I first came to Costa Rica maybe 15 years ago. It has changed significantly. My 15 years pales, however, next to Neal’s long term perspective of 46 years. I hope you enjoy it.  Click continue to read it.

(I) lived in Costa Rica in 1961 & 62, and attended La Universidad de Costa Rica, in San Pedro de Montes de Oca (brand new Ciudad Universitaria at the time). Have decided to return to CR to live (con Visa de Pensionado) and hope to move by September or October. The wife and our youngest daughter will be joining me once I’ve bought or built a home.

For (45) years I put-off the return visit for fear that I’d spoil those memories, but went back last February just to check things out. Alas I was right, CR is not as it was. I could have cried, and I kid you not, when I saw what San Jose and the Central Valley had become. San Jose was the cleanest and friendliest city I had ever seen, back in ‘61, with the prettiest girls. I was 20 then and, after growing up in Montreal and Toronto, had visited Paris, Rome, and Beirut; none could compare to San Jose. (Later I lived in Santiago de Chile, LA, Portland, Vancouver, Stewart in Northern BC, and Whitehorse, none of these could compare either, although Stewart and Whitehorse each reserve a warm spot in my heart.)

Sadly, San Jose now is garbage strewn and dirty, stressed beyond its elastic limit, if you know what I mean, reminiscent in many ways of Santiago, Chile, in the sixties; even the Ciudad Universitaria is unkempt.

Fortunately, unlike the Santiaguinos, the Josefinos are friendly even now. (On day one of my visit they atempted to answer in English when I spoke to them in Spanish; we managed to overcome that hurdle on day two. And to think they used to call me ‘Tico adoptado’ and claim that I had no discernible accent.) At any rate, I plan to look for a home outside the Zona Metropolitana.

One of the most admirable things about Ticos, then and now, is their relative lack of regard for Social Status or Stratification, particularly when compared to Canada or other Latin American countries (Chile was worse than India in that regard). I can’t imagine being invited to any Canadian Prime Minister’s or American President’s home, for dinner, just because I met his son at a party. I was so invited to the home of Pepe Figuerez, a man far more worthy of respect, and far more admired by his people, than any Canadian Prime Minister or US president. (Very ’simpatico’ and informal, we discussed anything and everything except politics.)

Another Tico quality was (is?) ‘helpfulness;’ kindness above and beyond the call of duty, so to speak. Public servants who would type out a letter of application, or correct my efforts (back then, official requests were very formal and flowery), no charge; store owners who would lead one by the hand, across town, to their competition, for a two-dollar item they did not stock.

Way back when, as they say, I traveled through and visited much of CR, but the only area I knew really well was SJ and surroundings; have joined ARCR, but still find it difficult to get information about the towns and areas of interest to me: Zarcero, San Ramon, Palmares, San Ignacio de Acosta, and others on the dry side of the cordillera (just for example), do you have any suggestions on how to get such info? It would be nice to have a general idea re. where to start looking.

Neal… I have sent you my phone number. Call me and we can discuss your interest in those locations. Thanks for your letter!

I pulled out my computer to read something I had downloaded and to my surprise! Internet connection. Who’d have thought in the middle of Central America, in a small mountain town I could read about the latest news on the latest book that’s come out about Diana. It’s freaky. A marriage made in heaven.

Thanks for stopping in to this blog.

This event went as usual except for the blessing of the birthday child, her mother, and their home. A woman took out her rosary, a prayer book, and older ladies gathered in a U around a small nativity set with a candle burning in the middle. In my earlier days I would have scoffed and rolled my eyes at the whole thing. Life sat me down and taught me a thing or two. I’ve mellowed. Now I love listening to the rosary. I can watch the mouths of the women race over the prayers in harmony. I can laugh because after many years, I can still whip out a quick Hail Mary with the best of them.

It is such a peaceful thing to pray. No matter the language or religion. It is a moment of thinking about unity, love, forgiveness, and others. Upon finishing, the ladies were served up treats by our newly blessed mom and her three-year old daughter. My daughter came up to me and asked for more candy. My son woke up from his nap, and little ladies who’d come to pray all left for home, holding a piece of birthday cake in their hand and a rosary in the other.

Then, I moved to Costa Rica. A plastic bag free-for-all. There’s no question these bags with handles are handy, and since it does rain in Costa Rica, paper bags aren’t always a good solution especially when one has to take the bus or walk home. But the other day when I came home, my AAA batteries (which are encased in plastic to begin with) were inside a plastic bag inside another plastic bag. After a shopping trip, I will easily accumulate about 15 bags. Recycycling? Remember what it was like in the 1980s to recycle? Lugging the bags to faraway bins. If you were lucky you lived by the Goodwill. That’s kind of what it is like here. I moved to a city that used to recycle, but the program stopped. Now I’m back to driving my bottles to a bin, or finding a fellow I can take them to who will gladly haul take them from me every few weeks.

There’s no place to recycle these bags other than the bathroom. For those who do not know, living in Costa Rica is much like living on a boat: you can’t flush the toilet paper down the bowl. Those plastic bags come in handy for the little garbage pail that sits in all bathrooms. But we just don’t use the bathroom enough to recyle about 30 bags a week I end up brining home. I feel like I’m drowning in the things.

But, I’m returning to my roots. While shopping for curtains, my daughter and I came across this great orange, zippy looking pull-cart. Kind of an up-to-date, stylish model of the metal cart with two wheels.

Hey! Let’s get it. It’s not in the budget, but think of the gas we’ll save by walking to the store!

We choose orange over all the other bright colors.

The next day, we walked to the grocery store. I put the grocery cart next up to the cashier and started unloading the items onto the belt. My daughter started in on her deep desire for M&Ms. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the grocery boy pulling out little white plastic bags.

NO! Stop!

I had even brought cloth bags to pack the vegetables in. I snipped at Coco to forget the candy and dashed for the vegetables. The young man looked at me as if I was looney. In a manner of ten seconds, he’d already packed up about eight plastic bags with an average of two items in each bag. My daughter still loomed long-faced by the chocolate and the cashier was ready for money. I felt like a defensive player on the basketball court: no matter how big I spread my butt, I couldn’t keep my court safe.

The grocery boy flung up his hands, rolled his eyes (crazy Gringa!) and went back to the his bench. I paid and began taking items out of the plastic. I left a pineapple and some plantains in bags so they wouldn’t leak in the cart. It’s not easy being green. But darned if we aren’t going to keep trying. We tipped the orange cart back and started walking for home.

*You can get fresh, organic food delivered right to your door in the Central Valley of Costa Rica from the fine people at NaturaStyle.

The Internet, I believe will – and is – changing the world. Living in a developing country and creating a viable income could really only be possible with the Internet. Democracy will grow much faster than mold through the Internet. Voices will connect, and no one can fight the power of souls connecting.

But the sketchy characters will continue to try. Instead of fiberglass lines, we’ve got cable and phone company monopolies. Thus back to our problem in Costa Rica. There’s too many people and not enough lanes of traffic. Sound familiar? The Internet takes planning and thought. It’s sketchy characters that benefit from a quick, short term buck that leave us all clicking that mouse with no results.

I’ve learned it can be a very good thing to be without Internet – our new life addiction. Many of us run to it like we used to dash to the answering machine the moment we walked in the door. Yet listening to a few messages wasn’t quite as time consuming as hours and hours and hours of Internet surfing.

Paradise has it’s bumps; bruises and blemishes. And when I get frustrated and want to scream at the computer, I grab a shot of morning sunshine or watch the stellar moon and listen to the palm trees rustle in the wind and connect on another level.

I pack snacks; drive; wait; drive; empty snack packs and repeat.

My kids are exhausted, and so am I. I wonder if all this running around amounts to anything other than bags under our eyes. The problem is the hook. What’s the hook?

I laugh at the plays. I cry at the ballet performance. I’m a sucker for anyone, or anything, giving it “their all.” My eyes well up the moment I see the effort; the moment performers – ballerina, thespians, dolphins, volleyball players – take to the stage, field, or course.

It’s like that great shot in golf. The entire game may suck, but then on that one hole, you step up and whack….it’s a perfect shot…and you’re hooked. You return to play again despite it all.

When anybody gives it their best shot, reel me in because I’m hooked.

* Now I’m not knocking the Midwest, there’s a lot of fine folks there too.

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If I am running a little late or need just a second to gather keys, phone, money, bottle, diapers before we leave (for even the smallest of trips), I can safely put Addison in the car and he happily chats away while kicking his feet up and down and anticipating whatever journey we are going to take. If I am not taking Addison in the car, we have to sneak out the side door or he starts to cry when he sees the car pull away, which breaks everybody’s heart.

My daughter now loves the car, but once and awhile will throw up, just for old time’s sake. I’ve found one of the easiest ways to entertain the kids on a Saturday night is to load them up in the car, throw on the rain coats, and slurp down some Italian Ice at the cafe down the street (Costa Rica is growing up in gourmet!).

It just takes so little to please a kid, and me for that matter, most of all it is about feeling safe and knowing exploration is welcome; discovery is paramount; and raspberry ice a must.