Can I Pay You in Pain?

This weekend I ventured solo to San Jose.

I've never taken a public bus before, and I'm terrified. I've never done any extensive exploring in San Jose other than flying out of the airport, but traveling by bus is a whooping $8 each way. Central Valley has the reputation for being extremely dangerous; moreover, there are very few road signs, so it's easy to get lost and wind up in a bad part of town. But I suppose this is what happens when you put 3 million plus people in a metro area. This is my only option to play derby, so a girl's gotta do what she's gotta do.

Meanwhile in Guanacaste, Adam and his buddies are here ...

... catching this.

But before I set sail, I've got to go pick up a ticket at the Alfaro station. I was told it's near beachfront restaurant in Tamarindo, so I venture into town. After searching and not finding it, I ask a shopkeeper who points me in the right direction (behind the restaurant). As I trek across the beach, I hear someone shouting my name. It's Claudia, the first (and really only) friend I've made on my own here. She's having drinks with coworkers, but that doesn't stop her from hopping out of her seat and obliging to walk me to the terminal. And thank God she did because I never would have found it. It's literally a boarded up shack next to an abandoned club with a cubious reputation.  (Pictures to follow). I get my ticket for 5:30 am, thank Claudia, and return home to pack with knots of sheer excitement and terror in my gut.

The morning came early. Too early. I said my good-byes to Adam and boarded the bus. So far, so good. A few gringos about my age take seats behind me, but it's too early to talk. My original plan was to take the 1:00 pm and get there at a time where I could be scooped up by my hostess, but the bus only makes that trip on Sundays. My mind was racing, and I was in a mild panic trying to figure out how I was going to spend my time in San Jose until my ride could pick me up. Claudia informed me the terminal wasn't in the best part of town either.

Claudia was right;
I couldn't spend five hours in this section of town.

The bus ride was fairly uneventful. I told the driver it was my first time on a bus, and I spoke little Spanish. He was kind enough to put my in the seat next to his and checked on me from time to time. But once we arrived in the terminal, mild hysteria ensued. As I collected my bags, I mustered up the courage to ask the three gringos their plans and told them the predicament I was in. This is how I met Mike, Piers, and Rennike. They were going back home tomorrow to Europe (sans Rennike, who was headed to Panama), and invited me to tag along with them for the next few hours.

We hopped a cab to the hostel they were staying (The In & Basic: highly recommended) to let them unload to figure out our next move. The mall a few streets over seemed the safest bet to pass the time and grab a quick bite. Unfortunately, everyone else in San Jose seemed to have the same idea. Even though the food court was two stories, it took us 30 minutes to find a table. And that was only half the battle. Once we secured our location, we ventured out in twos to wade through the grease and condiments (I eventually overpaid for a grilled chicken salad, but it was well worth it).

Three stories of hell, terror, and the worst food you could possibly put in your body

After wondering through a strange assortment of shoe shops, designer clothing stores, theaters and even one shop that sold kid costumes, sex toys and bongs all within arms reach, we had our fill and left. Three blocks west we stumbled into a bowling alley that had an all-inclusive lane cost of 1200 colones per hour (about $2.75). Even though there were about 20 people there, no one was bowling. We decided to scrap the idea and head back at the hostel.  A few hours of playing air hockey and watching a few Brazilians play soccer on the xBox and it was time for me to leave. I said my good-byes to my new Euro friends and hopped a taxi to Teatro Melico Salazar to meet Siouxsie Wheels, the stranger who graciously invited me into her home.

Siousxie lived in a neighborhood and house that was both practical and perfect. It was a cozy place tucked away in one of the many blended cities of the Central Valley. She had basic amenities close by, and even a nice spacious park for her two puppies to go nuts and wear themselves out. She lived with her boyfriend, Andres, and her teenage cousin Andrew, who was visiting until April. The entire weekend reads like a Hallmark greeting card: good times, good laughs, good food, good people-- thanks a mil.

Practice came early on Saturday morning and was, needless to say, an enlightening even for all parties involved. I'll go first: it was the first real situation I had been in where I was completely inhibited by my lack on language. I can get by in Guanacaste. I can get seafoods and chicken from markets, order in restaurants, haggle with road vendors, and fill up the car. None of that was even remotely useful here. I had no idea what was going on. But everywhere I go here, Lady Luck smiles down on me. Even though I had the only English mother tongue, two of the skaters were two trilingual Europeans, and the coach spoke some English too. To my utter surprise, the floor was the most perfect surface I had ever skated on: smooth, polished, sticky concrete-- a total dream come true. Between the four of us, we ran a highly successful practice full of squats, sprints, falls and stops.

PDRG Scrimmage Practice: I was blown away by the raw talent and enthusiasm that coursed through these skaters.

I could have gotten on a bus right after practice, and the whole trip would have been worth it. But definitely glad I didn't. Somehow Sunday's outing topped my high from Saturday's practice.

My adventure started out at Paseo Colon-- the main artery running through downtown San Jose. Paseo Colon is famous for it's parades, festivals, and all around good times. This weekend was no exception; it was Domingos Sin Humo (Smoke-free Sunday). The festival spanned over a km with street soccer and volleyball, a skatepark, inflatable water slides, a zipline, baby mechanical bull for the little tykes, a host of kiddie contests like hula hooping and sack races and of course a main stage with bands, DJs zumba, cheerleaders, and of course roller derby.

I had been told we were passing out flyers, but when we arrived, we collectively learned that we were also expected to do a demonstration for the public. So we quickly threw together a few drills to wow the 300+ people waiting to see what roller derby looked like. The crowd loved us!

Onlookers ooh and aah at our one knee falls.

Roller derby is not a sport that fits in particularly well within the paradigm of Tico culture, who are by nature, passive people. (No army since 1949.) But nevertheless, right now there are about 20 girls and one coach that are defying cultural norms and have taken a shine to derby. After the demonstrations we passed out flyers up and down the streets and were warmly received with questions and a few people even wanted pictures.

The beauty of being a roller girl is you can go anywhere in the world, find a team,
and have instant friends because you have something so unique and exciting in common.

Arial view of Parque Metropolitano La Sabana.

The closest I'll ever come to skating banked track derby

The girls were stoked to have received such a positive response, and decided to celebrate with some more skating. About four blocks away, we went to a park, that I would classify a skater's Mecca: Parque Metropolitano La Sabana. It had a blue asphalt track filled with runners, dog walkers, skateboarders and rollerbladers; a smooth concrete speed track with banked corners; and a flat surface in the center for a hockey rink (which we got to skate on once the game was over).

Sadly, this was my last leg of the adventure for the weekend, but I knew I'd be back in two weeks. We hopped a bus that took us to the Alfaro station, and Siouxsie and I said our temporary good-byes. I boarded the bus and settled in for my 5+ hour ride back home.

On the way back, I slept most of the way, but got off for the routine pit stop. Surviving off of a little gallo pinto and an apple for the day, I was on the hunt for some food. I was all out of colones and had a few USDs to my name. My pronunciation was a little off when I asked the food vendor if I could pay in "dolers" (the Spanish word for pain) instead of "dollars." Of course he laughed in my face and repeated it to another Tico customer who snickered as well. I suppose I woulda done the same.

Looking back now, I should have hipchecked him to the floor and run off with my pipa fria and apple, shouting back as I ran away, "Well, I asked if I could pay in pain." Next time.

The Plight and Peril of Petuna Negra

After three weeks of being carless and having no luck with the the ones we had checked out (title problems, one sold from under our noses or just a sour lemon), Ron takes us to see Mario, his mechanic. His shop is everything you'd expect a mechanic setup would be in Costa Rica: open air with a few wooden pillars holding up a tin roof and a plethora of tools all surrounded by chain link fence and barbed wire (and throw in a few dogs for good measure).

We give Mario the DL on what we are looking for and ask him to keep an eye out. Like the washer, we've got good juju on tap here, and he's got an old Suzuki Samauri that needs some electrical work done but can be knocked out in less than two weeks. She needs a back seat and a gas tank, but the previous owner should still have those. Adam saw my eyes light up and knew I had to have her. On top of that, Mario'll throw in a year guarantee on the motor. We had a deal.

the original Petunia. Yes those are Metal Militia stickers on her side.

Five days into working on our new-old car, who we lovingly named Petunia, Mario rings to inform us of a better kept Samurai he just acquired. That, and Petunia's gas can had been sold. But it didn't matter, and we fell in love all over again with the second Samurai.

Me presentarte Petunia Negra

She had a little problem getting all hot and bothered (that's sexy talk for an overheating engine), but Mario said he'd rebuild it in a few days, and we'd get her at the same time we expected to have the other car.

The day finally rolls around for us to pick her up. It feels good to have four wheels under us again.  We take her for a quick spin to Tamarindo, back to our place, to get gas (closest station is 20km away), and finally to Playa Grande. The parents were in town and so was Aimee, my first friend. (She gets her own story later.) We get on the gravel road to my parents neighborhood, and Adam asks if I want to drive the rest of the way home.

It was like holding a baby-- my baby, for the first time. I gently slide the seat up to reach the pedals,  push in the clutch and give her some gas. She heaves. Sputters. Stalls. I'm crushed. Determined to be the one to pull up to the crowd waiting at home, I twist the key in the ignition. She doesn't start. She didn't even try. Oh my God, I killed my baby! It's at this time I notice she's running a high fever. We pop the hood and give her some time to regain her composure. Adam brings her to the house. The crowd oohs and ahhhhs. We're proud parents, but something just feels a little off.

Over the next few weeks, our play sessions with Petunia Negra are short but sweet. We can drive for 30-45 minutes at a time. She's guzzling anti-freeze. It's enough time to get to the beach and run errands, but we're worried about her

(SIDE RANT: The vocabulary needed when keeping tabs on Petunia Negra is not covered in high school or college Spanish classes. You never learn parts of the car, or how to say anti-freeze, which doesn't even translate. There's no freezing here. It's anti-rust. Or as I learned from stopping in a gas station, it's "el culant".)

Over the next three weeks, Adam makes a few trips to Mario's shop trying to figure it out. At first, we tried the radiator cap. Then the head gasket. They swapped radiators with Petunia Original. She still ran hot. Exasperated, we decide to leave her in Mario's care for  few weeks and let him work his magic. Although I loved my Petunia Negra, she's been difficult. On more than one occasion, I found myself wondering what life would have been like if we had gone with Petunia Original.

Upon returning home, Mario's labors led him to the conclusion that both Samurai's indeed had bad radiators. She's no longer overheating and we're ready to make an hour long trip now. I've been dying to hike Rincon de la Vieja for years and it's less than 2 hours away.

Fast forward two weeks and some change.

My second oldest childhood friend pops down for a few days and we're picking her up in San Jose (4ish hours away). It's Petunia Negras first big trip. A little nervous. But she's been behaving so well lately.

There's no 4 hour drive in the States that's as beautiful as the drive to San Jose so I never mind making the drive. The scenery fades from oceans to countryside winding through mountains and crossing caiman infested rivers, eventually leading us to the bustling Central Valley.

Even saw one of these up in the mountains.

It's a total Pura Vida introduction here for Courtney: cooler full of beer, picturesque farmland dotted with brahmas, deliciouds roadside pipas frias. The mood is light and the company is good. As we talk about her itch to move tropical again (like moving here), she asks if we get bored. As we traipse down a decently paved dirt road and about 10km from home, I assure her there's never a dull moment here. The conversation switches but a short time later, I catch a glimpse of an eye level tire outside Courtney's window. At first I'm wondering how the spare came off the back and was beating down the road. But that idiotic notion was promptly shot down when her side of the car sank into the dirt, and I realized what I saw was a blown tire.

Or not. The tire is in tact. So is the rim. The lug nuts are on tight albeit one is missing. But there lays Petunia Negra's rear driver-side wheel.  And not just the wheel. The drive shaft too.  Although these two pieces completely disconnected from the car and she was hemorrhaging oil, they still stayed perfectly united as a single piece. The tire on its side and drive shaft protruding upwards looked like a tether-ball setup for a hobbit.

The sun is setting and now we're on a dirt road with no lights, but that's OK. Lights impede seeing the stars anyways. Stargazing here is a magnificent sight to behold. Sure we see stars back in the States, but it's not like it is here. So we stargaze and divert traffic around the car until help arrives.

Mario again saves the day (it's a fairly common theme here). This time he is with his wife Lucia and three kids in tow. Mario and Adam stay to fix the car-- it was a shotty wheel bearing locker, and Lucia takes the rest of us home.

So no Courtney, it's never a dull moment here.

It All Comes Out in the Wash(er)

Let me take you back a few months. Say first week of November. Adam and I just arrived. We're still carless. We also don't have a way to wash clothes and it's been about 5 days since we got here. We need to find a washing machine, and more importantly, we need to figure out a way to get it home.

Good fortune smiled upon us as we found a washer on Craigslist (we have a Craigslist for the entire country here) that claimed to be located between Tamarindo and Huacas-- the towns to our left and right. Even though these people said they lived between two towns, it was more like they lived 1km outside Huacas, which is a good 10km from the house.

The washer was in perfect condition and inexpensive ($220 USD), so how could we refuse? We talked to the lovely couple selling it, and they needed it gone by Tuesday at 2pm (today was Saturday) since they were moving to San Jose. SB said she'd get a friend to help us move it. All was right in the world, and we'd be back soon to pick it up. Or so we thought.

But this is Costa Rica. You have a plan, then you get plan b. Then c. Then d, e, f and g. It's a scientific fact. Turns out, SB's buddy's car broke down leaving us SOL. We called another friend from Playa Grande, but it turns out her "cheeky little son packed her cell phone in some luggage under the bed" so she got the message the following Thursday. Ron, our neighbor, was out of town. To make matters even more complicated, the sellers were now leaving at 8am.

In a panic, I call SB for plan h, but she's got her own problems at the moment. Tired of listening to my session, she snaps, "Sometimes you've gotta just figure this out on your own." My first reaction was *$%@#!!!!, but deep down, I knew she was right. This was OUR washer. OUR problem.

So we did what any sensible, carless, true-to-their-word people would do in this situation; we got up at 5am and aimlessly started walking. There was no game plan after walking, although we decided worst case scenario, one of us would walk to the nearest hotel, backtracking another 2km, and ask them to call us a taxi truck (I could at least yammer that in remedial Spanish).

At least the road was paved and the quiet.

We ambled along the road for a good 7km, occasionally sticking out our thumb to no avail, until a mid90s 4-Runner slows down for us. Dominic, a plummy, mid to late 60s expat from England gives us a lift for the last 1.5km. He's a rather pleasant fellow, well read and the whole shebang. He was on his way to Playa Flamingo to drop off a weed whacker and promptly turning around. He was game for moving the washer too.

He drops us off at our destination and promises to return shortly. After a friendly exchange with the San Jose bound couple, we sit on the side of the road with the washing machine for the next 45 minutes. Dominic scoops us up, but instead of taking us right back to our house, we go to his.

We are greeted by a bounding German Shepard as soon as we pass the gate. He give us a tour of the property, his chicken coup and swimming-pool-turned-tilapia-pond. We chat for a while about literature, the Master Cleanse (he was on day 6) and life in Costa. Upon learning Adam's profession, he hands him a computer to fix for a Nicaraguan girl going to university next year.

After a lovely visit, he takes us back to our house in Llanito, dryer in tow. Almost three months later, it's still going strong.

We made it!

The view from our road

Adam and I have made it and are getting settled in. The weather is perfect. The rainy season is over. It hasn't rained in three days and we won't be seeing any more clouds until May.

The trek from San Jose to was interesting to say the least. Once we got off the plane we were picked up by Budget to get our car and made a quick trip to Wal-Mart. Once we got out on the highway, it was pretty easy to navigate. Adam downloaded Costa Rica maps for the Garmin. I have little faith in GPSs and as expected, we were taken off the main highway and down some country roads past some little towns. Originally, it estimated we would arrive at 6:15, but we're on Tico time now, so it was more like 9:30.







But the detour allowed me to buy the biggest bag of mamon chinos ever, my new favorite fruit.

Our neighborhood is adorably quaint. It's comprised most of Ticos and other Latin Americans. We have cows and horses across the street from the house.

 

 

And El Salvador has an AA meeting place.

I named him Willie Poole and he's a permanent fixture

We have also learned that you share your residence with bugs and geckos. You get used to it really quick. (The ants are so big you can literally see their eyes.)



We are currently searching for a car- they are beyond ridiculously priced here. We're looking at two late 1980s models and they in the $4000 range. We should have a washer next week, but no dryer- those are luxuries.

Available at Auto Mercado

For those of you who think we are roughing it, I'd hardly be concerned. San Jose has Wal-Marts, Hooters, Ashley Furniture and an IMAX. Sure some of the roads aren't paved where we are, but we live about 300m from an Apple store.

Last night Sarah took us out to the opening of a discoteca in Playa Potrero and the place was hopping. Every other song was a Zumba song so you know I was loving it. The highlight of the evening though was when a 5 piece drum ensemble showed up and rocked it. I'm pretty damn sure one guy was jamming out on a coffee tin and one drummer blew a whistle. I would have taken a picture, but we were all too busy going nuts and dancing.




We went exploring down one of our roads today and made nice with some Ticas- Maria, Maria y Jenette. I look forward to practicing Spanish with them.

After meeting them, we got stuck in traffic jam and had to clear the road. ------------>


There are a lot of wonderful people and sights to see. We look forward to having our friends come down and visit! We're hiking to a Castle in the woods some time this week and we may hit up Rincon de la Vieja- the closest volcano too. Stay tuned for more. Pura vida mis amigos!