chicle

       One morning Bileida gave me a ride to the bus stop because she was going to an exercise class that started up recently, at the local church.  She had on her white tennis shoes, shorts and a t shirt that fell off one shoulder (think flashdance).  She went into the bathroom and put her long hair up into a ponytail with a silver scrunchie.  Her hair is normally short and very thin, but yesterday Bileida got extensions.  She changes her hair all of the time.  She started selling jewelry for money so she could take many trips to the salon and have long hair.  Anibal told her, "enough", so now she wears it up whenever she is around him thinking he won't notice. In the bathroom she topped off her new do with a silver visor and sunglasses on top of that. She picked up her two-pound weights and we headed to the car. I smiled to myself on the bus, thinking how fortunate I was to step into the middle of their reality as a witness to their life.
       At school, I walked into class to find that a new student had joined us.  Helen. She was already accustomed to the unbelievable heat and humidity because she was from New Orleans. Helen is an amazing woman and the mother of three hilarious children who also take spanish at the school. She admitted right off the bat that she was a little addicted to chewing gum and she placed a container on the table explaining that this was undoubtedly the best gum in the world.  She shared all around and we happily smacked away with our surprising bursts-o-flavor. We got out our notebooks and settled into our lesson. Charlie told us which page to turn to and reached for his reading glasses to instruct us.  When he pulled them out of his pocket he set them on the bridge of his nose upside down and began to read.  We giggled like junior high girls thinking he didn't realize what he'd done.  He laughed too and showed us that the pads on his glasses had gone missing so he couldn't wear them the correct way because they would stab him. He struggled to look down far enough to read but but when he did they slipped off his nose.  In an underdeveloped country it is very difficult to just "run out and get" something you need, so we must improvise and make do all the time.  I searched my brain for a solution, thinking about what I might have in my backpack that would help.  Nothing.  I scanned the room and my eyes landed on the gum.  "Chicle Charlie! Podemos poner el chicle en sus vidrios." We can put gum on your glasses. He took a piece from Helen, divided it in two, and rolled it into little balls. He placed them in the right spot, put the glasses on the bridge of his nose, and easily began to read.  About twenty minutes later though, he yanked off the glasses and began rubbing his eyes in pain.  The heat had melted the gum and the sugar ran down into his eyes causing them to burn and sting.  He ran into the bathroom and washed out his eyes.  When he came back out, we told him that we would be his readers for the day. He grinned, leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table.  "Gracias, pura vida." He said.
       That night Bileida made a wonderful dinner of costa rican stew. It had meat, potatoes,vegetables and of course was served with a side of black beans and rice. After dinner I went up to look through my bags.  I thought I brought an extra pair of reading glasses with me that I could give to Charlie. I had just located them when Anibal called me downstairs to watch the Costa Rican version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire".  He and Bileida sat on the couch and I went to a chair across the room.  Bileida waved me over to the couch.  She said it was too hot where I was sitting and there was a fan facing them.  She patted the middle cushion and told me to sit. So there I was on the couch in between my parents, just like a kid, watching tv. The contestant kept getting correct answers and made more money as he continued to stay in the game.  Anibal knew the answers and would shout them out.  There was a tricky question about the United States, so of course I thought I knew the answer and chose B.  Anibal shook his head. "A."  I reminded him that I was American and would know.  He just smiled and shrugged, "A" he said.  The host let the suspense build and announced, "The answer is.... A!"  Anibal doubled over laughing with delight as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a mil colones to give to him.
         Bileida took her hair down and discovered she had a huge rat's nest in it from aerobics.  She tried to clear it out with her fingers but it was too big.  She searched for a brush, came back and handed it to me.  I looked over at Anibal and he just rolled his eyes.  I laughed as I combed and pulled and combed and pulled.  I was just putting the final touch on a braid so it wouldn't happen again, when the contestant actually won a million dollars! He may think that he is wealthy now, but I tell you... today I am the one who is truly rich.

Charlie con chicle

Helen's Mardi Gras kids

No, really.  They are serious about their spanish.

Bileida's golden locks

one mil = two dollars hahaha

foodies

          For all of you who watch the food channel every day without fail (Adam), and for those of you who are schooled in cooking (Liza and Tessa), are a master baker (Myriah), actually blow-torch hamburgers (Ford), or cook every night on a propane stove (Katie), I bring you this entry. In honor of all of my foodie children, I give you the scoop on deliciousness in Costa Rica.
       My personal favorite, which I've mentioned over and over, is casado.  Casado is the term for the typical Costa Rican meal.  It consists of black beans, rice, a meat, fried plantain, and a side of either vegetables or a salad.  There are different versions of the sides, but this is the basic meal. It's satisfying, balanced and so healthy.

You can get casasdo in the home of a tico, if you are fortunate enough to be invited, or at a restaurant called a "soda". Yes, you read that correctly. Here, a soda is not something you drink, it is a local cafe owned by a tico.  Soda's serve up delicious local meals, authentically made from fresh ingredients.  They are inexpensive too, with a normal casado costing 2,500 colones, or five dollars. Below is a soda near my school that I like to frequent.  It's named D'Angel and  although it doesn't look like much, the food is fantastic and the family that runs it is wonderful.

Padre spreads new dirt on the parking pad.

Notice that both Coke and Pepsi are offered.
Hmm, they seem to be able to get along here.

One day, I went to Jose's International which is the soda with the fantastic burritos. It was a very hot afternoon and we were done with school for the day, so my friends wanted a cold beer with their lunch. Jose said, "I don't have beer, but what kind would you like?"  We answered, "Um, Imperial, please."  We looked at each other wondering if we had just translated that correctly.  Was he bringing us a beer or not?  A few minutes later, a young man pulled up on a motorcycle and ran into the soda with a bag. A minute after that, Jose brought four cold Imperials to our table with big smile. We learned that soda's don't have an alcohol license, which is incredibly expensive, but you are welcomed to bring your own drink into their establishment. Jose had called in a delivery for us. That delivery came from a market down the street called the Super Joseth.  It has most of the basics a person needs for sustenance if one lives here, and for those vacationing in paradise, it has plenty of alcohol. The amazing thing is that Super Joseth delivers.  Anything.  You can call for an entire weeks worth of groceries, or you can ask for one lime.  No matter, it will cost you a delivery charge of 500 colones, or one dollar, and will be delivered in five minutes.  When I have my own place with a view, I am certain now that I will not leave it for days on end.

Super Joseth

The delivery box translates,
"don't stop the party call us"

Yummy pastries

My friend Tony? Well he just gets around.

There are some things though,
no matter how far you go, you can not get away

Translation????  Please! 

Yes, this truly is rum and coke in the same can.

An exciting place to find amazing produce is the agricultural fair, or farmer's market, on the weekends in Quepos.  I have never seen so many exquisite fruits in one place. There is no place like a rain forest to grow the sweetest mangos, papayas, and pineapples ever tasted.

Two fellow spanish students at the farmers market.

Beautiful, fresh items can be yours for only a few colones.

fun times at the market

yikes, no federal safety regulations here

Another of my favorite treats is a visit from Jose, the empanada man. Again, a vendor named Jose, but this one is a traveling one-man show.  He carries a cooler full of hot empanadas filled with chicken,beef or potatoes. He also has a plastic water bottle full of a hot sauce and he will drench your meat pie it if you wish. He makes his rounds to the language schools during their morning breaks and then he heads down to the beach to continue selling his product.  He remembers everyone's name, what school they attend and their favorite food order.  To me, this is as impressive as the quality of his empanadas.  The coolest thing though, is that he sells juice in a bag.  He squeezes fresh fruit, puts the juice in a baggie, and carries it in a cold cooler.

I'm sure Jose thought up this idea
long before Welches had a clue

I'd heard that a juice bar recently opened in Manuel Antonio and that they had coconut water. I was really excited because the water from a coconut is nature's perfect sports drink with electrolytes and potassium.  The juice bar was also located at the end of my morning runs to the beach.  Perfect.  I stopped into the small shop and ordered a coconut water to go.  I looked around the cafe thinking, "Good, I'll see what the brand is and maybe I can get it at the Super Joseth." Hahaha, silly me.  The woman reached under the counter and pulled out a machete. She grabbed a small coconut from a bowl and hacked off the top.  She popped a straw into the top and charged me one dollar.  My "agua de pipa" was refreshing and I was rejuvenated.  The best part was, it was recycleable.  As I ran up the hill, I put the straw in my pocket and tossed the pipa back into the jungle.

eyes

        Back in Quepos it was business as usual in my neighborhood of Boca Vieja. (which translates into - Old Mouth ??  Ok, I have no idea. Really.) We pulled on to my street, and as I watched the children play and the dog’s roam, I had this strange feeling wash over me. It was a feeling of being “home”.  But then, I was home wasn’t I?  I don’t have another home.   My family, all fifteen of them that were in the house at the moment, welcomed me with hugs, kisses, and a thousand questions all at once about my weekend.  Bileida immediately went into the kitchen and whipped up a huge plate of food for me.  Pinto Gallo, a salad, and the most amazing piece of delicate fish I have ever eaten.  She said she bought it at the market because it had been caught that very day in a fishing village nearby.  Anibal laughed at me because I only drink one inch of Coca-cola every night.  When they offer me something I always accept because I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I have never been one to drink soda at all.  I didn’t realize he was watching so closely. I am learning, though, that everyone is watching.  Watching very closely.  I have always lived in cities, and I am an urban dweller by nature. Part of the attraction, beyond the energy and excitement that a city provides, has been that I can wander around in an anonymous fashion if I so choose.  Here though, I am learning, I’m in a very small town, and although I think I am just going about living my new life, people are noticing.

         One day PamEla asked me to walk with her down to the beach because she had to buy something for her son. He was a surfer and wanted her to bring him a hemp necklace from the local beachside market there.  We trekked down the main road to the beach and stopped at the first booth we found.  It was draped with dresses, jewelry, towels and t shirts for sale.  A beautiful Tico woman greeted us and assisted PamEla with a gift for her son. I asked the woman her name. “Como se llama?”  She answered, “PamEla.”  I laughed with delight and said, “Mi amiga es PamEla, tambien.” My friend is Pamela too!  She kissed my friend on the cheek and they laughed at the odds.   Then I told her that my name was Lucetta.  She looked at me and said, “Se a quien ustedes es." Oh I know who you are.  She wagged her finger at me and said, “Usted es la muchacha mala que hacia su tarea en el autobus la semana pasada." You are the bad girl who was doing her homework on the bus last week. What?!? Oh my gosh, she was right.  “No, you don’t understand!” I explained in breathless English, “It was my birthday the night before.  I don’t do that every time!”  She burst out laughing and responded in perfect English, “Sure, sure, sure. Next time just ask ME for help. Very nice to meet you, mi amiga Lucetta.”

       Several years ago, I took up running.  I was getting older and I wanted to stay healthy for as long as possible.  My feet hadn’t hit the pavement since I’d left the US, but I decided I needed to start back up again because my Tico mother fed me into oblivion. I checked the tide chart for the beach.  If the tide was low, I could run on the beach and jump over the small rivers that ran into the ocean, without getting my running shoes wet. (Nothing ever dries out here) If the tide was high, the rivers were too wide and I would have to remove my shoes to wade through them, making running impossible. I got up several times that week at the crack of dawn, according to the charts, and ran down to the beach.  It was a steep run down a gravel road, but I passed several beautiful homes on the way, waving and exchanging pleasantries in spanish with the caretakers of the houses as they worked in the yards.  On the weekend I slept in and walked down to the beach with a friend.  As we headed down the gravel road we noticed there was a man standing in the middle of the road.  As we neared, we saw that he stood with his hands out as if to stop us.  We walked closer and as we did, he took one hand and tapped it on the top of his other wrist where a watch would be. With a grin on his face he said, in English, “You’re late.” 

home again 

public elementary school right beside my house
hey, is that one of those stray dogs?...

 PamEla's booth

my beach at low tide

       

Matapalo

        My field trip began as Charlie picked us up at PamEla's hotel and we drove through the countryside to Matapalo.  I was happy to see more of Costa Rica.  We passed mile after mile of palm trees and I asked Charlie about them.  He explained that back in the 1940's these were all banana fields owned by the United Fruit Company, or as we know them, Chiquita.  There was a banana blight that came in from Panama and destroyed all of the bananas.  Chiquita decided to try the African Palm to save it's business, and it worked out wonderfully.  The oil from the tree is the basis for lotions, cosmetics, soaps, candles, and is also used as cooking oil.  By the time the banana blight had passed, the palm industry was firmly established and profitable. We passed acres and acres of nothing but palm trees, except every few miles or so there was housing that had been built for the field workers.  Each one of these sets of homes, interestingly enough, perfectly surrounded a soccer field.

       We arrived with enough daylight that we were able to tour the Jungle House property and walk across the dirt road to the beach.  It took my breath away.  It was truly the most beautiful beach I had ever seen in my life. I felt like I had arrived at the end of the earth.  It was long and wide with dark sand created by volcanoes. There was not one single person on the expanse of the entire beach.  I wanted to cry at the beauty and simplicity of it. PamEla and I walked in silence, rendered speechless, both of us being consumed by an immense stirring in our souls.  It was one of those unforgettable, life-altering moments that hopefully we all experience at one point or another in our lives, jolting us out of our numbness, if only for a short while. We left when the very last glow of daylight fell below the horizon and we were afraid we might not find our way back to Jungle House in the dark.

      That evening, Charlie piled as many people as he could from his communal house, into his truck and we drove to the next town. We all wanted pizza and there was a great little restaurant that served it in Dominical, a surfer's beach, located about 16 kilometers south of Matapalo. Over dinner we got to know Charlie's funny friends, through a combination of spanish and english.  They mocked him from time to time about  being our professor.  "Oh no!" I came to Charlie's defense, " He has taught us many useful things in class!"  He taught us how to say, "Echo un pedo." Literal translation: He is letting out farts, and "Echar un pedo." He farted. I cannot, for the life of me, even remember how this came up in class, but they fell out of their chairs laughing hysterically, pointing at "un profesor".  I looked at Charlie and asked, "Como se dice en espanol, how do you say, "Don't flap the sheets?"  He and PamEla laughed and Ignacio, who spoke very good english, asked what I meant by that question.  Evidently he doesn't have any brothers or sisters or he would understand.  I explained that when someone passed gas in the bed and they wanted to pull a prank, they would "flap the sheets" and the smell would go everywhere torturing the poor person next to them.  He immediately relayed this in spanish to everyone else.  They laughed and laughed. They had never heard of such a thing! Is this only an american custom?  What can I say? I am doing what I can to be an ambassador of good will for the U.S.

       Charlie gave us a riding tour of Dominical after dinner and on the way home we were stopped at a police check point. Several officers leaned into the window and asked many questions in spanish that I did not understand.  From the back seat, Ignacio pulled out his ID and handed it to the officer.  The policeman seemed satisfied and handed it back.  He then asked Romero for his.  Romero did not have his papers with him.  In Costa Rica, it is required that everyone carry their ID card on them at all times, gringos included. They asked Romero to step out of the car and took him back to the guard house.  Ignacio whispered to me, "They think he is Nicaraguan and an illegal."  Twenty minutes passed and we grew more anxious as we wondered if they might keep him.  Finally, they returned him to the truck. He said that he had memorized his ID number, and over time he was able to convince them to check it against their records.  After a while, headquarters had responded back that it was indeed Romero, and he was, in fact, a tico. We rode in silence for a few moments understanding that his life could have been changed at that moment.  Several miles down the road we passed what must have been a waste water treatment plant, and Ignacio broke the silence when he yelled out, "Who flapa da sheets?!?!"

areal shot of palm field I took upon
first arriving in Quepos

communities are built around futbol

La Playa de Matapalo

     

 a bungalow at Jungle House
(note the outdoor kitchen which is very common)

       

La Tarea

       My new friend, the other student in the class, is named Pamela.  Ticos, for some reason, have a really hard time saying Pam, so her name while in spanish class, is PamEla. That's pronounced P-ah-MAY-la. This makes me laugh and I plan to call her this even if we are back in the United States.  She had been to Manuel Antonio eight times before on vacation, so she became my mentor and set out to show me the ropes of navigating this foreign land.  After my surprise party at the school, our first stop on the tour was a restaurant called Agua Azul. Blue Water.  It was perched on the crest of a hill and had an expansive view of the ocean. She ordered two Imperials for us and as we waited, we began to hear a chopping sound coming from the distance.  We finally narrowed down the area where the noise was coming from, and one more chop brought down a tree limb to reveal an amazing site.  There was a barefoot Tico, 30 feet up in the air, in the top of the tree, with a machete!  No ropes or repelling gear, no OSHA requirements, no lawyers waiting at the bottom...  Just him. For the next hour he methodically took down limb after limb just holding himself in the tree. He expertly made every chop count and when the final part of the tree top fell, it opened up our view exposing an island in the ocean beyond.  PamEla clinked my beer and said, "You see, Lucetta, all of Costa Rica celebrates you today."
        Our next stop was a place that most tourists want to visit when they come here.  It is a place called El Avion. The Airplane.  Evidently, back in the 80's this C-123 Cargo plane was a part of the Iran Contra scandal.  The owners disassembled it, brought it up to the top of Manuel Antonio and put it back together again.  It is now the home to a restaurant and bar with sunset views. Why? How? And who thought to put an airplane on the top of a hill? I have no idea, but it is fascinating none the less, and they make a mean Margarita. (it is still my birthday)  The last place on our party trip was a restaurant named Gato Negro. Black Cat. After a delicious steak dinner that did not include beans and rice, PamEla hailed me a cab and sent me back to Quepos.
        Needless to say, I did not do my tarea. Homework.  The next morning at the bus station I whipped out my workbook and spanish/english dictionary; racing the clock.  The bus arrived and as I searched for a seat I saw a woman with blond hair and unbelievably vibrant blue eyes. Aha, an American.  I sat beside her and asked if she wouldn't mind helping a fellow citizen with her homework.  She laughed and said, "Of course." I put the finishing touches on my conjugations as Colleen hopped off at her stop to go to a different spanish school.
        At the beginning of class each day, we have spanish conversation to practice creating sentences and learn to communicate effectively. We talk about what we did the day before, our host families, or things about our life in general.  Charlie, my teacher, said that he had been living in Costa Rica, for the most part, for the last twenty years.  He lived in a small village 30 minutes south of Quepos called Matapalo.  There, he owned 5 buildings on the beach which comprised a small resort called The Jungle House. Tourism was good and this provided him an ample income.  He poured his heart, soul, and resources into the community.  In his resort he employed young Ticos and taught them about work ethic.  He began a life guard training program to create jobs for the young men in the town, and made designs for a community center that would teach valid trade skills as well. He adopted two Tico boys that came from troubled homes to give them a better chance, and wrote a monthly column called, "Making A Difference." A year or so ago, the government changed the Maritime laws on the beach and said that three of his five buildings were in violation. They would have to be torn down! I know that Costa Rica is good about protecting the environment and the sea turtles, but have they never heard about "Grandfathering" in a building until it falls on it's own? It seemed so unfair. Charlie's buildings came down about the same time the economy fell and tourism died.  It was a crushing blow. Having to generate a new income is how Charlie came to be my spanish teacher.
       When he talked about the "Jungle House" his eyes lit up.  "Oh, I just wish you could see it.  It's so beautiful there." PamEla and I were totally engrossed in this real time history lesson on living in Costa Rica and we agreed we wished we could see it too. "Well, why don't we go there this weekend?  I have my truck and I can take you."  PamEla and I looked at each other and you could see our American brains kick into action as to why we couldn't possibly just pick up at the last minute and go away for the weekend.  This would have to be planned out and things rearranged. But the truth was we were in Costa Rica and there was not one other thing we had to do except enjoy the beauty of this experience.  Charlie helped me write a note in spanish to leave with my host family, telling them I would be away for the weekend.  I went home and packed my bag because I was headed to Matapalo.

PamEla at Agua Azul

the beer of Costa Rica

El Avion

Inside El Avion
You can even climb up into the cock pit

Charlie and graduates of the life guard program

surprise

       The fourth morning in my house, I was awakened yet again, at dawn by the barking pack of dogs. As I came downstairs to breakfast feeling a little grumpy about it, I was greeted with big hugs and kisses from Bileida and Anibal. Together they burst into song, singing, "feliz cumpleanos a ti." I had forgotten. It was my birthday! Anibal continued to hum the birthday song as he ate his sandwich.  Yes, I said sandwich, and yes, we are still at the breakfast part of this story.  Each morning at 6:15am, Anibal goes to the market and picks up two loaves of hot, freshly baked bread.  He sticks one loaf into the fence which separates us from the house of his sister-in-law next door, and brings the other inside. She comes out around 6:30, pulls the loaf out of the fence, and yells, "Gracias!" Today the loaf is filled with ham, lettuce, tomatoes, and mayonnaise.  Lots and lots of mayonnaise.  I love this because I have never had a ham sandwich for breakfast, on my birthday. Afterwards, Anibal motions me into his car to give me a ride to the bus station because it is my special day.  On the way though, he turns left instead of right.  Where are we going? A block away, he pulls up to a house, grabs a bag of clothes from the back seat, and hops out of the car.  He is met by an elderly man who he introduces as Bileida's father.  This is the house where she grew up. Her parents have a laundry business to sustain them, and I realized that some of the clothes in that bag were probably mine.
       At school I tried as best I could to communicate with the one other student in my class, and my professor. I am not one of those people to whom a foreign language comes easily.  I can write a good sentence on paper if I have a minute to think about it, but speaking on the fly is difficult for me.  I'd often find myself rehearsing a pertinent sentence in my head, only to find they had moved on to another topic by the time I got it down pat.  And now I am a year older. Geez, I don't think this is going to get any easier.  My professor makes an announcement. "Terminamos la clase temprano para tomar Lucetta para almorzar." I snapped back into focus as I heard my own name. Huh? We are ending class early to take Lucetta to lunch. Wow. I sat back and tears welled up in my eyes.  These people barely knew me, and yet they were celebrating my birthday.
       We walked up the street to a tiny establishment owned by a Tico named Jose.  He is also the chef. My professor said the food was fantastic and he wanted to support Jose's small business. I ordered Casado which is the typical Costa Rican meal, and they both had the best burritos known to man. Clearly I would try a burrito the next time.  We sat outside by the street, and as cars and trucks flew by, people waved and yelled hello to my teacher. We spent the meal getting to know each other better, in English thank goodness, and it was perfect.  We went back into the school because my teacher left something there that he needed to pick up.  As we walked through the door, a crowd yelled out, "Surprise!"  David, the owner, had gathered up all of the students in the school while we were gone and they gave me a surprise party!  They even provided their own version of queque y helado.  Cake and ice cream. They didn't have candles, so they had me blow out a match after they sang their song. David then told the group that it was a Costa Rican custom that everyone give the birthday person 100 colones (the equivalent of 20 cents american).  All of the students dug into their pockets and pulled out a gold coin for me. At the end of the party I asked David where the custom came from and how it had originated.  He grinned and said. "Oh, I just made that up, hahahaha." Is everyone here a prankster? I didn't mind though, because I got four bus rides out of the deal.

Bileida's father and the laundry business

Jose and his International Restaurant
(that is the entire cafe)

    
    
    

birthday lunch

    

best burrito in the world

stilleto

        I was awakened by the barking of a large pack of dogs after a deep sleep, during the first night in my new home.  I don’t know what set them off into such a frenzy, but there were obviously many of them.  The dawn was just beginning to break and I rolled over to look at the time on my cell phone. Only 5:00am and already the sun was coming up! I pulled my pillow over my head and tried to doze back off.  Dogs are allowed to roam free here, and in fact I have not even seen a leash anywhere, so their little canine party continued for quite a while.  I decided to rise and get ready to see what the day would hold for me. 

       Bileida called me down at 6:15 for the typical Costa Rican breakfast.  Pinto Gallo, which is a mixture of rice and black beans, scrambled eggs, a flour tortilla, and some of that delicious Costa Rican coffee.  I sat up at the bar in the kitchen with she and Anibal, and we attempted to communicate as we ate.  She asked me if I knew how to dance the Salsa and Merengue. I shook my head, no.  She jumped up and motioned me into the kitchen.  She grabbed my arms and began to dance with me!  Anibal clapped his hands with delight and began to hum so we would have music.  We laughed as we swirled around the floor, and when she was satisfied that I had grasped the basic steps, we returned to our breakfast.   Afterwards she picked up her keys and led me to the front door.  She was telling me that they would be leaving early and she wanted to show me how to lock the door properly because Milena would be sleeping upstairs.  We went out the front door and she locked it, pushing it back and forth to make sure it was secure. I nodded and said I would do it the same way.  She turned the key to push the door back opened, but nothing happened.  She tried again and pushed on the door, but nothing.  She was perplexed and mumbling something in Spanish. Were we locked out? We looked at each other and she tried once more, this time hurling her body against the door.  I heard a thud on the other side, and the door swung opened wide to reveal Anibal being flung onto his back on the couch in a fit of laughter.  He had been standing inside holding the door closed the entire time!  He seemed very proud of himself and a giggling Bileida just waved him off as though his antics were nothing new.  I locked the house when I left.  Whew, what a day.  I’d eaten breakfast, learned to dance, had a prank pulled, and it was only 7:15.

       I walked towards the center of town to find the bus station.  I scanned the buses and found one that said, “Quepos/Manuel Antonio”.  It was empty, so I sat down to wait among the others on one of the many benches.  I got out my wallet and counted out 240 colones.  This is their form of money and my coins equaled about 48 cents.  I stood out of the crowd, just a little bit, with my paleness and blond hair as I sat among the beautifully brown Ticos with their flawless skin.  A Tico is someone who was born in Costa Rica.  All other people, no matter where you come from, are Gringos.  This is not disparaging in any way, it is merely a distinction, which I might add comes in handy at times.  The town of Quepos is where most of the Ticos live, and where I live with my host family.  I will take the bus up the hill about 6 kilometers to Manuel Antonio, where hotels, restaurants, night clubs, and my school are located. On the other side of Manuel, down another hill, lay the beach and the National Park. Sitting at the station I silently observe these amazing people.  They greet one another with a kiss, talk, play and laugh as though they haven’t seen each other in years.  They stand to let elderly women sit down, they play with the children, they fan one another in the heat, and share bits of food they have brought for their breakfast.   I watched as several men and women began appearing with large bags full of something wrapped in newspaper.  I detected something round like bowls. Bowls, that’s what they were. These were the people who would sell their wooden bowls at the beach, which were made from the mango tree. Other’s had on shirts with logos from the resorts and would serve the gringos all day up in Manuel Antonio.

         The driver showed up and we all filed onto the bus.  It was crowded.  Rush hour.  I managed to get a seat, but the isles were completely full of people standing.  As we headed up mountain I realized I didn’t know exactly at which stop I should get off the bus. I began to look for something familiar near the school.  I rode and rode but did not see anything on my side of the street. When you are ready to leave the bus, you push a button on the handrail and this lets the driver know he needs to stop at the next bus stop.  After a while I began to get anxious.  Where was my school?  Finally, someone pushed the button and at the next stop all of the people filed out of the isle and off the bus.  I looked over to the other side only to see the beach! The beach?  How did I get down here?  Oh no, what do I do? I guessed that meant I should get off at the next stop, hike back up that hill, and look for the academia.  Right as I was weighing my options and beginning to panic, the bus turned around at the bottom near the Park.  A loop!  The bus was on a loop!  I breathed a sigh of relief, and we headed back up the hill. As I was the only person left on the bus, I moved to the front and asked the driver to show me where to get off for school. I walked through the front door 30 minutes late. The receptionist smiled and wagged her finger at me. “Usted llega tarde. Estuvimos preocupado” You are late. We were worried. I apologized and quickly replayed my bus mishap.  She jumped up, ran into the other room and told her co-worker, in perfect English, “Lucetta tried to skip class and go to the beach. Hahahaha.”  They came into the room, reverted back to Spanish, told me that my tardiness was excused for today, and I should run off to class.

       That evening, after dinner back at my house, more relatives stopped by.  One was my mother’s niece, Lyneth, who announced we were going out to a fiesta that evening.  I thought I understood the words, “iglesia and baile”. Church and dancing. Anibal lay on the couch watching tv, (his favorite spot), with an Imperial Beer, (he drinks two every night) in his shorts, a t shirt with the sleeves cut out, and flip flops (never seen him in anything else).  He watched as the women prepared to go out for the event.  Bileida came into the room and Anibal let out a long slow whistle. Her hair was up in a twist, she had on makeup, jewelry and a smokin-hot little black dress. I ran upstairs and put on something I thought might be appropriate; a black tank and a skirt. As we headed out the door, Bileida topped off her look as she slipped on a pair of shiny black, patent leather, pointed stilletos! We went out to the carport and Lineth jumped in the back seat, so I sat up front with Bileida.  As we pulled out, Anibal came out to close the big gate behind us.  All of a sudden the back door opened and Anibal jumped in.  He was going with us.

           My spanish interpretation was mistaken, and my eyes went wide as we did not pull into a church, but instead, a local club called Bambu Jam.  A live band played Salsa and Merengue in the corner as people gathered around the dance floor.  We all sat at the bar and Lineth ordered us Guaro Cecique and tonic to drink.  Guaro is a Costan Rican liquor that evidently kicks hard when it kicks in.  Lineth claimed that when you drink it with tonic you won't have a hangover the next day. I didn't want to test that theory and I limited myself to only one because I was out with my "parents." After a few sips from his Imperial, Anibal took a deep bow in front of Bileida asking her onto the dance floor. I began to giggle at the thought of my couch dad out there with his dolled up wife.  How would this work?
       I should have known, and should not have been surprised when he suddenly emerged with all the grace and smoothness of Fred Astaire.  He held her tightly as they swirled around the dance floor in perfect unison. Then he pushed her away and expertly twirled her around and around and back again. I was suddenly watching a final episode of Dancing With the Stars. It was mesmerizing. I have come to learn that Tico's are born knowing how to dance.  Really. They possess an innate ability to move.  Soon, more people began to join them on the dance floor and as the crowd thickened, it caused people to bump into one another.  About three dances in, I heard a yelp and looked over to find Anibal almost down on his knees on the floor.  His flip flop was across the room and he was holding his foot grimacing in pain.  Bileida had speared him with her stilleto!  I retrieved his shoe as he hobbled off the dance floor and onto a bar stool. He rocked back and forth writhing in pain, so Lineth did the only thing she could do to help; she immediately ordered him a double Guaro.  Bileida stroked his arm and apologized profusely. Although his dancing career was over for the night, he began to feel better and they both seemed to enjoy watching the ticos teach the clumsy gringos how to dance.
       We arrived back at the house around 11:30, just in time for Milena and her fiance, to come home from her nursing classes.  I excused myself and went up to bed.  Again, the aroma of food came up the stairs and as I lay in my bed I found it impossible to sleep.  This time it was not from hunger, but because downstairs, for a solid 45 minutes, they laughed hysterically as they reenacted  the stilleto debacle over and over.   A deep sense of joy washed over me.  I am right where where I am supposed to be.

My Tico Parents
Bileida and Anibal

My sister Milena and her fiance the doctor

My brother, Michael and his wife

Michael's daughters

The bus station in Quepos

the magic cure

     

I am ET

       Funny how life takes it's twists and turns and sometimes you end up right where you started from.  I am standing outside the school in Manuel Antonio after my first day of spanish class, waiting for my "mother" to pick me up.  I have my books, my homework assignment, and two backpacks full of everything I brought with me. It feels like I am in the first grade again with the excitement of the first day of class, and the anticipation of what life after school means, now that everything is different. Like a six year old, my "mother" will pick me up and I will do what she says.  I have no control over my day, or any knowledge at all of what the afternoon will hold for me. I am completely at the mercy of my new Costa Rican family.

       She greets me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Me llamo Bileida y mi esposo es Anibal."  My name is Bileida and my husband is Anibal.  That was as far as she could contain herself in slow, careful spanish.  She proceeded to talk to me quickly in her native tongue the entire way down the hillside to her town of Quepos.  I didn't understand much at all, but smiled and tried to look as though I did. I began to pick up bits and pieces as she gave me a tour of her small town. She showed me where the bus station was, the bank, and her best friend's gift store which I should patronize.  Evidently those were the important things for me to know. As we left the lower part of the town she said, "Recorde el puente y el muro verde." She was pointing, so I used my brilliant mind and deduced that she meant, "remember the bridge and the big green wall."
       At home, she showed me where the bathroom was, led me upstairs to my tiny bedroom with a slatted door that almost closed, and then gave me a set of keys to the house.  I dropped my bags and she beckoned me back downstairs. She asked if I would like some food.  She proudly communicated that she had red meat from her daughter's birthday party the night before.  It was delicious!  As I began to eat, her husband came home, said hola and sat down at the table to eat as well.  I jumped up and went upstairs to get my gift for them as is customary when you stay with a family.  I presented them with chocolates from America.  They grinned, thanked me and she immediately took them to put them in the freezer.  She was nodding as if to ask if that was ok, and what I wanted to say was, "No! Don't put chocolate in the freezer!  I used to own a bakery. It breaks down the chocolate, separates it, and it turns white.  I've carried these chocolates, protected in my bag for 4 weeks now through three countries to bring them to you. No, don't put them in the freezer!"  But I said the only thing I knew to say. "Si."  Her husband left without a word and I went upstairs to get my homework.  I worked at the kitchen table and watched as a steady stream of people came in and out of the house for various reasons.  There was much hugging and kissing and laughter.  I couldn't understand anything they were saying, but it was beautiful to watch.  
       The owner of the school teaches yoga at a spa, and I told my mother that I planned to take his class at 5:00 and would be back at 7:30.  I had been traveling for three days, hauling bags, and yoga would be the perfect cure for travel stress.  I had planned to walk, but she said no, that she would call me a taxi.  The driver was Danilo (someone's brother), and he would know where to go.   When we arrived at the spa, he pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down his phone number for me to call him when I was done.  The class was held in a beautiful room that had walls made completely of mango wood with huge opened doors which faced the jungle. The sounds of the rain forest were fascinating and it was almost enough to help me forget how incredibly hot it was.
       At the end of yoga I went out to the spa to borrow a phone.  The spa was closed. It was dark outside and raining.  Darn, I forgot that the sun goes down here at 6:00pm every single night of the year.  What should I do?  I walked down the driveway towards the street and fortunately there was a guard house.  They let me borrow a phone and I called Danilo.  I said, "Lucetta, Raindrop Spa."  He said, "Bueno."  A few minutes later a taxi arrives, but it is not Danilo.  I jump in the back and the driver says, "Donde?" Where?  Um, uh... oh shit!  I don't know where! (pardon the language, but as my dad says, sometimes no other word will do) Shit. Um... "Quepos."  I desperately search for information in my brain.   What area did they live in?  What were their names?  Where was their street? Did I have any information in my tiny purse?  No, I was only going to yoga and back.  As we drove toward Quepos I peered through the dark looking for something I recognized.  I shrugged and said, "I don't know."  My driver just looked at me and then began to laugh a deep belly laugh. I sat back and began to giggle with him.  It is ridiculous to be a grown adult and not even know where you are going.   I suddenly remembered about the bridge.  I didn't even know the words for right or left, or turn around, but i saw a bridge and pointed in that direction.  We went across it and drove down several streets, but nothing looked familiar.  I motioned for him to turn around after a while and as we crossed back over the bridge I started pointing furiously at the bridge itself. He laughed again, nodded, and said, "bueno".  He took me to another part of town with a bridge.  It was MY bridge, and there was the big green wall!  I was home.  
       The house was completely dark, and empty.  I was actually relieved because I needed a few minutes to regroup and I really, really wanted to take a shower.  I used my three keys to get into fort knox, locking everything behind me. I went upstairs and grabbed the things I needed for my shower.  I hadn't washed my hair in days and I had been sweating since I landed.  The bathroom opened to the living room, and I hit the light switch right outside the door. Nothing happened.   Maybe the light was inside?  The bathroom was completely tiled in black tile, so it was pitch dark in there.  I felt all around the usual places you'd find a light switch, but nothing.  Aha!  My headlamp. Earlier in the spring I'd had coffee with my friend Shelly, who lived in Africa for two years. She said to buy a headlamp and keep it with me at all times because it would become my best friend. I went up the steep little staircase and found my new compadre.  Back in the bathroom I went over every inch of every wall.  No light switch!  Damn it, I am taking a shower! Another cuss word.  This is clearly turning into an entire evening when no other word will do.  I set the headlamp on the edge of the shower pointing upwards.  I feel for the faucets and turn them on high. I'm waiting and waiting for it to warm up when the truth of the situation dawns on me.  No hot water.
       I'm drying off after the fastest shower possible given that I really did need to scrub, when I hear someone out in the living room.  I knew I had locked the doors behind me so it must be someone with a key.  I gather my belongings and open the door to find a man lounging on the couch with a beer watching the television. He looked at the bathroom, then at me and scanned down to my headlamp.  He looked concerned. "Problema con la luz?"  Problem with the light?  I just shrugged as if to say I didn't know.  He jumped up, hit the top of the right corner, outside of the back of the door jam and the light came on.  He started laughing out loud!  I looked up and sure enough, in the most awkward, indiscernible place there was a small white button. We were both laughing at that point and I asked him his name.  "Me llamo Anibal."  This was my father!  Her husband.  So who in the world did I have lunch with, and to whom did I present my chocolates that were at that very moment deteriorating in the refrigerator??
        I went upstairs, unpacked my bags and settled into my new room.  I was famished but my mother had somehow gotten the impression that I was going to dinner with the yoga people.  I didn't want her to have to make my dinner at that late hour, so I just told her I wasn't hungry. Around 10:00pm I finally finished my homework and was about to peel off my clothes and dive into bed when I heard the sounds of young children through my window.  Who would have children up at this hour? I heard tiny footsteps coming up the stairs and realized those children were in my house.  Four little eyes peered between the slats of my door (whew, good thing I was still dressed) and my mom waved for me to come downstairs. It was her grandchildren who had come over to meet the new student.  Downstairs were about eight other relatives as well, laughing and talking.  I just smiled and played with the kids, trying to keep from nodding off.  Finally, the families waved goodbye and I thought I would be able to gracefully make my break, but my mother jumped up and began frantically moving furniture on the front terrace. She seemed to be moving it all inside the house.  Of course I got up to help, and just in time, because the iron gate began to open and a car pulled in. Right onto the front terrace! We all worked our way around the car and squeezed through the front door of the house. It was the 22 year old daughter, Milena and her fiance. Milena was in nursing school at night and had just finished a very important exam. By then it was 11:30, so after introductions I said,"Buenos noches" and bolted upstairs before anyone else could come over.  I dove onto my bed completely clothed, and could not move.  I heard more laughter from downstairs and then the banging of pots.  Soon the most delicious aroma made it's way up to my room, and my stomach began to grumble.  My mother was cooking for Milena!  

My street

My house

My bedroom