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.