Of Snakes, Spiders, And Christmas From Afar

We won't have snow this Christmas, but we will have morning glories! With the coming of summer, these gorgeous wild vines and flowers of just about every color are in full bloom. I'll take that over snow any year.


As I think about celebrating Christmas in a new country this year, I'm also thinking about how tough our immigrating ancestors had it, especially during the holidays. To be sure, we’ve had our fair share of speed bumps (and pot holes) getting settled here, but thanks to technology, we have been spared the heart-wrenching need to break virtually all ties with our past to do it.

Lucky for us, it’s a different world now.

The Internet makes managing the practical side of life - managing our finances and renting out our home 2,000 miles away - a piece of cake.

It's an important tool for finding answers that make the adjustment more manageable. We use it to help us improve our Spanish skills (a word I use loosely), to learn local recipes and answer questions about Costa Rican culture and traditions. More than ever, Google has become one of my closest friends.

On a personal level, the Internet provides a window we can look through to ‘see’ that our kids, grandkids, and friends are okay and busy with their lives. We see photos of birthday parties, school dances, slumber parties (called sleepovers, these days), Christmas-tree shopping, first snows, and trees down -- and sometimes even what’s for dinner. We get news about new jobs, promotions, golf scores, missing kitties and trips to the dog park.

Skype let us talk face-to-face.

By contrast, when my great-great grandfather came to America from Germany in about 1850, I’m sure he was lucky to get a letter from ‘home’ once or twice a year – if ever. What courage he and all the others like him had!

These are the thoughts that run through my mind just about every morning, when I reach for my computer over the my first cup of coffee and take a peek into life ‘back home’ and reassure my heart that all is well with the people I love.

Likewise, technology lets me share our experiences with all of you. Through Facebook, email, and this blog we can report on close encounters of the creepy-crawly type and … Oh yes! That’s what I’m supposed to be talking about. Creepy crawlies.

Here's a photo of the coral snake that got ticked off when a little grass-cutting in the front yard disturbed him. After we snapped a few pictures of him, Vic carefully transported him (on the tines of a leaf rake) to the forest while I used Google to confirm his identity – and learn that coral snakes are indeed quite poisonous, but rarely bite humans. Their mouths are too small and, theoretically, the smart ones realize that they need to save their venom for prey they can actually eat. The question is, of course, is it possible to tell if you’ve encountered a smart one if you take a really close look?



That was on a Saturday. The next day, Vic walked into a large spider web. Although he didn’t feel anything bite him, within minutes his lips began to swell. Then his cheeks. Not knowing how bad it might get, we prepared to leave for the emergency room in San Ramon, but decided to call a friend first to find out if there was an alternative to spending the day in the ER waiting room. Together we decided that the ER was probably over-kill, as there are no truly deadly spiders in Costa Rica, and a trip to the pharmacy (farmacía) doctor made a lot more sense.

Yes, pharmacy doctor. Just one more difference between the U.S. and Costa Rica. Most medications are available here without a prescription; antibiotics, narcotics and a few other meds that require medical supervision, being the exceptions. To help consumers make smart medical decision, all farmacías are required to have a doctor on duty during business hours. And most farmacías are open on Sunday.

So off to the doctor we went. A half hour later we paid our bill: $8 for a topical antihistamine. No charge for the doctor, whose services are considered overhead for the farmacía.

Within 24 hours, he was back to normal with a new story to tell. Have I mentioned lately just how much we love our new home - spiders, snakes, morning glories, and all?

Pura Vida

Music, Old and New

It only took one fiesta for Latin music to get its grip on me. Music is everywhere here. On the buses. On the street. At fiestas - the ones you attend, as well as the ones you listen to through your open windows at night.

The rhythm of Latin music is hard to resist and the lyrics are hauntingly beautiful, even without understanding a word of them. So I've known from early on in this adventure that I would be making it part of my life - if only I knew where to start.

I considered asking friends for suggestions, but lacked even the remotest idea about how to guide their responses to something I actually wanted to listen to. So I pondered and procrastinated, which is my usual Modus Operandi. Finally, last week I decided the time had come. Okay, maybe what I really decided was that the time had come because I finally had a strategy in mind. You Tube. (Duh. Why didn’t I think of that months ago?)

Long story short, a search on "Latin Pop Music" yielded a wealth of choices. With You Tube in one window and Google in another, I jumped in feet first and emerged with my new music stuck in my head 24/7. Whoever would have thought?

Enrique Iglesias, Marc Anthony, Maná, Christian Castro, Gloria Estafan, Luis Miguel. A few of the names rang a bell. Like Gloria Estafan and Enrique Iglesias and Marc Anthony...all huge names in the U.S. But I'd never actually listend to the music they recorded in their native language. In a word, it's amazing! But as good as they are, they pale in comparison to Juanes, a name that was completely new to me and an exciting discovery.

As far back as I can remember, my favorite artists have always offered good music with a message. Chad Mitchell Trio, with their satirical social commentary. “MTA”

Likewise, the Kingston Trio. “A Dying Business”

John Denver’s love songs need no comment, but if you haven’t already done so, take a listen to “It’s About Time”

Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. “Teach Your Children Well” and who could forget "Ohio"?

And now comes Juanes, a Columbian former rocker, now pop star, who grew up Medellin, surrounded by and forever changed by the violence he witnessed during the drug wars and civil wars that rocked the nation. Many of his pieces speak to tolerance and understanding as a path to peace. Odio Por Amor ("Hate for Love" -- also known as "It's Time For Change") His love songs are some of the most magical in memory. “Para Ti Amor” (For Your Love)

In the end, music choice is a personal matter and, like the books we read, a reflection of who we are and who we are becoming. As always, my goal is to share with you a bit of insight into how our lives change and, as I’m learning, remain so very much the same, in our new home. What better way to glimpse those changes than through "Nada Valgo Sin Tu Amor" (I'm Nothing Without Your Love) - which is the absolute truth.

Pura Vida

The Dog Ate My Pin Cushion and Other Sewing Adventures

I’ve been sewing since I was twelve. Well, maybe not consistently. I’d sew a while then do something else for a while and then eventually get back to sewing again. And so it went, if you'll forgive the pun.

When we prepared for our move to Costa Rica I knew that sooner or later I was going to want to take fabric in hand once again… and might even, actually, need to. That being the case, my sewing machine was carefully placed next to the dog crate (which we considered equally essential since we planned on adopting a dog once we were settled) to await the arrival of our shipping container.

Wouldn’t you know that moving day came and went and both items got left behind. Why is anyone’s guess and really doesn’t matter much, as the result is the same. New puppy; no crate (but luckily a shower with a sliding door). And no sewing machine. Period.

It wasn’t long before I started dreaming up projects I would undertake if only that were not the case. Throw pillow covers. Tablecloth. Table runners. Apron. New jammie bottoms exactly like my favorite ones… Not to mention mending.

When we finally came to terms with the fact that we just might have to pay Costa Rica prices ($$$$$$) for one, we started looking around and discovered that Price Smart (the Central America version of Costco) sells a mid-range electronic machine, made by Singer, for less than I could buy the same machine for on Amazon -- before shipping and duty. What a deal!

So my new machine and I have been getting acquainted for a couple of weeks now, as I prepare to tackle my long list of projects. Learning to use the machine’s features, though, appears to be the smallest part of my learning curve.

Certainly, in addition to a sewing device (machine or simple needle and thread), every sewing project requires fabric, thread and various other sewing notions, and in many cases a pattern. No problem… if you live anywhere close to a U.S.-style fabric store like Joann or Hancock. Here it’s a little more complicated.

Finding a fabric store (Tienda Telas) is no problem at all. Even the smallest town appears to have at least one and probably several. Larger towns and big cities seem to have one on almost every block. And fabric is sold not only in fabric stores. You can find upholstery fabric and vinyl in hardware stores, too.

Some fabric stores also sell thread, needles, and bobbins – but not all. So you might just find yourself needing to find a pasamanería – or notions store, especially if you also need ribbon or other trim.

Patterns? Don’t bother looking. You’ll be needing to learn to make your own (or order them online and have them shipped in). But hey! We knew this would be an adventure!!! So, I’m geared up and ready to get started. My friend, Mayra, promises that learning to make my own patterns is a piece of cake. We'll see about that.

But first I need to clean up the mess Yoda made when he ate my (thankfully, empty) pin cushion.

Pura Vida

April (and May, June, July, August, Sept, Oct...) Showers Bring...

Apparently living life in the slow lane has done little to help me overcome my natural inclination to procrastinate. Hence, I’m ever so tardy reporting in.

So without further delay...

A flock of Lora parrots has taken to visiting us regularly. Sometimes they come in ones and twos. Sometimes the whole troop shows ups. On this particular day, they seemed to have agreed ahead of time to stick around long enough for Vic to retrieve his camera. If only the sun had been out to catch the color!!

We also have a couple of toucans that swoop in every now and then and leave just as quickly. We keep hoping they will take a page from the Loras' book one of these days so that we can get a photo of them, as well.

As expected, our life here continues to offer us unending opportunities to expand our horizons. This winter (remember that our seasons are switched now that we are living here in the tropics), we learned that cat litter makes an excellent and economical desiccant.

Moisture absorption was the least of our problems when we lived in the desert Southwest. But in Costa Rica it’s front and center of our daily consciousness – especially now that we are deep in the throws of the rainiest month of the year.

Well, thanks to a helpful tip from another expat about the cat litter, we're finally getting the upper hand on a recurrent mold problem that's been bugging us since mid-July. All it took was ripping out the pressed fiber backing on our free-standing closets and cabinet dividers, packing every shoe, belt, hat, leather item, and piece of clothing we don’t wear each week in plastic, filling every knee-high stocking (and a few sliced up pairs of pantyhose) I brought with me with cat litter and dropping one in every drawer, plastic bin, file box, plastic bag and cupboard...and last, but far from least, installing little Dampp Chaser heating rods in the bottoms of our chest of drawers and kitchen cabinets.

The battle has lasted close to eight weeks. Every time we think we have the problem licked we find another nasty patch of mold and start over from scratch. I won't claim success just yet, but a little more than a week since we wrapped up our latest skirmish, so far so good. That said, I'm sure we'll be keeping our fingers crossed as we do a daily mold inspection for the foreseeable future.

Come December, I’m thinking we’ll be hauling everything we own out into the sun for a dose of UV and fresh air before packing it all in dry containers again. Who knows? I just might use the occasion to rid ourselves of one more layer of non-essentials.

Even without the mold, I think we’d be anticipating the end of the rainy season. I mentioned to Vic the other day that it feels like February in Ohio. You know spring is right around the corner, but the snow storms just keep coming.

Mostly, though, it’s the dampness more than the rain that gets old after a while. From the time we moved into this house in April until our new bed arrived in early July, we couldn’t wait to kiss the trundle daybed farewell and sleep downstairs. Yet, here we are sleeping in the upstairs guest room again because we found that the air up there can can be a full 5% to 10% lower than the first floor.

It’s a lovely room with windows on three walls and on the fourth, an eight-foot patio door that opens onto a balcony. Great views! Drier air! What’s not to love about it? Other than the twin beds and the hike downstairs for the midnight potty run, that is.

In closing, I do have some sad news to report. This past week, our sweet Ozzie passed away suddenly. He went out to go potty at 4:30 in the morning and we found his little body in the carport about an hour later. We’ll never know for sure what happened to him, but we believe he more than likely took a chomp out of a poisonous toad. We’ll sure miss the little guy, but take comfort knowing that he lived his last months as a beloved little prince.






Ozzie (aka Baby, Little One, Rotor)
??? - 10/04/2011

So Much Fun... So Little Time to Write

Just sticking our heads up long enough to let you all know that we did not drop off the face of the earth, or even get lost in the jungle. No. But we have been busy and preoccupied with a visit from one our grandsons – a fun six weeks that ended last weekend and gave us lots of opportunities to explore.
For now, a sampling of pics from our adventures. I’ll post again when we get our land legs back.


Lapas Rojas at Zoo Ave


Staring into the crater of Volcan Poas


Zipping through a cloud forest canopy


Flying on the longest zip line in Costa Rica


A sloth at Manuel Antonio National Park


Swimming in the Pacific at Manuel Antonio National Park


A mighty big crocodile in the Rio Tercoles

Pura Vida

A Dog's Tale

Our life here has gone to the dogs. It’s true. Literally.



The downhill slide started when we adopted our little Chiquita and seems to have hit bottom with, not one, but two strays who found their way to our doorstep. Wiser folks would have scurried them on their way, but (sigh) not us. Nooooo. But then, it only one stray… at first.

Yoda started hanging around a few weeks ago. At first we thought he belonged to one of the workers that starting showing up at six o’clock every morning – with a medium-sized brown terrier mix following in his footsteps. But then we found the dog sleeping his nights away curled up in an inside corner of a little inset on the north side of the house – in the one square foot space that stays dry even when the rain pours down in buckets. Smart dog.

After a few days we determined that he did not belong to said worker and that he apparently had no home. The only humane thing to do, we reasoned, was to put out a little food for him. It took a good 7 to 10 days, but eventually he decided we were not going to hurt him and he started sleeping on the front porch.



One day, I sat down on a chair on the front porch and called him over. He approached slowly, but let me pet him. Still, mostly, he kept his distance, waiting in the driveway at dinner time, ate his food, then curled up in his little, dry corner.

Even before we and he decided he was here for keeps, we felt he needed a name. One look at his big, funky ears and we knew it had to be Yoda, the elfish guru from Star Wars.



Then about a week ago, we awoke to find a scared little puppy huddling on our patio – an interesting fete, given that this little eight-pound creature would have had to hurdle a three-foot high Plexiglas barrier to get there. In other words, someone decided he would find a home with the nice gringos.
And, it appears he has.


Ozzie seemed a fitting name, given that he is likely an Australian Shepherd/Terrier mix. (We’ve concluded that most mixed-breed dogs in Costa Rica have some Terrier in them.) Unlike Yoda, Ozzie arrived with a serious flea and tic infestation and looked as if he had been on the street – or terribly neglected – for a long time. We can only imagine how hard that must have been for this little guy, given that he appears to also be deaf.

(If you’re looking for an investment, I strongly suggest buying stock in the company that makes our flea shampoo. And maybe Frontline, too. Due to the climate and the vegetation, I’m certain we will be purchasing them regularly! But I digress… )

As it turns out, while we were fussing over the new “baby,” Yoda was watching the activity from a safe distance on the driveway. That is, until he decided he was ready to be part of the action! So, the very day that Ozzie made his debut on our patio, Yoda climbed the steps to the patio and officially joined the family, too.

Our family of three dogs is still jostling about, trying to figure out who is top dog, but they get along amazingly well. Fortunately, Chiquita does not have a jealous or confrontational bone in her body. She’s just happy to have someone to play with.



Yoda looks to be about three or four years old, very intelligent, and has had some training – or perhaps bad experiences that make him eager to obey. He watches us for clues to identify good and bad behavior, responding instantly accordingly. He’s loving – even a bit needy – and wants to win our approval every step of the way. He’s our Velcro dog and he and Vic bonded instantly.



In the beginning, he wasn’t quite sure that the pack had a place for more than one male dog, but he has since decided that if we like Ozzie so much he must be okay. Besides, the little guy, while not the sharpest knife in the drawer, is smart enough to surrender dominance to the big boy.

Yep, Ozzie is a strange little creature. He’s a bit funny looking in that his some of his body parts don’t seem to match, but then looks aren’t everything. He’s quiet, well behaved, loving, and believes he was born to be a lap dog – and he’s decided that Chiquita is his best friend and wrestling companion.



Any other time, this would be a perfect scenario. But our two found puppies have only furthered our conviction that Costa Rica does not need more dogs, no matter how cute, cuddly or smart they might be. The plain truth is that for every loved and doted upon dog in Costa Rica there are countless others who live unhappy lives, unwanted, abused, or neglected. We cannot, in any good conscience, add to the problem.

So this week, Chiquita spent a morning with the vet. She came home about an hour after her surgery, slept off the anesthetic and ran a fever through the night, before getting the upper hand on the situation. Today she’s prancing around, chomping at the bit to start rough housing with her new friends. Trouble is, those stitches just are not ready for that yet.



Between a spray bottle of water to break up the periodic wrestling matches and a homemade e-collar to keep her from licking her stitches, we just might make it. Then, of course, we’ll need to think about doing something about the mating instincts of our two little boy dogs.

Like I said, our lives have gone to the dogs!
Pura Vida

Que Día! Ants, Ants, And More -- ARMY Ants

What a day, or as they say here, "Que Día!"

It started as most Saturdays do, with a trip to the feria, for our week's supply of fruits and veggies. On the way back to the bus, we also picked up this beautiful bouquet of flowers.
Fresh flowers are abundant and very affordable here ($4 for the two bundles that made up this arrangement), so it's a treat we give ourselves whenever we still have one free hand when our shopping is finished. The flower arranging today is a bit sub-par, though, thanks to a close call with a small army of Army Ants.

I was cutting stems and keeping an eye on my homemade yogurt, trying to get the temperature stabilized, when Vic announced their arrival, putting anything not ant-related on hold.

From everything I've read, if army ants target your house, it's best to just grab the pets, a cool drink, and some lawn chairs, and make yourself comfy under a shade tree while you watch the show - which consists of them scouring every square inch of the house, flushing out (and eating)every single ant, cricket, cockroach, spider, scorpion or other creepy crawly in their path.

Not a bad deal if you aren't totally grossed out at the thought of tens of thousands of ants invading your homestead. And even though we've read that, when finished, they leave en mass as quickly as they arrived, we're not ready to board that boat - at least not yet.

The collective term of army ants actually refers to more than 200 species of ants, all of which are known for their aggressive and cooperative foraging behavior. At a mere two-inch wide column, ours was a small army compared to some that I've read about. I can only imagine how it would feel to see a wall of ants 10 to 50 feet wide bearing down on your home. But our plans for the day did not include feeding a small platoon - even if it meant getting rid of our scorpions. It was time to bring out the weapons of mass destruction.

In the time it took Vic to grab a bottle of super-strength insecticide, the ants had the house almost surrounded. One squadron marched across the front of the carport and bodega and another approached from the rear. A third was was crossing the carport and starting up the steps to the house level. He stopped them at the first landing.

The ants he hit directly died on the spot. The others got the message and changed their route. Once Vic had broken their momentum, he followed up by spraying a border all the way around the house, which we hope will hold the fort against a second assault.

Just to be safe, while Vic went on the offensive outside, I readied the inside of the house for evacuation by stowing the rest of the feria produce in the fridge, rounding up the bits and pieces of dog's rawhide chewies, and filling our water bottles so that we would have something to sip on during our exile. Luckily, we didn't need any of it - this time.

Yes, we can be certain that they will return. Perhaps in a few months or a year, perhaps sooner. When they come, it could be the same small-platoon species or it could be a massive invasion. And while this was certainly an exciting and potentially inconvenient event, it's not something to be particularly worried about because these guys are not after us. If our defensive measures fail us next time, at least our home will be bug-free for a few hours.

For now, it's been a good three hours and the ants are still hard at work in the yard, thankfully at a respectful distance. My yogurt is happily culturing away at 110-115 degrees. When I stop heaving sighs of relief, I just might take another stab at arranging my lovely flowers.

Pura Vida

Back to Basics - Cooking in Costa Rica

I was emailing back and forth with one of my sisters today and our conversation turned to how our diets have, or have not, changed since moving to Costa Rica. The discussion reminded me that my post about cooking here is overdue.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how lucky I was to grow up during an era when people hung their wash on the line behind the house, covered leftovers in the fridge with a bowl for a makeshift lid, and actually baked cakes from scratch. I say lucky, because in our new life in Costa Rica we often find ourselves without some of the little (and sometimes large) conveniences that we used to think we couldn’t do without.

Actually, I haven’t baked a cake here yet. But I have resurrected my pie-baking skills and whipped together a variety of them: pumpkin pies (made with winter squash, actually), pecan, lemon meringue, and lemon chiffon. Spaghetti sauce doesn't come from a jar. Neither does gravy. And since we haven’t found bread here, I make our own.

I’ve always loved baking bread. There’s something about working with dough… I’m not sure what it is, but I assume the pleasure response it triggers has the same roots (no pun intended) as the satisfaction a gardener/farmer gets from working the soil by hand. And nothing that comes from a bakery here or in the States can compare with a loaf fresh out of your own oven.

Cooking – even from scratch – can be interesting without the well-stocked pantry I enjoyed in the States. Some of that dearth will be remedied with time. Some will remain a void in my alimentary tool chest, as the plain truth is that many ingredients can’t be bought here at any price, and others command a price that I just can’t justify. Turkey is a good example. I read a report last week that the Automercardo in Alajuela had two frozen turkeys on hand. They appeared to weigh in at about 10 to 12 pounds and cost $22 & $24, respectively. Thanks, but I’ll pass.

I get around the problem by creating all new recipes for my old favorites, as I did with the squash pie that could have almost passed as pumpkin. I made a pecan pie for company, but guess what? There is no corn syrup to be had anywhere withina 10 mile radius - and perhaps further. So I hit the Internet and discovered, to my surprise, that the early French settlers who brought the recipe to the South didn’t have corn syrup either! Who would have thought?!? It turns out that they actually used brown sugar instead, and so did I. My pie tasted fabulous!

Then there is the question of what cookware to use. For years I’ve been threatening to toss my Teflon skillets and dig out my old collection of cast iron and now I have finally made good on it.

I made the decision partly for health reasons. The jury is still out on the safety of Teflon and the science is contradictory, but given that I have an alternative on hand, I choose to err on the side of caution. My other motivation is purely economical. In my kitchen, Teflon pans generally have a life of about two years. And they aren’t cheap. But I am! I don’t like U.S. prices for cookware and in Costa Rica the price can be double what I would pay back home.

Fortunately, my 1950s upbringing makes me well-familiar with cast iron cookware, even though I haven’t used mine in years. Hah! I knew I bought them for a reason! Actually, I’ve owned one of my skillets for close to forty years – and it was old when I bought it at a yard sale in Ohio. The rest are newer – maybe a dozen years old – and have seen only enough use to get them reasonably well seasoned. What better time or place to haul them out and put them back into service?!



Cast iron is virtually indestructible, so theoretically I shouldn’t need to buy another skillet – ever! They are naturally non-stick, if properly seasoned and well-cared for. They heat evenly, without the hotspots you get in all but the most heavy, expensive stainless skillets. And they hold the heat better than aluminum or stainless, keeping food warm longer if my timing happens to be off. What’s not to like about all of that? Well, the weight, maybe. But I look at handling them as part of my weight/resistance training that will keep my arms – and bones – strong.

To be sure, I still own and use other cookware. I love the saucepans and Dutch oven of my fifteen year old set of Circulon. I still own and use my big Revere Ware soup pot. And, then of course, there is my stainless steel pressure cooker – an essential tool in a country where beans and grass-fed beef are eaten many times each week.

If it all sounds like more work than it’s worth, maybe it depends on where one sits. For diehard do-it-yourselfers like us, the satisfaction is worth the extra time required to create food from scratch. What I really could use, though, is a few more ingredients. Like green chiles (canned or fresh) and a little tin of ground sage. Who knows, maybe I’ll find them next to that $22 turkey!

Pura Vida

Going Under the Knife

Yesterday we had a new opportunity to experience another segment of Costa Rica’s national healthcare system, when my husband underwent ambulatory surgery at the hospital in San Ramon. All went well and he’s doing just fine – which is important for more than the obvious reasons.

As I have mentioned before, medical care is one of the big reasons we made the decision to move to Costa Rica. I’m in that *gotcha* age group for healthcare insurance in the U.S. – too old and laden with a litany of small pre-existing conditions to obtain full coverage and not quite old enough to qualify for Medicare. Moving here provided us the opportunity to buy into the country’s national healthcare system, which is referred to as Caja, for a nominal monthly fee of $47 (for both of us!) which entitles us to see family practice doctors, obtain tests and formulary prescriptions, and use the emergency room at our local clinic. More complicated treatments, like consultations with some specialists, ambulatory surgery, and in-patient medical treatment takes place at a regional hospital. In our case, it will typically be the hospital in San Ramon, which is about twenty minutes from our house. Non-formulary prescriptions have to be purchased at non-Caja pharmacies and we have the option of using private clinics and paying for services out of pocket.

So over coffee this morning we did a little Monday morning quarterbacking to determine just what we thought about the process. (A) Who did what right (B). Or wrong. And (C) mostly, whether we were beginning to question our decision.

The short answer is (A) Lots (B) Not much and (C) No. If you’re interested in the details, read on.

The system seems a bit more cumbersome than what we’re used to in the U.S. Appointments have to be made in person as opposed to over the phone. Few, if any, instructions are posted or otherwise available, so it’s a matter of blindly feeling your way along, asking questions (mostly in Spanish), and basically figuring it out as you go along. In three separate instances, we stood or sat with a group of patients (‘the herd,’ as I called it) until someone appeared and instructed us to follow.

There is virtually no hand-holding in the process. You get the paperwork. You take it to the proper window for stamps, dates, etc. You show up. You get treated.

The one exception to that rule is that one of the papers we received when the surgery was scheduled (6 months ago, by the way) instructed us to show up two days before the surgery for what we could only surmise was a pre-surgery consultation. It turned out to be a classroom lecture on how to prepare for the surgery (e.g. , no food or water after 10 p.m. the night before, how to put on the hospital gown, etc.) The instructor asked each patient to bring along a box of juice and some cookies or crackers for after the surgery so they could judge when you are ready to be discharged – as measured by whether or not your stomach will tolerate food and drink. (You’re probably thinking that in the U.S. THEY provide that. And you’re right, of course, but then how much does it cost you?!?)

The day of the surgery, we reported at 6 a.m., as instructed, took our place amongst the herd and waited to be escorted to the ambulatory surgery center. There, we took a seat and waited. One by one, people were called, disappeared behind an unmarked door, and re-emerged several hours later. My husband was called at about 9 a.m. At 12:45 p.m., I was called to the door, handed a prescription for an antibiotic and an anti-inflammatory, which I took to a special window of the pharmacy where it was filled while I waited. When I returned with the prescription ten minutes later, my husband was sent on his way with post-op instructions and referrals to see the appropriate doctors for follow-up.

To be perfectly honest, it was a little unnerving at times simply because of the uncertainty of each and every step. But what really counts is the care he received, which he tells me was top-notch.

He was given the choice of a local or general anesthetic. For an abdominal procedure, I would have chosen the general, but Mr. Macho chose the local. Consequently, he was awake and able to observe the medical staff in action. Some of them spoke English, so they had good communication throughout. They were attentive and seemed competent at what they were doing. But as the old saying goes, the proof is in the pudding. Based on the outcome, I have to give the process a solid A-, with the minus earned only for not providing one more handout that would have told us when and where to go for appointments and how the process works.

But then again, the next time we will be pros and know exactly what to expect!

I can’t end my little report without mentioning the help we received along the way. I have concluded that the population of Costa Rica is peppered with little angels. They are the folks who show up at just the right moment and go way beyond what one would expect to help us out. There was the security guard at the hospital who we asked for instructions on where to go to make our appointments. Instead of pointing, he took our referral slips and walked us from office to office, spoke to the clerks on duty, and sent us on our way with all of the appropriate paperwork in hand. Then there was the Intel employee, who accompanied her father for his surgery, and who jumped in to serve as translator when my meager Spanish failed me. And then there was the father, whose son was undergoing surgery, who walked me to the pharmacy and waited with me while I had my husband’s prescriptions filled. These kinds of things happen all the time here, but I never stop being amazed by and deeply grateful for them.

Pura Vida

The Bug of the Day Club

I'm wondering how a lone (I hope!!) leaf cutter ant found his way into the house during today's rainstorm.

But he wasn't alone. I found this beautiful grasshopper-type guy in a folded tablecloth on the patio.
It turns out he had quite a grip and it took a flick of the dustpan to convince him to move on.

I didn't give ol' leaf cutter the option. I'm becoming quite merciless. The rules are quite simple. If they bite, they die. If they're not biters, they are still food for creepy crawlies that do bite, so they have to move on or die.

I found out too late that my husband gave this scorpion
a second chance by releasing him in a grassy area about a hundred feet from the house. If he shows up again, he will meet with a harsher fate.

Pura Vida

Standing Room Only

Esquipulas Bus

My plan was to talk about cooking in the next blog post, but today I've got mass transit on my mind. Food will just have to wait for another day.

We had to take an early bus into San Ramon this morning for a routine medical test. By early, I mean we left the house at 6:25 a.m. to catch the 6:30 bus, which is the second bus of the day on this route.

We're used to riding in standing-room-only buses. It's the norm. Even though there seems to be an endless supply of cars, trucks, and SUVs on Costa Rica roads, in reality car ownership is a luxury reserved for a small percentage of the population. Most take the bus or a taxi - just like we do. Consequently, it is a rare occasion for a bus to complete its route without at least a few people making the ride on their feet.

But, holy cow, was this bus full! I've estimated that there are about 40 seats on the bus that services our area. And this morning, by the time we were half-way to town (and a quarter of a mile before the elementary school where a dozen children and a few parents off-loaded) there were so many people standing in the aisle that the driver could barely close the front door!

Contrast this with a bus we noticed in Phoenix when we were back there this winter. It was rush hour. We were driving home from running errands and looked over to see that we were passing a Phoenix Metro bus. There was one lone passenger riding about two-third of the way toward the back of the bus.

Okay... Maybe there had been a dozen more people on that same bus a few minutes earlier. We'll never know. But we were not nearing the end of some obscure route. This was on a major surface street, like Bell Road, although the exact location escapes me at present. And while I'm not much of a gambler, I'd bet at least a few colones that it was ever close to full capacity.

Too bad.

Pura Vida

Floors Need Mopped Even in Paradise

Unidentified Flowers


When we first announced our plans to move to Costa Rica, a dear friend asked us what we were going to do there. How were we going to spend our time?

It was an obvious and important question, and while we didn’t have a crystal clear understanding about how our daily routine would unfold, we did have some general sense that it would likely not be that much different than it was in Arizona. We spend a lot of time on our computers – for business, fun and communication with our large family. We have hobbies. The house would still need to be cleaned. We knew for sure that the laundry and shopping would take a bigger piece of our time than we were accustomed to, simply because we lacked both an automatic dryer and a car.

While we weren’t too far off on the cleaning part, we did run into a few surprises - most particularly, the amount of time we would spend mopping floors. In fact, mopping our nearly 2,000 square feet of them (1,300 sf of tile in the house and another 600 on the adjoining terrace) is typically how we start our day. And yes…that would be virtually every..single..day.

Lots and lots of tile. This photo was taken before we moved into the house. Tico houses almost never have carpet - unless it's an area rug.

Ahhh. You’re probably conjuring up pictures of lush green trees, vivid flowers, and grassy parks and imagining a damp climate with little dust. Don’t be fooled. All of that vegetation has two things in common: bugs and dirt.

In a culture where people live with their doors and windows open and spend more time outdoors than in, our tile will always come in a distant second.

During the dry season, the dirt blows in as dust and grit and gets tracked in on our shoes. Then, when the rainy season arrives, we add mud to the mix. The bugs… well, they don’t actually have a season. They fly (and crawl) in and out all day long all year long. Some stick around, but mostly they leave the same way they came in. The ones that stay generally end up as little dead dots on the floor. Sometimes they die from natural causes.. Sometimes they have a little help.


More tile -- surrounded by nature's bug habitat.

Either way, each morning we start our day by running a broom or dust mop around the floors to gather them up, along with the previous day’s accumulation of dirt, for an unapologetic and unceremonious dump in the wastebasket. Would that this would be enough, but no.

It only took a day or two of living here before that “ah ha moment” slapped us upside the head. We’d been noticing that Tica housewives mop their floors - and patios (!!) - every single day. Now we knew why. It was time to rethink our floor strategy. Surely we could come up with something better than that!

On to Plan B: Indoor shoes and outdoor shoes. Indoor shoes would get worn on the patio and in the house. Outdoor shoes get worn, well, everywhere else. Right. Like that’s going to work when the patio performs perfectly as the ultimate dust magnet and all that dirt patiently waits for us to track it inside on those “indoor” shoes!

After a few unsuccessful attempts to refine the rules, we moved on to Plan C – adding a barely wet mop, swished around everywhere that does not involve moving large furniture, after the bug removal, to the morning routine. This is followed by a leisurely third cup of coffee while we wait the floors dry. The indoor/outdoor shoe policy still stands, of course!

Not so bad. It's a quick mop and, like anything else that becomes part of your routine, you end up doing it without giving it much thought. But then there are those other 1,000 square feet or so of tile in the workshop and carport that get really, really dirty. Needless to say, we don’t worry too much about footprints in those areas, but they, too, need cleaned at least weekly to keep the dirt from abrading the surface.

And even more tile on the sub-level.


And so goes life in paradise. What do we do here? We mop the floors. (And cook, too, but that’s another topic for another day.)

Pura Vida

Bananas growing in our front yard

Another Day (Week) in Paradise

What a week!

It started with a minor complication with the bed frame we are having made - and an opportunity to learn how a sticky situation with custom-made furniture is resolved here - and went downhill from there with no looking back.

I guess you could say it was a week of confronting the reality that "We're not in Kansas, anymore, Toto."

After a couple of days of digestion and a bit of Internet research, the information our neighbor shared about the local wildlife - coral snakes, constrictors, scorpions, and big black ants - probably won't keep me awake at night. Truth be told, lots of folks in the U.S. deal with those nuisances and more! We lived in scorpion country, ourselves, for about twenty years. How we managed to never encounter one in or around our home amazes me, but I won't let that history lull me into a false sense of security.

Just as the week was about to end - on Friday, May 13, I might add - we experienced our first "real" earthquake. It measured a solid 6.0 on the Richter scale and was centered about 13 miles from here. Luckily, it was also about 70 km (about 43 miles) deep! Our new block-construction home rocked and rolled for what felt like about 10-15 seconds, though it might have been less. By the time we made our way outside, the tremblor ended and we hit the Internet in search of details. Amazingly, reports started to trickle out within fifteen minutes, although it took until this morning for the facts to stop shifting.

And then finally, on the day when we were set to teach our Costa Rican friends how to make America's favorite - pecan pie - the water went out. Completely out.

We soon learned that the entire town of Palmares had been without water since early Friday. We, like many residents here, have a backup tank that keeps the wet stuff flowing during the periodic outages. As luck would have it, the landscaper was installing sod in our yard yesterday and this morning and drained the tank!

So for now, we're pulling the water jugs from the freezer for drinking and washing dishes and hauling the big backup jugs from storage to use for flushing.

We can't wait to see what next week has in store for us!

Pura Vida


One of our local squirley friends trying to outsmart Vic and his old "hang the plantains in a tree for the birds" trick.

It's a Bug's Life

With the onset of the rainy season, I find myself noting the difference in climate between the new house in Buenos Aires and our apartment in Esquipulas. In fact, it's hard to believe that they are separated by a mere one mile, as the proverbial crow flies, and a valley with what we presume to be a small river at the bottom (as we've yet to set eyes upon it).

The apartment sits on ridge of somewhat rural land - pastures and small garden plots separated by clusters of homes. We occupied a second story apartment that afforded us constant breezes and pleasant morning sun that helped to chase away the dampness from the previous night's rain or morning dew.

The new house, sits on the opposite ridge of the same valley, but instead of open pastures, we are surrounded by dense, natural forest that holds the moisture and shields us from some of the air movement we enjoyed in Esquipulas. It is also block construction, and therefore, lacks the natural ventilation we had in our log-cabin apartment.

The bottom line, is that we notice that we sweat more, the laundry dries more slowly, we have had to change some of our habits to prevent mold, and -- this is the big one -- we have way more bugs!

In addition to some our bug-of-the-day photos I've included here, there was the two-inch spider I found in our bedroom that I refused to let Vic photograph before unceremoniously escorting back to nature, the bazillion May beetles that have put a temporary end to our evenings outside, the black ants that periodically launch a midnight expedition through the downstairs, and a plethora of miscellaneous creepy crawlies that I dispense with on the basis of my perception of the threat they present. Some of them are just downright cool. Others ... well, they simply have to go right now!








In my previous life, I would have been far more alarmed by them. But this is Costa Rica. They come with the territory - and lots of birds in our little forest to help keep the ick population under control.



Pura Vida