For sure, even in a small town in Costa Rica, everyone knows just about everyone and for sure everyone knows when there are new-comers in town? And , yes, Spanish is the language of the land. But spend a little time here and you’ll quickly learn the folly of painting with too broad a brush, whether you’re discussing living conditions in one country vs another or cultural differences between one population or another. Fortunately for us, we had spent a little time here before making the move, so we knew at least that much –if little else. So as we look back on our first month in Costa Rica, this would seem a good time to reconcile expectation with reality and share with our friend and family a bit of what we have discovered to be some of the most significant, and in some cases traumatic, differences between life here and back in the States.
And where better to start that at one of the very basic keystones of survival no matter where one lives – personal hygiene. Or more precisely, the anatomy of a suicide shower.
To understand the whys and wherefores of a Tico-style shower system, one must consider that in Costa Rica, electricity is expensive. Compare the starting rate of 22 cents per KWH here to the .8 cents we paid in Arizona. At that rate, heating a large tank of water and keeping it warm and ready for use would be cost-prohibitive for most Ticos. Consider also, that Costa Rican infrastructure does not include natural gas lines threading their way underground across the country. And the small propane tanks most people use for cooking would prove highly impractical for that purpose, as well. Consequently, most Tico homes do not have a hot water tank. And even a Tico or Tica, who has no qualms abou washing dishes or even his or her face in cold water, would certainly draw the line at a cold shower before work every morning. Hence, the instant water-heater shower head, gringos like to call the suicide shower.
The unit is comprised of a shower head that contains a small electric heater. It is wired to the household current – hopefully with a solid ground wire – and then connected to the cold water supply. If it is mounted low enough, one simply slides the switch to the left for hot water, to the right for warm water, and to the middle to turn the heater off completely. Most likely, that would position the showerhead too slow for a tall man, however, so often it is mounted high, the switch set to “high” and left there, activating only when the water flows through it. To fine-tune the water temperature, one need just increase or decrease the water volume – more results in cooler water, less in warmer water.
Lest you conclude that this is the crudest of showers, I will point out that the suicide shower also comes with a “hand shower” that is handy for rinsing feet and cleaning the shower walls and floor. It’s a simple flexible plastic tube that drops from the shower head and secured in place with a wall-mounted clip when not in use. To use it, one simply pulls on the little plastic nipple at the end to expose the spray orifice. To turn it off, push it in.
You may be asking if we miss the shower we left behind in Arizona, with it’s octo-rain-shower head and multi-function high-powered handshower, and the virtual certainty that only an act of God would result in death by electrocution while showering. Not for one minute!
Sure we enjoy the luxury afforded by State-side amentities. But that’s all they are… luxuries. And one of my personal objectives for this move is to find out for myself where the line is drawn between need and want. For us, that line falls a lot closer to a suicide shower than our octo-shower. The suicide shower is simple and effective. What more could one ask for? And there’s no standing around waiting for the hot water to get from the other end of the house to the bathroom!
Keep an eye on this spot for our next installment, in which we'll talk about transportation. Until then...
Pura Vida
