.  Who needs a mini-van when you can hang extra children, and even dogs, right off the side of your motorbike.

7.  When children who are raised in cold climates visit Costa Rica, expect chafing and rashes in parts of their bodies you didn’t even know they had.  And expect them to talk about it constantly.

8.  If you sweat continually for three days straight, you actually smell so bad, you start to smell good.

9.  Young people who are disillusioned with their own countries move to Costa Rica to be free from all the hustle and bustle of modern-day life because they don’t require anything more than a board and some good surf.  And an Imac.  And a lot of their parents’ money.  And awesome yoga clothes.

10. If you unwittingly rub an entire bottle of aloe-scented handsoap on your sunburned kids, don’t expect the sunburn to be much better in the morning.

11. If your child blocks up the toilet in a third world country and you can’t find any plumbing implements, you will be amazed what you can achieve with a stick.

12.  Driving one mile on Costa Rican roads takes an average of six hours.

13.  Due to the above, don’t plan on getting sick while visiting Costa Rica because the drive to the nearest hospital would take roughly 17 days.

13.  If you flush a frog down the toilet – twice – he’ll just keep coming back for more.

14.  The human body never runs out of sweat.

15.  My big sister is funnier than me because I haven’t made Mom wet her pants once on this whole trip.

16.  A lesson I haven’t learned yet,  but am afraid I might soon – there are enough red ants in our rental house to carry out an overweight mother of three in her sleep.

17.  Costa Rica is a place for people who don’t mind being without phones.

18.  My Mother does not fall into the above category.

Costa Rican Adventure – Day 3

We rented boogie boards for the kids last night at the Tico surf shop in town – ‘tico’ referring to things that are Costa Rican – so I decided that the morning would be a good time to put those to use.  After slathering Coppertone Factory 30 Sport cream all over the kids, we headed out.  We had to walk to the beach, which was a 10 minute walk, but I’m sure I lost six pounds in sweat getting there.  Unfortunately, I think we also lost all of our sun cream with the sweat, because after spending the hour between 10am and 11am in the ocean, we returned home to find that the kids had arms and legs the color of a tomato.  We went to the store to get some aloe to put on them, but due to our lack of Spanish-speaking ability, ended up with a bottle of aloe handsoap, which we quite happily smeared all over them.  They will bubble up like a bubble bath the next time their bodies hit water…

The majority of the afternoon was spent preparing food for Zen Café’s Indian dinner, which occurs every Wednesday night.  Ryan explained how this would take up the majority of his day, but it seemed to be Mom doing most of the chopping and peeling while Ryan once again vanished for several hours on another 10-minute journey.  Eventually, though, he had prepared a beautiful spread and we hauled it down to the café, where I was hired as a stand-in waitress for the evening.  Having never waitressed before, I thought I did a pretty fine job – my biggest challenge being to regulate my body temperature with giant cups of cold water to avoid sweating all over the plates of food.

Indian night was a success, and we made it home eventually and put my three little tomatoes to bed.  I then had a shower to wash Costa Rica off of me, and was alarmed to find that I have developed something that I thought was unique to my brother – something I like to call Tico Feet.  Basically, this country turns the bottom of your feet black, and not even a long shower can fix it.  I wonder if they’ll ever go back to normal…

Another alarming and exhilarating development of the day was that I finally learned to drive Tico style.  Someone thought it a good idea to hand the keys of the 12-seater van over to me at some point in the day, and away I went.  Of course, we only travel a 1-mile road between the Zen and the rental house, but I can tell you there are more obstacles and dangers on that stretch than in the entire length of the M6.  I took a wrong turn only once, and had quite a terrifying realisation that I (a) didn’t know where I was, (b) didn’t know how to ask for directions, and (c) didn’t even know the name of the house we were staying in if I did need to ask for directions.  But alas, we found our way back and all was well.

The more time I spend here, the more it amazes me that people want to live here, and it is several things that make me say this.  Firstly, telephones are an absolute luxury, which basically means no one can ever get in touch with each other – how someone calls an ambulance in an emergency is beyond me.  Secondly, these roads are bananas – families of four travel around on single motorbikes inhaling the constant storm of dust that is inevitably kicked up around them, the rate of asthma and other respiratory conditions must be staggering.  Thirdly, because of the state of these roads, short distances become impossible to travel – we have been here for four days and Ryan’s wife is staying somewhere only about 15 miles away and the idea of going to see her seems to be out of the question.  Fourthly, there are two months of the year here when it rains almsot constantly, and I cannot even begin to imagine how much worse these roads become when they go from being dirt roads to being mud roads.  Fifthly, I cannot even allow myself to think about how far away the nearest hospital is or how difficult it would be to get to it if it were ever required.  And lastly, give me snow any day – at least in snow, you can put coats on your kids and chuck them out the door.  In a climate like this, the sun is as scary as some psychopath that constantly pursues you and tries to burn the skin right off your bones…

Costa Rican Adventure – Day 2

My second day in Costa Rica began at 6am, which in my opinion goes against the very nature of the word vacation.  The reason for this was that my mother couldn’t sleep on ‘such a hard bed’ though by Costa Rican standards I’d say the bed is a Rolls Royce.  I guess when you’re used to sleeping on a $5,000 memory foam mattress, nothing else compares.  The bed didn’t affect my ability to sleep at all, but Mom stood above me and made chuckling sounds until I was irritated enough to wake up and join her.  Ryan had already gone surfing, so I was the only one left who could help her plan the day on an hour by hour basis, though it ultimately only consisted of going to the Zen Café and then the beach.

As for the Zen, its menu continues to satisfy and I am doing my best to eat everything on the menu before I leave here.  The Frappy Chino is absolutely delicious and I have found that it really goes a long way in reducing my internal body temperature from ‘I think I might collapse’ to ‘Jesus, it’s hot here.’  My children and I stand out like a sore thumb due to the general lack of colour on our skin and, in my case, my overwhelming size as compared to these lovely Costa Rican women.  A massage therapist offered to wrap me in banana leaves today, and I’m thinking about taking her up on it in the hope that I come out of those leaves looking like these gorgeous local women…

As for this town of Guiones, Costa Rica, I have never seen a place quite like it.  Firstly, there are far more North American and British accents here than any other.  To say these people live a Nomadic lifestyle is a huge understatement – they seem to move from house to house every couple of months and if nothing can be found, they all just pile in together in the house of whoever is lucky enough to have a roof over their head at that time.  I can’t say for sure what any of them aim to accomplish in a day, but I can say for sure that the priority of every day is surfing.  From the outside, these people look like Bohemians, but I have yet to see one of them without the latest IMac Computer in hand.

People drive around on small motorcycles or quad bikes fitted with surfboard racks on the side.  I have seen many of them come within an inch of being annihilated by the SUV’s of the wealthier incomers, yet this provokes nothing more than a laugh and a shake of the head.  Dogs and cats are welcome in the restaurants and, as far as I can tell, there are not many food preparation laws here.  Despite this, the food is delicious, if you can cope with sweating and being eaten alive by bugs while you’re eating.

From what I can tell, the people who come here to live this surfer dude lifestyle either have wealthy and very generous parents, or else they work half the year in the States, then come down here to blow those earnings the other half of the year.  I always wonder what will happen in 25 years to this generation of self-proclaimed hippies – at some point, this lifestyle will grow tedious or their wealthy parents will die, and then I imagine there will just be a lot of aged, long-haired surfer dudes hanging loose without two dimes to rub together.

But that aside, these people are here now, and they like to eat wholesome food, so I spent all of Tuesday night being the Zen Café baker.  While Mom lay in an antihistamine-induced coma on the couch, and Ryan spent four hours away running a 10-minute errand, I prepared Vegan Chocolate-Oatmeal cookies, Vegan Brownies, and Vegan Morning Glory muffins.  This was a pretty big accomplishment considering the number of giant red ants trying to become part of the batter, and the fact that I nearly blew up the house trying to light the gas cooker.  In the end, though, the mission was accomplished and I was eventually allowed to sleep…

The Costa Rica Adventure

If you look out the window of an airplane on your final approach, it should give you some indication of what to expect when you step off the plane.  So when we were landing in Liberia, Costa Rica yesterday and I could see numerous fires burning throughout the landscape, it should have been a clue as to just how hot it was going to be here.  You step off the plane and suddenly the concept of spontaneous internal combustion becomes a very alarming possibility.

So we join the queue for immigration and I start shoving my rapidly melting chocolate-covered rice cakes down my kids’ throats while at the same time looking for the nearest water fountain as I have already lost about two pounds in sweat.  We clear immigration without issue and now it’s time to face Customs.  Normally, this is not an issue either, but we have carried down three huge boxes for my brother who lives here, which include not only hundreds of dollars worth of merchandise for his shop, but also four gallons of coconut oil and thirteen pounds of agave nectar.

Somehow, despite our boxes being searched, my mother’s careful planning means that the items on top look innocent enough, and we are cleared with nothing more than a stamp in our passport that says we have brought through our fair share of goods for the next six months.  So with the idea of Costa Rican prison firmly behind us (for the time being anyway), we proceed into the hot sun and are (amazingly) greeted by my brother, Ryan.

Next stop, the Avis rent-a-car, where we go to collect our 12-seater van that is required more for the giant boxes and suitcases than for the six of us.  My role on this trip is to keep the mood of everyone in the group positive, so I immediately point out that the musty smell in the van is probably just there to create a ‘beach atmosphere’ and that the lack of shoulder harnesses on the seat belts just eliminates the need for pesky car seats for the kids.  Besides, the air conditioner in the van works a treat, and at the time that seemed more important than almost anything else.

Now I imagine that these vans don’t give that comfortable a ride in the best of conditions, but let me try to explain what they drive like on Costa Rican ‘roads.’  But first let me clarify that to call these things roads is no more the truth than calling Ozzy Osbourne coherent – they are just twisting expanses of compressed dirt that kick up thousands of rocks and a great cloud of dust when you drive over them.  And to be a passenger in a 12-seater van on such roads is actually indescribable – let’s just say that if those exercise machines that vibrate your body into losing weight actually work, then after a week of riding around on these roads, I am going to be a size 4.

But alas, Ryan takes us safely to Nosara and we make a stop at his café, the Zen Café, where I quickly make up for any van-related weight loss by shovelling down a fruit bowl, a fresh smoothie, and the best tasting pita sandwich I’ve ever eaten.  Then on to the house we’re renting, which is so nice that even Kayleigh said, “We’re so lucky to have a house like this, Mom, it’s built from totally different stuff to all those little houses along the road.”  Understatement of the century – it even has good air conditioning and toilets that will accept small amounts of toilet paper in them.

The house even has a pool, which the kids are loving, despite the fact that it is not much bigger than a bathtub.  Personally, I hate the pool because it is an infinity pool, which basically means that one side of it has no fencing or decking – just a sheer 12-foot drop to the concrete below.  While my kids understand the dangers of this and know not to get out that side of the pool, it still makes my stomach clench in panic every time they jump into it, even from the far side.  But being the group optimist, I figure that the stress-induced diarrhoea I’ll have from the pool will combine with the van-related weight loss, and I might actually come home a size 2.

Don’t Hate the Late

When someone arrives for a meeting or a presentation five minutes late, most people grumble, roll their eyes, and then make rash judgments about them.  Either:  (a) this person is lazy and couldn’t get out of bed on time, (b) this person needs to take time management classes, or (c) this person was having sex somewhere.  But what if there’s more to it than that?

For the last 39 years, I have dedicated my life to finding an alternative explanation.  To the uneducated eye, it might have just looked like I was habitually late myself, but this just speaks of my dedication and resolve.  And now I am happy to say that my research has paid off.  Sure, the reasons listed above apply to some people, but for a select sector of late-comers, the answer is quite the opposite.  When they walk through the door five minutes late, you might be safe in saying that their time management skills are so fine-tuned, they have not only managed to sleep late and have sex, but they have also arrived at the meeting before anything important has transpired.  This group of people we will call deadline junkies.

I heard this term used by a friend once, and it sounded so much better than ‘inconsiderate shitheads who think their time is more valuable than everyone else’s.’  But it also makes sense.  If you tell a normal person that a meeting starts at 8:30a.m., they will aim to arrive by 8:15a.m., but will then proceed to waste around twenty-two minutes getting coffee, making small talk, and sucking up to the boss before the meeting actually gets going.  A deadline junkie will actually factor this time wastage into their initial calculations -  their brain will only treat 8:30 as a starting point, a suggestion.  They will then make a game out of determining just how long after that time they can arrive without actually missing anything pertinent.  In actual fact, what they do is hyper-manage their time to get the most out of it.

How can you tell the difference between someone who really can’t manage their time, and a true deadline junkie?  Here are a few simple guidelines.  A deadline junkie will never arrive for a movie in time for the previews, but similarly they will never enter a theatre after the opening credits have finished.  A deadline junkie will never have time for a meal in an airport before a flight, but they will never be so late as to miss their plane.  If you suspect that you might be living with a deadline junkie, here’s a test:  Announce to the person that they need to be somewhere that is ten minutes away in exactly twelve minutes.  If they check their email, fold the laundry, and clean the toilets before putting on their shoes to go, you’ve got a junkie on your hands.

So you see, not all late people are created equally, and maybe you shouldn’t judge them as harshly as you once did.  Whether it’s for an exercise class, a public lecture, or a lunch meeting, the next time you see someone walking into the room four minutes late, don’t automatically hate them.  First, think about all the things they’ve probably accomplished in the fifteen minutes you’ve spent being coerced into babysitting your boss’s kids for the weekend.  And then hate them…

Apologize To Your Parents While You Still Can

Raising kids gives you some real insight into your own parents.  For example, I now know that my parents weren’t trying to get rid of me when they sent me to Band Camp for a week.  And I know that they accepted me for who I was, despite giving me a nightshirt that said “I’m not fat, I’m just short for my weight” on the front.  I even know that they had my best interests at heart when they used suppositories on me.  But the most important thing that I’ve come to realize about my parents is that I owe them an apology.

In fact, we all owe our parents an apology.  Because we went through a stage of our childhood, some time between training wheels and driving lessons, when we became so unbearably annoying, they would have been within their rights to try to get a refund for us.  How do I know?  Because my oldest two have their feet firmly planted in that stage right now.

It sneaks up on you, too.  For most of their first decade, you can’t find a single fault in your children.  Every thing they do is an act of beauty and innocence, from drawing a mural on the bathroom wall with your favorite lipstick to shoving marbles up the dog’s nose.  And then suddenly, one morning, you wake up and they’ve developed these habits.  Like trying to out-fart each other, or speaking almost exclusively in a voice that sounds like Donald Duck being strangled by Freddie Kruger.

And the worst thing is – seeing this change in your children brings back the memories of your own annoying habits.  I had a flashback just the other day of a week-long trip to Hawaii during which my older sister and I spoke only in baby voices and only used phrases we’d heard on The Brady Bunch.  And now I can see that it took monumental resolve for my mother to resist the temptation to leave us in Oahu, floating in the ocean and declaring “Oh Wow, Groovy!” every five minutes.

So I really think we should all take this opportunity to apologize to our parents.  Because even if you can’t remember being really annoying, I’m sure they can.

Snow Laughing Matter

It’s snowing here.  Again.  And I don’t just mean snowing.  This is beyond snowing.  Snowing is what happens when delicate white flakes drop gracefully from the sky and land ever-so-gently on the ground.  This is more like millions of tiny battalions of ice pellets performing a blitzkrieg offensive in hurricane winds.  To say it’s only snowing here is like saying that Hannah Montana’s voice is only a little bit grating.

The worst part is that it has been doing this for the past ten hours.  Actually, it’s been doing this for the better part of the past two months.  For those of you who have never experienced it, it probably sounds beautiful and romantic, but I can assure you that’s not the case.  Snowflakes are like other people’s children – to be enjoyed, they must be seen only infrequently and even then, only in very short bursts.

This isn’t the kind of snow you turn your face into and try to catch on your tongue.  This is the kind that closes schools and traps you in your house… with your kids… for days.  When this kind of snow falls, you have to cover yourself in a protective layer of gore-tex from head to toe just to step out the back door.  Which you can’t do, because you can’t even open the back door, it’s snowed shut.

I know that some of you are thinking I’m having a cup is half empty moment, but with this kind of weather, there’s only one way to look at the cup, and even the local wildlife will back me on this.  This afternoon, just as the snow began to fall, I stood helplessly in my kitchen as a little green bird flew, at a speed that left no room for doubt it was on a kamikaze mission, smack into my conservatory door.  I rushed outside, bent over his tiny body and was debating whether to scoop him up, when he craned his little broken neck towards me, gave me a wink, and keeled over.

In the time it took me to go back into the house and find a suitable coffin for him, he had vanished under a layer of more freshly fallen snow.  Wherever he is now, I hope it’s not snowing there…