That flu-like feeling

Today I'm offering a shout out to P&G for NyQuil. Thank you, Vicks people, for this wonderful concoction.

For years our family has had a running joke that when Dan travels internationally, somebody gets sick. He left for Cincinnati on Monday, and by Monday night I was feeling completely miserable with the flu. Ugh! It's unfortunate for it to be this week because my schedule has been cram-packed with end-of-the-school-year stuff. Yesterday I felt lousy enough that I missed Lauren's assembly and dropped Erin off at the fourth grade state fair last night only to leave minutes later. Really a bummer because the state fair is great—with a play, music, food, and interesting booths—and I wound up in bed with a fever, chills … you know the drill.

Truth be told, our family has been very healthy here in comparison to in the United States. Erin, who normally misses at least a few days of school a year due to colds and sore throats, has (knock on wood!) a perfect attendance record this school year with only five days remaining. The only cold she had last winter developed on the plane to the US in December.

Lauren has had one ear infection and missed an additional day of school when we thought she might have the chicken pox and I had to take her to the doctor. (She didn't—it was some unspecified allergic reaction that looked like pox but disappeared with allergy meds. My friend calls these unidentifiable rashes “jungle rot.”) Oh, and my Spanish-speaking friends are trying to understand what the “chicken” has to do with the “pox.” Lots of fun explaining that one.

Dan and I have done really well.* This is the first flu to hit any of us here, I think.

My theory as to why we have been so much healthier in Costa Rica is that we are not breathing re-circulated air each day. The air isn't hot and dry as it is in Ohio during winter. We don't have everything shut tightly with the AC running in the summer. Everything here is open to the outside—our house, the schools, shops, the gym, restaurants—there is always fresh air flowing throughout buildings.

The best news is that Dan escaped the tornadoes in Cincinnati (I hope all of you there are safe and healthy!) and called me from Atlanta about an hour ago. He’s on his way home and will be here by mid-afternoon. Ah … it’s never easy being sick as a mom, but it’s a lot easier when my honey is here to help take care of me and bring me tea.

Now back to bed!

*Dan just read the blog and reminded me that he had a terrible case of the flu in early February. I told him I would amend the blog but that I plead illness and fatigue as reasons why I didn't recall this during the original posting of this entry.

Additionally, Dan would like me to let everyone know that the reason we get sick when he leaves is because he is the glue that holds this family together. His words, not mine. Maybe someday Dan will post a blog of his own! (Is everyone holding their breath???)

First communion and the fantastic fiesta

Yesterday was one of the most wonderful, memorable, and fun days we’ve spent here in the valley in our time of living in Costa Rica.

What an honor and blessing that we were invited to a first communion for Lauren’s best friend, Isabel—and the party that followed was incredible!

At 10:30 the communion service began at the Parroquia Inmaculada Concepción de Pozos, Santa Ana—the large orange and yellow church just a mile or so from our house. The weather was gorgeous (no rain, thankfully!) and a gentle breeze blew through the wide sanctuary with high ceilings and huge, gorgeous sprays of fresh, fragrant flowers. (I will miss the flowers from Costa Rica when we leave here!)

The church was filled with proud family members and friends, dressed in their finest for such a special day. There were five kids from Lauren’s class celebrating first communion. The boys dressed in navy suits with white communion bows on their sleeves, but the girls, outfitted in beautiful white gowns with lace and ribbons, looked like tiny brides and clearly outshone everyone in the church.

Erin and Lauren didn’t understand much of the service, though Dan and I quietly explained to them what was happening. Erin said she could pick out bits and pieces of Spanish from things familiar to her in English, such as the Lord’s Prayer and when the priest blessed the bread and wine.

It was really special for our family to participate in this meaningful cultural experience that was so important to our friends.

After church, around noon, we went to a celebration at Isabel’s house. This was hands-down one of the best parties we’ve ever been to. Our friends really know how to throw an incredible fiesta!
As soon as we walked in, Isabel (the parent—she and her daughter share a first name) let us know we’d have plenty of opportunity to practice our Spanish: there was one couple from Chile and everyone else was from Spain. Although the conversation often became so animated and lively that Dan and I had a hard time following, it didn’t matter. We had each other and enjoyed observing and being a part of the day.

At the start of the party, Isabel and Álvaro asked us—in all seriousness—“ You didn’t eat breakfast, did you?” Apparently it is expected that nobody eats before these parties. Dan and I just looked at each other, realizing this was going to be a real food-affair. I would be remiss in not describing the feast, because the food was incredible and just kept coming and coming.

There was tasty, grilled chorizo (sausages a bit smaller than brats) and choripán (a sausage in a small, sliced loaf of bread), mussels, Spanish olives, and nuts. After the chorizo was served we enjoyed wedges of grilled and seasoned provolone on small pieces of bread.

For the main course: grilled chicken, steak, chimichurri (a favorite condiment of mine), pickled onions, salad, and baked potatoes.

Later came paper-thin crepes with strawberries, peaches, and caramel—and three sweet sauces to drizzle on top.

We didn’t imagine there could be more food, but later in the day we were served chocolate-covered strawberries, a tortilla de patatas—a very traditional Spanish dish made of potatoes, onion, egg, and olive oil—and then the best gazpacho I could ever imagine. My friend promised me she’d teach me how to make these. She is an awesome cook!

In addition to the conversation and eating (and eating!), the kids played hide-and-seek, went swimming, ate ice cream and popcorn, and took funny pictures with Isabel’s new camera. Dan and I loved the music which ranged from '70s disco to '80s pop to salsa and merengue.

We danced and sang (including a rendition of a Grease music mix that thoroughly embarrassed Erin—isn’t that a hallmark of good parenting?), and at one point Dan and I watched as four Spaniards twirled, clapped, and stamped to flamenco music—and we clapped too, in appreciation.

Shortly after 7pm we said our goodbyes, reluctant to leave but needing to get our exhausted kids to bed. Admittedly we didn’t stay up much later than the girls, having had such an amazing day. We will reminisce about yesterday many times in our lives, I am sure. We are so grateful to have met this wonderful Spanish family whose company we enjoy so much.

Here comes the rain again

A couple of weeks ago the rains began, and we knew the green season had arrived. Now? It's been raining for days, literally. We've had at least 72 hours of rain—steady rain, not just drizzle—without a breather thanks to a bunch of weather factors (including Tropical Storm Alma) that came together to keep us soaked here in Santa Ana. I haven't seen the mountains for days, and while I know our beautiful valley is surrounded by them, they're hidden by heavy, gray, water-laden clouds.



Dan's coworker is trapped in her home in Escazú and sent this photo, showing the water rushing down the gutter and standing on the road.

On the good side, everything is green and growing, and the temperature is in the mid-60s today, which is so comfortable. Last night we all fell asleep early, listening to the rain outside our open windows and resting in the cool air.

Gone to Kentucky and Indiana

Nah, we didn’t make a trip to the Midwest this past weekend, but we did the next best thing for two gringos living in Central America … we went to dinner and a movie, of course.

On Friday night, Dan and I stopped at the huge food court at the mall outside the movie theater for a quick meal. Usually we go for tacos, but for some reason both of us broke out into grins when I mentioned the KFC on the far side of the court. Ohhh, it was so good—the food tasted just like KFC at home! It was the first time we'd had KFC since arriving here, and we may have to stop back again.

Funny thing is, the Costa Ricans call KFC "Kentucky." Last summer our relocation counselor told us that she loves Kentucky, and it took us a minute to realize she meant the original-recipe, biscuit-making, potatoes-and-gravy Kentucky and not the bluegrass, basketball-loving state.

Here’s another for instance: A boy in Erin's class mentioned to the teacher that he went to Kentucky over the weekend, and the kids' teacher, an American, was skeptical.

"Well yeah, it's just food," the kid said, and then someone chimed in that Kentucky is a chicken restaurant. It looks just like the KFCs at home too, complete with the image of Colonel Sanders and the slogan, "para chuparse los dedos"—which is about as close to finger-lickin' good as things get here in Ticolandia.

After our dinner we walked to the theater; the new Indiana Jones movie premiered here on Friday night! We don’t go to the movies too often, but it’s always fun when we do—especially because regular tickets cost only four bucks, about half the price of a movie in the US last time I looked.

The movie was showing in several theaters, both dubbed and with subtitles. Sometimes we get a kick out of the subtitles (we can’t help but read them as we’re watching) and the translations. For example, in the Harry Potter movies, Voldemort is Señor Tenebroso (Lord Tenebrous, Dismal, Gloomy, etc.). I don’t know why they don’t just call him Voldemort. I mean, it’s his name—it’s not like Voldemort means anything in English, right?

Anyway, we enjoyed Indy, as silly as it was. Sometimes complete suspension of disbelief is a great escape after a long week—and two kids from the US enjoyed a virtual trip home for a few hours.

Slightly rattled

We’ve felt a few earthquakes since we’ve been here, but yesterday’s was the strongest of them. At about 4:45 pm I was sitting at my desk (IMing with Dan, actually) when things shook violently but briefly—only a couple of seconds—and by the time I realized why my chair was shaking and rolling backwards, it was over. Dan and I simultaneously IMed each other: “Earthquake!”

The shock was centered near Santiago de Puriscal and, according to the Observatorio Vulcanológico y Sismológico de Costa Rica, was a 4.8 magnitude. It didn’t knock anything off the shelves, though it did cause a separation between two floor boards in our family room. Not enough to be very dangerous, but certainly enough to add interest to an otherwise ordinary afternoon.

Beware the wily lime

Something interesting happens when a person lives nine degrees above the equator, forgets to wash her hands after juicing raw limes, and then ventures into the bright sunshine. She ends up with a horrific burn on her skin, leaving it raw, pink, and very tender.

I’m relieved to say this didn’t happen to me, but unfortunately it did happen to a friend of mine. The chemicals from the limes were activated by the strong sun, leaving her with a nasty looking case of phytophotodermatitis—a lime burn—that is still painful weeks later. Ouch!

I have a love affair with limes, and thankfully they are plentiful and cheap here, so I use them a lot. Now I’m extra careful about washing up after handling citrus fruit. I’m more interested in eating ceviche than becoming it!

Ribs and cake (aka: basketball injuries, part two)

Yesterday, Dan joined a bunch of guys from the office to play basketball for a company program encouraging everyone to get active and be healthy. The games were held in Escazu at a local gym. It was fun to visit with friends and see the brightly painted floor, the refs in their blazing orange shirts, and the scorekeepers flipping papers with numbers on them for the score.

That was the good part. The bad part—other than Dan’s team getting walloped—was that basketball is just not a big sport around here, and most of the guys on the court didn’t seem to have much experience. This led to some amazingly wild passes soaring through the air and, unfortunately, a lot of elbows and bodies flying too. And not much refereeing!

I told Dan before we left for the gym that my goal was to avoid a trip to the ER at the hospital. We managed that, but halfway through the game I saw Dan sitting under the basket pleading with the ref for a call. I knew he was hurt when he got up and didn’t have his usual spunk—and sure enough, he injured a rib again (on the other side this time).

Erin felt sorry for her dad, so when we got home she baked him a cake from scratch in hopes that he’d feel better.

Thankfully this morning the rib is just sore and it’s not nearly so bad as last time, but I told Dan that his days of b-ball in the land of flying elbows are over.

Pump it up

We now have a constant supply of water here at our Costa Rican casa. Yippee! The last water outage spurred me into action: I spoke a few times with the landlords’ representative and explained the situation, and eventually they agreed to pay the nearly $1K to have a pump installed. What a relief!

We have a tank under our driveway (we’d always wondered what the metal lid was covering), and a plumber came out to drain it, sanitize it, and fill it. It has a lift arm and float, just like a toilet—which I excitedly pointed out to the plumber (as if he didn't know, oh, and I'm sure he was highly impressed that I knew the Spanish word for toilet).

Once the tank was filled, the guy installed the small pump next to the hot water heater. This made a huge mess in my storage room and laundry room—there was water everywhere. I wasn’t too upset though, mainly because I was giddy with the thought of taking a high-pressure shower and not having it wane to a trickle, and there are also drains in the floors making it easier to clean. (Thank goodness, since the sink the washing machine hose empties into overflows frequently because the hose pops out of the drain—but that’s another story in itself).

On Tuesday, the construction foreman stopped by the house to let me know the water would be turned off for a couple of hours. I gave him a big smile and told him it is No Problema here because of our shiny new pump. Sure enough, I soon heard the pump spring into action and I happily went about my day without a water worry.

¡Pura agua!

Swimming for Sports Day

It was so good to see my girls swim competitively again—even if only for one race.

The kids recently had Sports Day at school, complete with an opening ceremony and pledge, indoor events, track and field, and relays at the pool. All the elementary school kids participated in at least one event, and (not surprisingly) my two were chosen to swim. (A few kids were missing from Lauren’s class, so she also did a free throw shoot and something else which I didn’t get to see and can’t remember what it was.)

Sometimes cultural differences are glaringly obvious to me at school functions, and this was no exception. Guess which parents were sitting on the side of the pool, socializing quietly as they watched the kids? Well, certainly not the Americans. No, we were the moms and dads at the end of the pool (for the best view, of course) enthusiastically cheering the kids on. We weren’t obnoxious, but I will admit, we US moms and dads are generally a spirited, competitive bunch.

After all the games and races the kids got medals—bronze, silver and gold. They’re not even cheesy and have the school logo on one side with the event and date on the other; they are great mementos for the girls.

Look who’s eight!

It's just Lauren’s luck that May 1 is a national holiday—Día de los Trabajadores (Labor Day)—here in Costa Rica. Meaning my brand-spankin’-new eight-year-old had a day off from school on her birthday. What a fun twist of fate!

Lauren, Erin, and L's classmate Isabel—her best amiga and partner-in-crime—spent the day together to celebrate, starting with lunch at Wendy’s. (This was the birthday girl’s choice, of course, because what better meal is there than chicken nuggets and fries for a kid turning eight?)

Next stop was Go Bananas, an indoor playground just a couple of kilometers from our house. This drop-the kids-off facility has plenty of space for the girls to run and climb, so I left them to play while I parked myself in a cozy, padded armchair with a drink and a novel outside one of my favorite restaurants, just around the corner from the playground.

Lauren’s teacher stopped by for lunch shortly before I was leaving to pick up the girls. She asked us to come back and say hi, so I told the girls I had a surprise for them as we made our way to the restaurant. Of course Lauren got a big hug from Ms. Fernández, and she and Isabel acted all goofy when they saw their teacher outside of the classroom (yes, teachers are normal people too!), while Erin was just relieved that her teachers were nowhere in sight on vacation day.



Everyone enjoyed homemade birthday cupcakes at our house (we sang two lovely renditions of the birthday song in English and Spanish), and then the girls went swimming so Lauren could try out her new goggles and float.

We were worn out by the end of the day, and everyone got to bed early since the kids still had school on Friday (and I did too, since I was chaperoning a field trip). We missed having Dan here—he’s in Cincinnati for work—but Lauren says her eighth birthday was still just ducky (her word, of course).

As I’m sure I say every year, it’s hard to believe my baby is getting so big! ¡Feliz cumpleaños, Niña!

Fish out of water

Fair warning: I'm cranky, and so are my kids. Even Lauren, and that's saying something.

I've got all sorts of nice, cheery things to blog about—and I'll have to do it another time—but tonight the only thing on my mind is that we have no water in our house. Again. Yesterday we didn't have water until nearly 3:00 in the afternoon. (Around lunchtime I gave in and took a shower at a friend's house.) Today I got up at 5:00 to take a shower, do a load of laundry, and clean up the kitchen before my busy day was underway. No water—at 5:00 in the morning!

I had to feed the kids, make lunches, and get out of here by 7:30 because I went on a field trip with Erin's class. Thankfully I had set enough water aside to wash my face and take a sponge bath, but now, it's 8:30 on Friday night and we have zero agua. Nada. The whole neighborhood is out of water, and I've got a guy coming tomorrow to see if he can install a pump so we can avoid this happening again. (I’m pretty sure the homeowner is going to consent to having this done, thankfully.)

Meanwhile, I'm jonesing for a shower and crossing my fingers that the pipes will start gurgling soon and we can cook, clean, shower, flush, wash, and all those good things by the morning.

Isn't it ironic, since I just mentioned a couple of posts ago how this happens frequently enough and I usually roll with the punches? Not this time. It appears I've reached my breaking point, and while I know there are worse things in the world, I feel justified in venting my pent-up frustrations. Dan's not here to fuss with/listen to me, so the blog is tonight's therapy session. Thank goodness we still have electricity!

Oh, and as a parting shot, it is raining outside. Not enough of a downpour that I can run to my yard with a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap, but enough to tease us all with fat drops of water on the windows. Bah!

Road rash

Temps this week have been the hottest we can recall in the valley—ideal days for swimming. Unfortunately for Erin, she came home from school on Thursday with big, blood-stained pads of gauze taped to both knees. The kids’ school is built on the side of a hill, and Erin was heading down a concrete sidewalk when she wiped out. Both knees have two nasty scrapes (and this picture is three days later; thankfully the knees are starting to look better).

Of course there’s no way we’re letting her in the pool, even with the bandages on (I’m so glad I bought the box of super-large Band-Aids last summer). The ban on swimming was really the pits yesterday when Erin’s friends were visiting our neighborhood pool. Dan and Lauren went to swim while Erin and I made cookie bars for this week’s lunches.

Nothing like a warm chocolate chip treat (yes, we splurged on pricey chocolate chips—hey, desperate times call for desperate measures) out of the oven to soothe what ails a 10-year-old.

Facing frustrations

“The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself.” —George Bernard Shaw

“But what if a reasonable person is trying to adapt to something unreasonable?” —Me

A friend told me that in the United States one dies of stress, while here in Costa Rica one dies of frustration. We laugh about it, but there is a grain of truth to this notion. While life is markedly more hurried at home, here it’s important—if one wants to maintain some semblance of sanity—to adjust to the slower culture and adopt a more tolerant, patient attitude.

Accustomed to the efficiency of the US, I get frustrated at having a dishwasher sit on the kitchen floor for two weeks while construction workers show up at random to fix the hole in the wall—you know, the hole where the dishwasher connects to the plumbing that was installed five centimeters too high according to the plumber?

Adapting is going for nearly an entire weekend without water, which is what just happened to us—and not for the first time. Costa Rica runs on hydroelectric power, and apparently the water is sometimes shut off during the dry season to help avoid brownouts (which we have also experienced). In the US, I’d be on the phone with the water company trying to find out what’s going on and how quickly water service will resume. Here, the idea of calling with that question is nearly laughable. The water will go on when it comes on, and we just go with the flow (or lack thereof).

Remember our waiting list for a landline telephone? We’re still on the list. We honestly do not think we will ever have a landline while we are living here. I don’t like it, but I don’t dwell on it, even though cell phone service is spotty. See how well I’m adjusting?

The ultimate in aggravation is surely the lack of maps and street signs in this country. And knowing that you could stop and ask for directions and, because a Costa Rican does not want to hurt anyone’s feelings or be unhelpful, the directions you receive may be wrong.

Just when I think I’ve truly embraced the Pura Vida lifestyle, something happens—not even necessarily maddeningly frustrating, it could be something minor—and the dam of built-up frustration bursts, while my all-American self comes shining through. I share what’s bugging me with Dan or an American friend in Costa Rica and we shake our heads, commiserate, and eventually laugh at the absurdity of it all. Culture shock isn’t always the extreme sense of anxiety you might imagine; in fact, it happens routinely here to us as we go about our daily lives.

Pruning the palms

When running through our neighborhood, it’s tempting to seek shade in the palm trees' shadows and out of the hot sun; yet we know better. On windy days, we occasionally hear a crash outside our house as a heavy, dying palm branch plummets to the ground—and we’re always glad nobody was below the tree when the frond fell.

Thankfully, the gardeners come by once in a while to prune the browning fronds from the trees. The palms are tall, so the workers have rigged an ultra-long pole with a blade securely attached to it with tape. With the blade, they remove the menacing fronds just waiting for a gust of wind to blow them down.

By the way, we are at the end of the dry season and just heading into rainy season; you can see how the grass in the field is just starting to get a little green. Soon everything will be lush and beautiful (and wet!).

Colas, sodas, and what’s on the menu

Here’s a little tidbit about eating and drinking in Costa Rica, with a Spanish lesson thrown in for fun.

If you’re looking for a bubbly beverage here in ticolandia, don’t ask for a cola. In Costa Rica, a tail—whether on an animal or a ponytail in the hair—is called a cola (sounds just like the cola you drink).

Perhaps you could order a soda? Not here. A small restaurant that serves traditional, inexpensive Costa Rican food is called a soda (yep, sounds just like the soda you drink). These little sodas are all over the place, even in remote areas of the country where one wonders how the soda gets its supplies and who is eating there. Anything but fancy, sodas often are sometimes just simple support structures with tin roofs or tarps overhead, as you can see was the case at Soda El Mango where we had lunch on a Manuel Antonio beach.



Sodas serve comida típica—typical/traditional tico food—which relies on local agriculture and cultural tradition. These very modest eateries sometimes don’t even offer menus to diners since it’s known they serve native dishes.

Typical tico dishes such as gallo pinto (a mixture of rice and beans) and casados are the norm. Casado means married, and casado plates are marriages of food to make a meal: rice, beans, a salad of some kind (perhaps heart of palm or cabbage and carrots), fried plantains, and some kind of meat or poultry. My favorite soda food is chifrijo—a combination of chicarrones (fried pork), frijoles (beans), rice, pico de gallo and some other yummy stuff that tastes fantastic.

Eating at soda is a great way to immerse oneself into the tico culture while getting a filling meal at a fair price.

So what do you ask for if you’re thirsty? A carbonated beverage is most often called by its actual name: Coca (for Coca Cola), Coca Light, Fanta … you get the idea. There are oodles of fruit juices here. Coconut milk—sipped from a coconut through a straw—is sometimes sold along well-traveled roads. And of course coffee is king in Costa Rica.

Our favorite drinks are the refrescos—sweet, satisfying concoctions made of liquefied, fresh fruit blended with either water or milk. These traditional drinks are available in loads of flavors such as watermelon, mango, strawberry, blackberry, tamarind, passion fruit, guanabana, and cas. Our favorites are watermelon and strawberry.

If you’re brave enough to try something that really packs a punch, sip a bit of guaro, the national liquor of Costa Rica made from distilled sugar cane.To minimize production of bootlegged guaro, the tico government nationalized the manufacturing of the stuff with the Fabrica Nacional de Licores-Fanal, offering Cacique, the only legal brand of guaro, since the mid 1800s. Just don’t become a guaro vaquero (guaro cowboy)—someone who’s had too much too drink and acts like an obnoxious fool!

There are plenty of other drinks available here in Costa Rica, but perhaps the best news is that you can safely drink tap water here, which is not the case in many Latin American countries. It's freeing not having to worry about what's in the water and makes eating and drinking much simpler.

Cheers!

A sense of belonging

Recently I was standing in the checkout line at a supermarket near my house. The employee who was scanning my groceries recognized me and greeted me by name, which made me smile.

As I waited for her to tally my purchases, I began singing quietly to the song playing in the store. Before long I wasn’t the lone vocalist, and I turned to grin at the guy next to me—a tico with flamboyant clothes and a faux-hawk who owns the salon a few doors down and occasionally cuts the girls’ hair. He has a very cute little dog named Paris who runs around the strip mall and is so fashionable he gets his tail dyed—usually pink or light orange. The kids love to see Paris and we usually stop for a moment to tell him hello or give him a scratch behind the ears.

In line behind the hairstylist was my beautiful, friendly pharmacist who is always helpful and lets me speak Spanish with her even though her English is excellent and I sometimes fumble with unfamiliar medical terms.

So there I was, sharing a friendly connection to all three people around me. I am part of my neighborhood; I am recognized. This is my home away from home, and while I have made some special and invaluable American friends here, it feels really good to have established relationships with ticos in my community.

Manuel Antonio in March

Our first spring break destination outside the valley was Manuel Antonio—both the park and the town. We visited the park last Thanksgiving, and it was so amazing we had to take my parents there, too.

Our lodging was a private villa on a cliff with a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean, framed by a canopy of trees that’s home to tropical birds, sloths, monkeys, and lizards. We enjoyed relaxing on the deck and listening to the surf as we soaked in our surroundings.

During our stay at the villa, my parents got a taste of authentic life in Costa Rica. Their suicide shower wasn’t working until the last day of our visit (after a handyman came to replace it) and the power in Manuel Antonio went out several times—once while we were dining out (thankfully by candlelight). These snags, which would be unexpected and unacceptable in the US, are common here and a reminder that we live in a developing country.

Boogie at the beach
To get to the beach—just a half mile from the villa—we drove down a path of indescribably rough terrain (four-wheel drive required!) and parked on the sand at the bottom. I’ve never felt ocean water at such a perfect temperature, and swimming was a welcome activity each afternoon since Manuel Antonio is hot and humid at this time of year. Dad rented a boogie board, and nearly all of us had a go at wave riding.

Horsin’ around
Our first night we ate dinner at a large, open-air place in Quepos called El Gran Escape (The Great Escape), which, in its former life, was both a brothel and a cervecería (place to buy beer). An authentic tope—or horse parade—was happening in the main street just outside the restaurant. In this festive atmosphere, Costa Ricans proudly display their high-stepping horses while others cheer them on and music plays.

Manuel Antonio National Park
Sunday was spent at the national park. We arrived early to avoid crowds, see the animals before their afternoon siestas, and enjoy hiking before the equatorial sun blazed too hot. The last time we visited was at the end of the rainy season when we crossed the water in a boat to reach the park; this time, nearing the end of the dry season, we walked through hot sand to reach the park’s entrance.

We loved showing Mom and Dad what we’d learned on our last visit, and it was great to see some new things too—like the tell-tale turtle tracks on the beach that Dad spotted. We also tackled a new, more difficult trail for hiking: Punta Catedral (Cathedral Point), an outcropping of land that was once an island but now connects to the mainland by a natural land bridge. This hike of about an hour took us up a steep incline through dense jungle. It was a challenging (and sweaty!) climb, but it was so beautiful and unique, it was worth it—especially when we saw the view of the ocean, far above the surf pounding rocks below.

More monkeys
We saw plenty of wildlife on our trip, both while in the park and elsewhere. A highlight was the huge troop of squirrel—or titi—monkeys as they migrated past our villa early one morning. These fun little monkeys are incredibly cute as they swing through the canopy, gripping branches with their tails and then launching their small bodies to nearby trees. They’re also a vulnerable species, so we felt very lucky to see so many—including a few mamas with their babies firmly attached to their backs. Many monkeys ran across the roof of the deck, and one peered over the edge to get a closer look at us. (A capuchin monkey had done the same thing the day before, with his eye on Erin’s ginger cookie!)

While we heard howler monkeys several times throughout our travels, these noisy creatures did not wake us in the middle of the night with their roaring, as they did on our last trip to the area.

Isla Damas
On Monday morning, we toured the protected inland waterways of the Damas Island estuary. We traveled with our knowledgeable guide Eduardo to the sleepy town of Isla Damas, just north of bustling Quepos. There we boarded a canopied boat for a morning trip through a unique ecosystem nestled in a lush mangrove forest.

We made our way through a maze of narrow channels of brackish water surrounded by amazing African palms, loads of plants and trees, and impressive red and black mangroves. We saw a variety of marine birds, crabs, lizards, and even the rare-to-spot silky anteater napping in a tree. But the best—no surprise here—were the playful monkeys who came right up to our boat and jumped on the roof, let us touch their hands, and provided fantastic entertainment for their human guests.

Valley bound
After three nights, we left tropical Manuel Antonio for Santa Ana. The ride home was scenic and uneventful (always a blessing!), and we were glad to return to the cool, breezy valley we love.

Click here to see a photo album of our trip (best viewed as a slideshow). ¡Pura vida!

Zip-a-dee-doo-dah

Many thanks for the emails asking where we’ve been, if I have writer’s block, and whether I've just been too busy sunbathing to post even the measliest of blogs. I appreciate the concern and am happy to share that my absence from writing has been for the best of reasons—we were enjoying a fantastic, adventurous, amazing (and yes, a wee bit exhausting!) two-week vacation with my parents. Plenty of fodder for blogging, so stay tuned for a few tales of our journeys.

That said, I already know exactly where to jump in with a story, because the following is the adventure most likely to surprise those who know me (and my fear of heights!) well. This journey actually occurred later in our travels, but who says everything has to be in chronological order, anyway?

Last week the six of us drove to the imposing Volcán Arenal (Arenal Volcano)—a massive, conical volcano (the most active of the nation's volcanoes) that rises up from the San Carlos plains in the northwestern part of Costa Rica. You can’t drive to the top of Arenal and look at the crater because it’s constantly spewing gases, ash, and molten rock. At night, if you’re lucky, you can see the fiery rock spilling down the side of the volcano. Unfortunately we were on the other side of the volcano and didn’t experience this (maybe next time!), but seeing nearly all the volcano a few times (when it was not at least partially obscured by clouds) was incredible in itself.

While at the foothills of Arenal we stayed at Los Lagos, a resort with large grounds reminiscent of a botanical park—the trees and flowers of this area are varied and spectacular. The resort also featured a great view of Arenal, a hot springs pool (ahhhh, that was so nice!), a couple of regular pools with some fast waterslides, a crocodile farm, butterfly garden, horseback riding … and a zip line.

If the term zip line is new to you, here’s a quick overview: On a zip line—also known as a canopy tour—a series of cables is mounted from tree to tree, on an incline, and there is a platform at the end of each cable. A rider wears a harness around the waist and legs, which is secured to a pulley suspended on the cable. The rider then takes off from the platform (usually just by stepping off) and glides—propelled by gravity—from one platform to another, flying over trees and through the canopy itself.

Though three of the six of us (my dad, Erin, and I) are afraid of heights (perhaps putting it mildly for at least Dad and me), we decided this extreme sport would be an unforgettable adventure we could all share. Carpe diem—a chance to make our lives extraordinary! So we signed up for the zip on Thursday and headed out for the plunge on Friday morning.

At the start of the zip line, we were each outfitted with a harness, a helmet, and a leather hand-guard/glove. I was pretty sure the helmet was in case a branch fell on my head, because it wouldn't have helped much had I gone plummeting to the ground far below, but I didn't dwell on that or I would have made myself nuts.

We rode part way up the side of the mountain in a van and exited at a little station with a short cable. The lead instructor taught us how to ride the line and how to brake (nobody wants to smash into a tree, a la George of the Jungle), and after a short learning session it was time to go! The good news is that the first zip line started at ground level and took us down the mountain slope, so there was no need to climb an intimidating tower, which was my greatest fear and which I still think may have stopped me from ever doing the zip.

The zip line we went on had 15 cables and 16 platforms, with distances varying from 50 to 500 meters, for a full distance of three kilometers (1.86 miles)—oh, and reaching speeds of up to 80 kph/50 mph. The zip was strung above and throughout the tropical rainforest, dense and wild and absolutely gorgeous; Lauren even saw monkeys on her zip. We were part of a large group, and Lauren was the first to go. Pigtails flying in the wind, she rode with the guide and had a blast the entire trip. Shortly after, Erin took off. She was the youngest in our group to go by herself. Wow, I was so proud of her! Then Dan jumped, then me, then my parents.

Soaring through the air above the treetops on this high-wire ride was an adrenaline-pumping rush that’s hard to describe. At times I was able to take in what I was passing as I whizzed through the sky, while at others I was rocketing past towering trees at speeds too quick for me to see much of the tropical rainforest below, mouth agape as the reality of what I was doing sunk in. Oddly enough—and this is the honest truth—I never experienced the paralyzing fear I was concerned about. Maybe the adrenaline is what saw me through, maybe it was the agonizing thought of returning to the United States to the ridicule of “You lived in Costa Rica and never did a zip line?!?!”—but I did it. We all did it—the girls, Dan and me, and my incredible parents of whom I was so proud.

Thankfully for us (and I suppose you, if you’re up for it) the zip line company stationed a photographer throughout the zip so we have pictoral evidence of our high-flying thrill ride. Enjoy the photos (best seen as a slideshow); they will always remind me of the day I met a daunting challenge head-on and shared a wild adventure with those I love most—and lived to blog about it.

Gracias por la música

I went shopping today at Hipermás, a large department/grocery store (owned by and similar to Wal-Mart yet not as inexpensive, unfortunately). Shortly after I got there, I stopped to listen to the music playing overhead, trying to make out the words of the all-too familiar song. It was ABBA’s Chiquitita—but in Spanish.

I knew ABBA had done several recordings in Spanish, and today was my chance to listen to them, since they played the entire time I browsed the aisles. I heard Thank You for the Music; Dancing Queen; Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!; Fernando; I Have a Dream; Knowing Me, Knowing You … I wish the girls had been with me, they really would have enjoyed it.

¡Pura música!

The shortage ends (and why expats love stuff from home)

Do you recall the dreadful mac and cheese shortage that recently swept Costa Rica? I’m pleased to share with you an update on the status of blue boxes here in the valley …

Our friends David and India called us after church yesterday with the news: there was one precious pallet of Kraft M&C in at PriceSmart. Yippee! They kindly bought 30 boxes for us (we just couldn't ask for more!), and we intend on a trip to the store soon in hopes of finding another couple dozen.

Shortly after we returned from a relaxing Sunday afternoon at the pool, David arrived with the blue boxes. Dan promptly rescued two of them from their shrink wrap and made dinner—and it was delicious.

In other food news, I recently purchased brown sugar for the first time since we've been here. I had been making do with azúcar con caramelo (sugar with caramel, basically) which was not bad, but my cookies and baked goods just didn't taste quite the same or have that perfect consistency. I didn't know if I'd ever find brown sugar here until a friend told me it is possible, but difficult, since it's rarely in stock. Yet there it was last week, unassumingly sitting on the shelves as if it had been there all along. I bought numerous boxes, but two are already gone. How long will brown sugar keep, anyway? Because I'm planning on getting a whole bunch more while the getting is good.

Think we're crazy? That we’ve completely lost our grip on reality since moving south of the border? This enlightening piece by expat Pamela Druckerman explains how valued American goods can be to those so far from home. Funny thing is, I hadn’t read this article since it was first published—right before Thanksgiving—and now I see that Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and brown sugar are both mentioned in the text. How validating!

It’s true that expats thrill at the thought of jamming suitcases full of products straight off the shelves of Target and Wal-Mart and lugging the stuff back to their adopted countries. Those people visiting expats are lovingly (yet eagerly!) considered as pack mules. My parents will be here soon and have a list of goodies to haul—from two Nintendo DS games for an American friend of ours to sugar-free Tums, peanut M&Ms, Gain apple mango tango dryer sheets, and packets of Taco John’s hot sauce if they can get them (oh please, we're begging!). We are more than excited to see Mom and Dad, but I’m sure soon after they’ve settled in we’ll be asking, “Where’s the stuff?! Did you bring the Reese's Pieces???”