Mondays have turned into mini-marathons here now that precedence has given me first dibs on our landlady's semi-automatic Tico-style washing machine. (From here on, I'll refer to my landlady as Ms M - and while she is indeed divine, we'll keep it simple.)
Being in the depths of the rainy season, the first of my weather-imposed two-load limit has to be finished and on the line by no later than 7:30 a.m. So early it is; coffee at five o'clock, breakfast and a second cup of coffee at six, followed by pre-soaking the whites while I make myself presentable.
Trading language lessons with Ms M, who speaks ingles only slightly better than I speak espanol, has also become an integral part of our Monday morning routine. We spend a good bit of our time making confused faces, but after a bit of floundering for a strategy that will help each of us increase our vocabularies and grammatical correctness in our non-native language, we've finally settled on a system in which we simply ask questions and converse - first in our own language, then with a word by word translation, followed by a grammatical tune up. In the process, we discuss things like what Tico cleaning products work best, the names and uses for local produce, idiomatic expressions in both languages, and, of course, the usual getting to know you conversations on which friendships are built. It's fun, but hard work, and in the end both gratifying and stressful.
Like most Ticos, Ms M is incredibly generous, occasionally surprising us with a bowl of one of her homemade soups (tipica comida, or typical food)-- the most recent one no doubt made from one of her hens. I didn't question the health or completeness of the hen house because, as a born and bred city girl, I'd truly prefer to remain unsure. But the soup was delicious, so we'll let it go at that.
This morning she presented us with a package of natilla, a fresh sour cream that is a staple condiment on the Costa Rican table. Like Mexican crema fresca, natilla is light and smooth, with less pungency than American sour cream. Just a small spoonful on top of almost any dish adds amazing complexity and flavor dimension.
So today I am returning her generosity with a taste from ethic America -- cabbage rolls, or as they would be called here, repollo relleno (filled cabbage). It's a dish I can only dream of mastering at the level of my late mother-in-law, but I think they will enjoy it.
As I wrap up this post, I am reminded that last week marked our first full month in Palmares and how comfortable we have become in such a short time. And since such an important milestone deserves more than a passing acknowledgment, look for a series of posts to follow over the course of the next week or so in which we will examine what we see as the biggest differences between life here and in the U.S. In doing so, we will grant that our observations are bound to be fraught with misconceptions born of inexperience and will likely change somewhat over the course of time. However, they will certainly reflect the viewpoint of gringos who are "fresh off the boat," so to speak.
Until then...
Pura Vida
