tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38386067685670528962024-03-13T04:50:37.418-07:00Sweeney/Britton AstrayThe Obligatory Blog of the Sweeney/Britton's Family Sabbatical in Costa RicaCaitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-22536310520992626712011-07-29T09:23:00.000-07:002011-07-29T10:22:11.316-07:00Hasta Luego, Nosara!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhCYdGaubGaHTfvnvvyu1ZLxvaadO1ZEY_OpMEnSpVe-iEfKDVy130PrBmVk8qu__OoqvLR0f3HTua3OqmZ6V9QMm_2h4wHVl_vLNuHC4dSsMAq_PgnXofqyorFl5ou8Byj8POpi195A/s1600/DSCN3538.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhCYdGaubGaHTfvnvvyu1ZLxvaadO1ZEY_OpMEnSpVe-iEfKDVy130PrBmVk8qu__OoqvLR0f3HTua3OqmZ6V9QMm_2h4wHVl_vLNuHC4dSsMAq_PgnXofqyorFl5ou8Byj8POpi195A/s400/DSCN3538.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634823716555860050" border="0" /></a><br />We leave <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Nosara</span> tomorrow morning. Our bags are almost packed, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">internet</span> service is shut off, we have been saying difficult goodbyes all week, and due to the excitement and anxiety of returning home I have become a homeopathic pill popper in an effort to sleep at night. Amidst many other emotions today, I find I am experiencing a feeling of loss for all the blog postings I never wrote.<br /><br />Several were half formed ideas that I never could develop past a few notes or the first paragraph. Like the one on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Nosara</span> fashion, inspired by a friend's <a href="http://easttwinwesttwin.wordpress.com/2010/09/20/fashion-week/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">blogpost</span></a>, on her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">thriftstore</span> finds and the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">fashionista</span> teachers at her son's school. My posting was to be some combination of bemoaning my shortage of clothes here and the lack of opportunities for fashion, along with a photo montage of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Nosara</span>’s most fashionable women – by far the teachers and staff at Sadie’s school.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4bpQieMA0HTRAeu17hIIGSaJvYQTP40vqOPMOxDktfyXpO71FM425QmFq5-FWB0rKeekQ1sOACcU7H8p2-ml4S1FmrcnMFbnCQEDiapdkmW2IRMSsg6ntRYrV6OjvTPl9wjIcFc4w9oI/s1600/DSCN3633.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4bpQieMA0HTRAeu17hIIGSaJvYQTP40vqOPMOxDktfyXpO71FM425QmFq5-FWB0rKeekQ1sOACcU7H8p2-ml4S1FmrcnMFbnCQEDiapdkmW2IRMSsg6ntRYrV6OjvTPl9wjIcFc4w9oI/s400/DSCN3633.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634822697859496578" border="0" /></a><br />Then there was the “Person on the Street” interview blog, where I recorded what various <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Nosarans</span> love about living in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Nosara</span>, coupled with a picture. Unfortunately my interviews never made it past the first day when I was inspired by the idea, and so rather than post pictures of only Del Mar parents and children who were at swimming class that day, the blog was left unwritten. Naturally later I lost all my notes.<br /><br />I also had a book blog in mind. I have diligently kept track of all the books I have read since we’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">ve</span> been here and had in mind some mini reviews as well as various statistics: the total number read (57), how the total breaks down into a weekly average (somewhere around 1.2 a week), some sort of analysis of that weekly average (more or less than I expected? Well, less actually), how many I really loved, how many I cannot recall reading at all, how many were total trash and how many were “literature,” and a list of those I tried to read but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">couldn</span>’t bring myself to finish (one about the whale songs that was at the house and originally included a CD, essays about Tori Amos and her creative process, a book about the life history of ants - despite the fact that it was written by Edward O. Wilson, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s first autobiography – some 500 pages covering about 20 years of his life).<br /><br />Jungle <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Zumba</span> certainly deserved a posting (thanks to everyone who came to class!). As did the evolution of !Que Rico! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Helado</span> (the business has changed hands and will live on in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Nosara</span>!).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtEsKhBT1aKkIifEfdNsihMaoWO_7DIhLV3ufA6GwOb8jfm1PGKI6gGtJvrVSp2h6xHnslJ-KXQ-h3cRD6pGWGFxxb8tBsmu7SOmnEPUWSYyrr1TuJ3MTmwo1IW3ppy4KUN1vUEwl3g-A/s1600/zumba1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtEsKhBT1aKkIifEfdNsihMaoWO_7DIhLV3ufA6GwOb8jfm1PGKI6gGtJvrVSp2h6xHnslJ-KXQ-h3cRD6pGWGFxxb8tBsmu7SOmnEPUWSYyrr1TuJ3MTmwo1IW3ppy4KUN1vUEwl3g-A/s400/zumba1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634822682292066946" border="0" /></a><br />I had a "life in a small town" blog in mind. So different for adults and children alike than our city experience, in both positive and negative ways. A week ago our Pathfinder took its last breath and we were forced to abandon it for a rental <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Yaris</span>. Now, our last week in town we are denied the small pleasure of waving to everyone when we drive around - the locals don't look twice at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Yaris</span> not expecting they would know anyone driving a rental.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishSO97-bj8mj2waTByLpH7ErapZDyDFbh0Pn2sJS0L_q3MBE7cTDyYczf8TiUaoqmiAiKrkDi0PcOMOVi_-y6Go87NbZ9bi9n5CjySnO6idaOAngN2hJM0XXGmGIk9nLoA6yLOZt0Mbk/s1600/DSCN3820.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEishSO97-bj8mj2waTByLpH7ErapZDyDFbh0Pn2sJS0L_q3MBE7cTDyYczf8TiUaoqmiAiKrkDi0PcOMOVi_-y6Go87NbZ9bi9n5CjySnO6idaOAngN2hJM0XXGmGIk9nLoA6yLOZt0Mbk/s400/DSCN3820.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634825333625193506" border="0" /></a><br />Of course there were certainly a few adventures I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">didn</span>’t get a chance to describe. Like how Ian, Sadie and I were all riding one quad and tried to ford an unfordable river and quickly sank. Or how at the going away party we were so nicely thrown which included a very exciting Greased Pig Contest (wherein the shaved and greased pig was released among a throng of excited male contestants, only to stand stock still with a relaxed expression on its face. Finally one guy bent down and gave the pig a hug, thereby winning the contest).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapyluFlBuQYqj-7Z_bNnO2EucZXKJ1dgvXpQg2dcOuIcvYrq5hi_JhECyIsUyFHEnfEblGr4I9iWn0dL1vS1S8ckhCm2MnvPxCmNjncahFN3PA8rbsQ8u7ESQepHcBB-Jcb7eDuTsv30/s1600/DSCN3795.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgapyluFlBuQYqj-7Z_bNnO2EucZXKJ1dgvXpQg2dcOuIcvYrq5hi_JhECyIsUyFHEnfEblGr4I9iWn0dL1vS1S8ckhCm2MnvPxCmNjncahFN3PA8rbsQ8u7ESQepHcBB-Jcb7eDuTsv30/s400/DSCN3795.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634813076416210482" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmy3w4lreRj_y-VzDvw0kMwSIB8CUMV8w1VDYHLr3omVmg7aaNk3IZPXmmT_VFUNb8Lpm-xDMFzg1YfcX0NRt307fI2nz5h7omUYojXARYotdih-bYhySGZbBDjTDVVwA3_vxp4MKGHg/s1600/DSCN3933.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmy3w4lreRj_y-VzDvw0kMwSIB8CUMV8w1VDYHLr3omVmg7aaNk3IZPXmmT_VFUNb8Lpm-xDMFzg1YfcX0NRt307fI2nz5h7omUYojXARYotdih-bYhySGZbBDjTDVVwA3_vxp4MKGHg/s400/DSCN3933.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634812417246532066" border="0" /></a><br />And naturally, there were all those end-of-year postings I was to write. Full of profound analyses of what we have learned about ourselves during our sabbatical year, wonderfully articulated goals for the future, clever and witty musings on what we will miss (monkeys! teeth cleaning and two filled cavities in under an hour for $100!) and not miss (flying ants! strange unidentifiable rashes!), and heartfelt and poignant tributes to special people and places. All, of course, perfectly matched with fabulous photos.<br /><br />But alas, we leave tomorrow and no time left to blog. All there is time for now is to say thank you to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Nosara</span> for an incredible, fabulous, wonderful, amazing year. We will miss everyone and everything very much!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioS2S_0KazHxwArKIkAqZWVC-_QpnKVm6hjDS9jjpVlxvIU7oz1o6F5icPKJP06YGtv5h-8e89W1fMEbKToPquS25j_p2qZbAv_FbY-1hRqL0uhAKhLn7TfI0ojF8ylKC2zKzBvgZ4XbA/s1600/DSCN3717.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioS2S_0KazHxwArKIkAqZWVC-_QpnKVm6hjDS9jjpVlxvIU7oz1o6F5icPKJP06YGtv5h-8e89W1fMEbKToPquS25j_p2qZbAv_FbY-1hRqL0uhAKhLn7TfI0ojF8ylKC2zKzBvgZ4XbA/s400/DSCN3717.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634813081085035810" border="0" /></a></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-51791921995032927472011-07-25T09:49:00.000-07:002011-07-29T10:27:21.908-07:00Gracias, Del Mar Academy!<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8xeH56o7N0ShsTTVdebKvfsnwk_B1HEKmXzzdoTd4wrdWboJ9f5p0ile1c-ggF54X5FoLETevwEjfbuxZ6J9k4gc9k4CTkKBAcuyZeCMUSE7F9wuFsM_e4afKjHGyeHBCAdYR6dnTpk/s1600/DSCN3760.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm8xeH56o7N0ShsTTVdebKvfsnwk_B1HEKmXzzdoTd4wrdWboJ9f5p0ile1c-ggF54X5FoLETevwEjfbuxZ6J9k4gc9k4CTkKBAcuyZeCMUSE7F9wuFsM_e4afKjHGyeHBCAdYR6dnTpk/s400/DSCN3760.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633336686285647298" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Del Mar Academy Graduation Day)</span><br /></div><br /><br />Sadie has attended lots of terrific schools in her relatively short school career, but last week was the first time I've cried during end-of-year parent/teacher conferences. That's how much I love Del Mar Academy and how sad I am to leave it. Because yes, it is not just Sadie who is leaving the school, it is the entire family.<br /><br />One of the great joys of this sabbatical has been the opportunity for Ian and I to get involved in Sadie's school. As I've mentioned before, we joined lots of committees, helped out whenever and wherever we could, and generally hung around the school quite a bit. It gave structure to our lives here, it allowed us to better understand who Sadie is and what in the heck she does all day, and it provided us a wonderful community to be a part of. (As a plus, Del Mar is also a beautiful place to spend time).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5EHlZ0njQXV0idSoEThOxFwQLbVAlk-R3StxBhhdMAZoxvlaNgsoqPx12Yj-08euaLnPM9fs7wohlcuFxCQd_QnhTAtbh8SVadM-vuSjDZ4cjXNoQJviTgaB9_FLgGm6bXILFzoOjR3s/s1600/60298_450482698648_55918873648_5326950_4496808_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5EHlZ0njQXV0idSoEThOxFwQLbVAlk-R3StxBhhdMAZoxvlaNgsoqPx12Yj-08euaLnPM9fs7wohlcuFxCQd_QnhTAtbh8SVadM-vuSjDZ4cjXNoQJviTgaB9_FLgGm6bXILFzoOjR3s/s400/60298_450482698648_55918873648_5326950_4496808_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633725243327570354" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gkVWmJ6IRqduLorHPKarKOTyW1uJt50FHa1cNgJgkqLQgAuqrCWEpv4uLw-jDo65eGFMpRd7T4zWKYQaOBm7zxSeD_89X9FQfgksFbz_kUpxb9JDFPGniXJ0koh2p0mPHF7d0Uv8gXQ/s1600/DSCN3638.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gkVWmJ6IRqduLorHPKarKOTyW1uJt50FHa1cNgJgkqLQgAuqrCWEpv4uLw-jDo65eGFMpRd7T4zWKYQaOBm7zxSeD_89X9FQfgksFbz_kUpxb9JDFPGniXJ0koh2p0mPHF7d0Uv8gXQ/s400/DSCN3638.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633336679431787122" border="0" /></a><br />The Del Mar community is filled with amazing and wonderful people. The kids and the parents are fabulous and the teachers and staff are incredible. During our final parent/teacher conference, I choked up as I tried to tell Sadie's teacher how much we appreciated the fact that the teachers and staff at the school are so committed, engaged, inspired, supportive and creative.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWSPMa3jb9fo_WgJXXA3tZEZhIEy_m-hnrw7hjXl-oahjGhqucQmmIIJm8CET5nCf5wzw8HvdLsrpHucT_VBUq1wN7Fos-5UB8Q9nrgftvBeLX_78TsHXgLKUxKqN_swoMIdR_SqfRDo/s1600/puzzle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWSPMa3jb9fo_WgJXXA3tZEZhIEy_m-hnrw7hjXl-oahjGhqucQmmIIJm8CET5nCf5wzw8HvdLsrpHucT_VBUq1wN7Fos-5UB8Q9nrgftvBeLX_78TsHXgLKUxKqN_swoMIdR_SqfRDo/s400/puzzle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633337916259058034" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrnB7fVAC8xV8i1bXoY7G-K4qcP3V7aC6_oe-rSQzSRkeJj4xTKjx6Qqu_eyp-J-DrFdyfKx_HmtyhyphenhyphenUQ5pw-3AGA-aD2CAC5ytRCHUTGDWRGZALeBY1ZpypH00P4NAsSpTQ6_XrFlPaw/s1600/74298_477842378648_55918873648_5735515_4161343_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrnB7fVAC8xV8i1bXoY7G-K4qcP3V7aC6_oe-rSQzSRkeJj4xTKjx6Qqu_eyp-J-DrFdyfKx_HmtyhyphenhyphenUQ5pw-3AGA-aD2CAC5ytRCHUTGDWRGZALeBY1ZpypH00P4NAsSpTQ6_XrFlPaw/s400/74298_477842378648_55918873648_5735515_4161343_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633726888724105698" border="0" /></a><br />I didn't understand what Montessori was a year ago and though I often joked about not having any idea what it is the kids do all day and whether or not they were actually learning anything, the truth is I was so impressed by the school's belief in and commitment to the Montessori method that I was easily converted. I still don't understand it, really, but I do know that Sadie learned and grew in myriad ways this past year, and loved every minute of it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGbmSaKsL3WdT0eoT1etM1iYA0enpjnjCTr8j4uIagqseRM9_VxrKeetXqgx_iR3q1Evnz22oEgbaAlZYi5gwhH2gI5IAM70vpdADg9f7EoTdJSlZ0hv5Pwd0ifFZG9z2pjUE0GPQEZE/s1600/saveit.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 303px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTGbmSaKsL3WdT0eoT1etM1iYA0enpjnjCTr8j4uIagqseRM9_VxrKeetXqgx_iR3q1Evnz22oEgbaAlZYi5gwhH2gI5IAM70vpdADg9f7EoTdJSlZ0hv5Pwd0ifFZG9z2pjUE0GPQEZE/s400/saveit.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633334985974202562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Aerial art we created on World Environment Day)<br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjioGo0LLof3piMICCqd95fKZbwROTCyyEFtgnxurbCU537Hbcc2J0RZyd8RmkzBCdC3RFRzSY_QCW2uC4uwHiIyzi2orCTwTw_D4mdo8XbR3wSIPSIftGrlgD8hk0H-k21oqNnAtxAcc/s1600/treeplanting1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjioGo0LLof3piMICCqd95fKZbwROTCyyEFtgnxurbCU537Hbcc2J0RZyd8RmkzBCdC3RFRzSY_QCW2uC4uwHiIyzi2orCTwTw_D4mdo8XbR3wSIPSIftGrlgD8hk0H-k21oqNnAtxAcc/s400/treeplanting1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633335079398348818" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Planting trees at Guiones Beach)</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjll8NMrhDNU5SD5lodKWMrG6ndUOXKz6XC_T_Nimawm7f4zKYUpuMgfNrJBz3BVgPd1GlemkeQiUU1mOVbxCWYdtExeievFtBovnYEIXbeNh4FLOKIlvlnkDpPvY_E99KuXlPGH2qMMp4/s1600/SadieAngelaMarilinCulturalFair.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjll8NMrhDNU5SD5lodKWMrG6ndUOXKz6XC_T_Nimawm7f4zKYUpuMgfNrJBz3BVgPd1GlemkeQiUU1mOVbxCWYdtExeievFtBovnYEIXbeNh4FLOKIlvlnkDpPvY_E99KuXlPGH2qMMp4/s400/SadieAngelaMarilinCulturalFair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633334982851500498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Culture Day)<br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQvvinTC5Gsrr6lk0ABVMitarWIj3yE_TWeASt7SqyQGfF0v4Ww4ghS0fGjVmGZobQvc-BpeIgtJ_WrJp6GhLCHv1ATYMly4-RBld7q8ERxtvm3vjTflYE-Pegwp8M0dbVE5UQthTDc8/s1600/263098_10150243060758649_55918873648_7425401_1198745_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkQvvinTC5Gsrr6lk0ABVMitarWIj3yE_TWeASt7SqyQGfF0v4Ww4ghS0fGjVmGZobQvc-BpeIgtJ_WrJp6GhLCHv1ATYMly4-RBld7q8ERxtvm3vjTflYE-Pegwp8M0dbVE5UQthTDc8/s400/263098_10150243060758649_55918873648_7425401_1198745_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633334978182190546" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Nosara Manta Ray Swim Team)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfifasYefNSKyY82vQApZYMko0W2spBsQrAj1ibZ5zvRCM6J3RHafI4tlquISCIh5wgXTlEs3HmLLYDaZNWwpxFa4WBzfoooLxx4WAACF1eqcuRYnssCDInpvduFh1uBm4vTIiDDiWMM/s1600/198781_10150126928648649_55918873648_6555560_7996916_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPfifasYefNSKyY82vQApZYMko0W2spBsQrAj1ibZ5zvRCM6J3RHafI4tlquISCIh5wgXTlEs3HmLLYDaZNWwpxFa4WBzfoooLxx4WAACF1eqcuRYnssCDInpvduFh1uBm4vTIiDDiWMM/s400/198781_10150126928648649_55918873648_6555560_7996916_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633334550858278034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Yoga class)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZYb2yN1Fw8U9ycOe-KfHccbW-xTEsECfkIa7T4oZkVrw-uAE4yX-sWCxeabTMUY3cALtiWKJ2rV8mk6lZqQWo8nJeGAr4ayYimeeAZbq4jo7B3e6xZbNXP1p9WoawPqAaFo7z2-RnTA/s1600/180834_10150112633083649_55918873648_6416138_255489_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioZYb2yN1Fw8U9ycOe-KfHccbW-xTEsECfkIa7T4oZkVrw-uAE4yX-sWCxeabTMUY3cALtiWKJ2rV8mk6lZqQWo8nJeGAr4ayYimeeAZbq4jo7B3e6xZbNXP1p9WoawPqAaFo7z2-RnTA/s400/180834_10150112633083649_55918873648_6416138_255489_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633334547433220754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Field Day)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyQOdd8gMt7S-4iEOZJK-mKBGWsgKPLBzIxWcJ0LgYxI4YebFFKmahyphenhyphenhalzVDpDo3rMrMO14gZ3SWho551YhoucWUdWd1vPQbbEQ3M9DgYGIwOHajSfLyN-PYyN9-Hg3q8RcM_b9zM9M/s1600/61872_450483823648_55918873648_5326985_3235805_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqyQOdd8gMt7S-4iEOZJK-mKBGWsgKPLBzIxWcJ0LgYxI4YebFFKmahyphenhyphenhalzVDpDo3rMrMO14gZ3SWho551YhoucWUdWd1vPQbbEQ3M9DgYGIwOHajSfLyN-PYyN9-Hg3q8RcM_b9zM9M/s400/61872_450483823648_55918873648_5326985_3235805_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633725242179757938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Del Mar farm)</span><br /><br /></div>So, I'd like to thank Del Mar Academy. Thank you for providing a place where our entire family could learn, play, laugh, work hard and love every minute of it. Thank you to the other wonderful kids and their families, to all the stellar teachers (particularly Ms. Sarah, Ms. Maria Jose and Ms. Vicky), and to the amazing staff. Thank you to the other parents who work so hard to make the school the special place that it is. Thank you to everyone for welcoming us with open minds and open hearts.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4aGf_p579JGRpw667JF7pRlzXFVtRypmKEmZ2DU2dsFOIWb_awC3YzYk3rxHd2uz6Pu6BbK70CJq5T4qaYpTKTu-drHNNJnau8-SAy8ckV7ttXCM262dwNkbqpnbFZMlKP6sUZ4q5sDA/s1600/Ford+b-day.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4aGf_p579JGRpw667JF7pRlzXFVtRypmKEmZ2DU2dsFOIWb_awC3YzYk3rxHd2uz6Pu6BbK70CJq5T4qaYpTKTu-drHNNJnau8-SAy8ckV7ttXCM262dwNkbqpnbFZMlKP6sUZ4q5sDA/s400/Ford+b-day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633337913323685938" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(a good portion of the Del Mar student body and parents at a birthday party)<br /></span></div><br />As I sit here in Guiones at a local cafe writing this post, I find myself getting teary eyed again. A bit embarrassing perhaps, but really, how lucky am I to find myself crying about leaving my daughter's school?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Thank you, Del Mar Academy, from Caitlin, Ian and Sadie!<br /></div><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx94t3j5u0magob5-dcWW7-leWfLHAGMBkYBvnVu7x-HSemjlxX_r4t_UaOoPjY4qN2DRK3zdVTnQUvDSPKVd0IBfB_TXCIhrHV-H6A_nYxB1TTl9g3B3FpC64MT4qUdNGJg2RSAVERA8/s1600/SadieSaucerEyes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx94t3j5u0magob5-dcWW7-leWfLHAGMBkYBvnVu7x-HSemjlxX_r4t_UaOoPjY4qN2DRK3zdVTnQUvDSPKVd0IBfB_TXCIhrHV-H6A_nYxB1TTl9g3B3FpC64MT4qUdNGJg2RSAVERA8/s400/SadieSaucerEyes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633337918253530626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwk6tjfCwmYPkIM8tTPrtxvN79whIahY-meYmpEFp_s13nhc7xTPUh-K5GH03Eval6gJkQitwRIiFROG8Byc3GCWgHDVdPhEG1PtSGWaDXK3RlRLLLfqjZ9OGW6HVMTYeFBgHIcijLhB4/s1600/club+se+surf2.jpg"><br /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-71559727427509820432011-06-21T15:25:00.000-07:002011-06-23T14:37:11.387-07:00!Que Nosara!The other day I was perusing the local library for something new to read, and wandered over to the memoir section. There amongst Barack Obama's books, was a tall, rather battered collection of paper, bound like a thesis with a plastic spine. Intrigued, I pulled it out to look at the cover.<br /><br />"Never in Nosara: Anecdotes and Reminiscenses," by Maxine MacKay, 1989.<br /><br />Maxine MacKay, as I was to discover, was among the handful of gringos who first bought property in Nosara. Her "anecdotes and reminiscenses" of Nosara tell the fascinating tale of the creation of the beach areas of Nosara as we know them today.<br /><br />Maxine's story begins in the early 1970s with a spontaneous trip to Costa Rica after a friend tells her she has signed up to purchase a homesite in the remote Guanacaste Province after seeing an advertisement in the New York Times. From San Jose Maxine and her friend spend $200 to charter a small plane that lands on a gravel runway in the pueblo of Nosara. From there, a jeep takes them along brand new gravel roads to the beach and "up the side of the mountain to a jutting point on a rocky promontory" - Point Pelada.<br /><br />Among a small cluster of makeshift thatched huts and cabins, they are treated to a sales pitch by the chief developer of the project, Alan Hutchinson, along with an engineer and a handful of others connected with the project. The sales pitch describes how two men traveled the coast in a small plane, until they happened upon the Nosara river and the mountains, completely undeveloped, with the small pueblo in the adjacent valley, and decided here was where they wanted to develop. Alan Hutchinson purchased the land from a local man, apparently a campesino who had squatted on the land long enough to lay claim to the entire area, and then Alan and his team came in by oxcart to survey the lots and mark off the sections. Building supplies came by boat and labor came from the pueblo for the new gravel roads, the small development at Playa Pelada and the few first houses in other areas.<br /><br />Despite the tangled relationships and resulting tension among those first gringo settlers, so apparent even during that first sales pitch, despite the unknowns of how to build, despite some questionable legal issues, Maxine buys two lots on the spot. Perhaps it was the cocktails she was served that evening - tomato juice, rum and turtle eggs.<br /><br />The rest of the memoir describes Nosara in those early days, as Maxine returned there every year for a few months at a time. Lots of titillating stories about financial scams, affairs, project politics, the advent of electricity in the project, roads and more development. One of the stories was about the lone woman in the early group of developers, the wife of the engineer, who was determined to branch out on her own and build houses. In fact, she had hired her own crew and built the first two houses on the mountain above Playa Guiones, one high up on the mountain and owned by an elderly gentleman that no one ever saw, and the other:<br /><blockquote>"...owned by two retired lady pathologists. I later saw this house and much approved its design: there were shared areas, as hallway and kitchen; but otherwise two v-shaped wings branched into separate quarters for each lady. The balcony had stretched across the front of the cantilevered home."</blockquote>Yes, that's our house! Maxine was so taken with our house that she mentioned it twice more throughout the memoirs. The engineer's wife and Alan Hutchinson did not get along at all, however, a hatred that grew with time and the increasing exchange of money and land. In the end, it was rumoured that she persuaded him to provide her with several choice Nosara lots in exchange for a loan that was past due; a deal made more enticing with the help of a firearm.<br /><br />Sprinkled among these crazy, funny, and heartbreaking stories of human folly and ingenuity, are beautiful descriptions of the physical environment that Maxine loved so much. She writes:<br /><blockquote>"The natural life and the human-animal exchanges are too fine for troubles about property to be consuming...life in Nosara is a natural life, a special continuance all its own, at its own particular pace. And I am delighted to have shared its quiet moments and to have heard its voice and to have felt its return of the love that those who live in Nosara feel for its rhythms and its twilight and its days--and the perpetual pounding and ebbing of its surf, the long shadows that cross its enclosing mountains just at dusk."</blockquote>Maxine also captured the personal and emotional challenges of living in Nosara. She describes the first gringos as all having run here to escape someplace else, to escape troubles with love, family, money, the law. As she puts it, "many had taken the 'geographic cure' for a nagging worry at home." With that comes a requisite self-sufficiency, the development of hobbies and work to keep them busy, but also a lot of restlessness. "One has to be a very strong person," she says, "to be both creative and self-sufficient in Nosara - to be free from depressions and bondage to blank-outs." Thus those early community members were incredibly independent but also very social. Maxine describes how the entire community would gather at Baker's Beach for picnics, and to put on skits and plays. There was a lot of card playing - poker and bridge. She describes the excitement of the building of the Hotel Nosara on Punta Pelada; how the hotel became an important community center.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLlh_5PN4qPh2TuOefhmOGXfR_8zt2vvf798nvUIdxSsr-uhPTkBg241Zq7wwAmtyEuthTMMhcF0E9tMZXtHMTQ4v-Vr1LDl5PaF1CpLLIq1dJcNwmBnkVQFrFXhFiH4mOBOM97Wdo0E/s1600/grounds-and-main-hotel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlLlh_5PN4qPh2TuOefhmOGXfR_8zt2vvf798nvUIdxSsr-uhPTkBg241Zq7wwAmtyEuthTMMhcF0E9tMZXtHMTQ4v-Vr1LDl5PaF1CpLLIq1dJcNwmBnkVQFrFXhFiH4mOBOM97Wdo0E/s400/grounds-and-main-hotel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621503353526339874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(the hotel a few years ago - under construction but open. To my knowledge it is not currently operating as a hotel)</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-CxKsAv7E3Joy_XmCUyunkifEIdSAqN2YBk-8l4DoTKCfcVit6AP0ZQE2JcuX8PGtBpWuTNkidxte7CYpXyP7bstiV2hAE6e04o8XcPWMX8n7jIN1lyuBYuTlNaY7rSoPOw38_udCiE/s1600/DSCN0223.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-CxKsAv7E3Joy_XmCUyunkifEIdSAqN2YBk-8l4DoTKCfcVit6AP0ZQE2JcuX8PGtBpWuTNkidxte7CYpXyP7bstiV2hAE6e04o8XcPWMX8n7jIN1lyuBYuTlNaY7rSoPOw38_udCiE/s400/DSCN0223.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621503127367211538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(the tip of hotel today, as seen from our balcony)<br /></span></div><br />Though much has changed in 40 years, I think the residents of Nosara are still faced with the dual necessities of self-sufficiency and a social network, and restlessness is still a common byproduct of the Nosara lifestyle.<br /><br />Maxine provides a lengthy description of the women, in particular, of that early community. She describes how the ladies of the gringo community would meet regularly to play cards. She presumes these ladies had two major things in common: 1) a need to escape the "heavy masculinity" of Nosara, and; 2) "a fierce sense of personal independence." Continuing on her theme of how people came to Nosara to escape something else, Maxine describes how the women who gathered every Wednesday to play cards and to drink rum and whiskey, confined their conversation to "the most outward and mundane subjects" as the divulging of anything more racy was liable to make its way throughout the entire community in a very short time. Everyone had something to hide, so conversations steered clear of the personal. Noting the adherence to customs and the certain prestige of these early year round residents, Maxine describes the scene as like a British colonial station at the turn-of-the-century. "I almost expected," she writes, "men to walk in dressed in military uniform and white helmets - not the casual shorts of the husbands who came to rescue their wives about mid-afternoon." She goes on to describe the evolution of the women over time, as they grew more independent while also becoming increasingly involved in the greater community. Maxine concludes, "they were, in truth, a self-sustaining group: Mujeres Magnificas, full of stamina, courage, mutual support and extraordinary community of conscience."<br /><br />In those early days, the lives of the gringo population at the beach and the lives of the ticos in the pueblo were even more separate than they are today. The road to the village was frequently flooded (not unlike today), creating a formidable geographic separation (though somehow many many ticos were still able get to the beach areas to cook, clean, build, fix, and maintain). She describes the relationship between the gringos and the ticos as respectful and easy and describes the increasing interaction over time between the communities as the project (and the pueblo) grew. She gives credit to particular early community members who became very involved in the pueblo, working to build a high school and a church, to teach English classes, and even to provide a cemetery. The cemetery was created by Gordon Mills as a gift to the entire community, gringos and ticos alike. It sits at the edge of the sea at Guiones Beach, and Gordon himself now lies there. It is a beautiful and special place.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjndOPYIB6T7UCURBlE8JNdpWm9c8-XWPhRjIinmDkJjuY3mGedozeoF3mtVIzTtuN2eCp9tjaxksSfJMSUfD4wG2CKFwEWnZGx-8L0OkuFZ9JZmkJk3GkXhxUxFoLl9ZPLTTNbhPmMwPc/s1600/DSCN3617.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjndOPYIB6T7UCURBlE8JNdpWm9c8-XWPhRjIinmDkJjuY3mGedozeoF3mtVIzTtuN2eCp9tjaxksSfJMSUfD4wG2CKFwEWnZGx-8L0OkuFZ9JZmkJk3GkXhxUxFoLl9ZPLTTNbhPmMwPc/s400/DSCN3617.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621500483212268642" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkTanwgf-AE3bdXQeuNqDkKe95KMwFOEbL-fP1T377l446ynKOMISBHtHo4UIEpo-2his1O-2UXhaw8UG2h21cFGJONYbOGadtKay9n2hzonG_T9wYheBAE7CIt565MBYL-NR1igcHTk/s1600/DSCN3623.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIkTanwgf-AE3bdXQeuNqDkKe95KMwFOEbL-fP1T377l446ynKOMISBHtHo4UIEpo-2his1O-2UXhaw8UG2h21cFGJONYbOGadtKay9n2hzonG_T9wYheBAE7CIt565MBYL-NR1igcHTk/s400/DSCN3623.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621502703279387026" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvrpA2IAHywBSnkBfyOLog04zK3hAlpGb-UBet3kV4cWYc3ZUSLemfISEgjGcC1CXMwRJNngTD7u1Xj_xxdTmnavHZ-A_SWus0qTF542gyOFrsIhtF7yYxDmkyebd1FACpRHIOvfSAIYo/s1600/DSCN3621.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvrpA2IAHywBSnkBfyOLog04zK3hAlpGb-UBet3kV4cWYc3ZUSLemfISEgjGcC1CXMwRJNngTD7u1Xj_xxdTmnavHZ-A_SWus0qTF542gyOFrsIhtF7yYxDmkyebd1FACpRHIOvfSAIYo/s400/DSCN3621.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621500966776206210" border="0" /></a><br />I have no idea what happened to Maxine Mackay, whether she continued to live in Nosara for years after she wrote her memoirs, or even if she is still alive. But I am grateful she wrote down her impressions of the early days of Nosara and grateful that someone thought to bind a copy and put it in the library for me to stumble across one rainy afternoon.<br /><br />The last paragraph of Maxine's memoirs reads as follows:<br /><blockquote>"Today I am happy to be alive. Good friends in Nosara, I love you dearly, all of you. I think of your happiness and your life in the rainforest. I love your great blue skies and white cushions of clouds. I become a part of your green trees and your steady, shifting rain. Buen Suerte to each of you now and always!"</blockquote><br />Indeed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJTf9YleAmgIXVXVtF2Y7qJ4kkbkd0EbYwpqU22lo3VnL1A_nWpTPJileFTdGZdwVbeQ7Y-guUBidWW6dXJ5LnluSy6GsReL1wLDyjLcFKwL_xUcbl4DCa-wugh7-2_8SZrqz4G7rhlFk/s1600/DSCN3642.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJTf9YleAmgIXVXVtF2Y7qJ4kkbkd0EbYwpqU22lo3VnL1A_nWpTPJileFTdGZdwVbeQ7Y-guUBidWW6dXJ5LnluSy6GsReL1wLDyjLcFKwL_xUcbl4DCa-wugh7-2_8SZrqz4G7rhlFk/s400/DSCN3642.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621503925090356130" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-14178631847804877492011-05-24T07:48:00.000-07:002011-05-24T12:59:25.470-07:00Journey to the Southern TipThis is a map of the Nicoya Peninsula:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9bROMZj2hJ4uBWtM-YFNCHtUxc9RKioXiCghgPKmUDEm007hJt_VqNzjbpyx4-ki7gdtLMa9VVYKwha_ucp5WrKabVu6LEJEfQbZc3Dz9wKdtFnvfYoK_1OJPez67oWeZKf-pK6N_5k/s1600/nicoya.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 393px; height: 378px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg9bROMZj2hJ4uBWtM-YFNCHtUxc9RKioXiCghgPKmUDEm007hJt_VqNzjbpyx4-ki7gdtLMa9VVYKwha_ucp5WrKabVu6LEJEfQbZc3Dz9wKdtFnvfYoK_1OJPez67oWeZKf-pK6N_5k/s400/nicoya.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610368081840832338" border="0" /></a><br />It looks small but, as is the case with all of Costa Rica, it is time consuming and often difficult to get from one place to another. One of the areas we really wanted to explore before we leave is the southern tip of the Peninsula - down to Montezuma and Mal Pais. There are two ways to get from Nosara to the southern tip. One is the heavy black line that goes north, then east, then south. The other is the faint dotted line that goes south along the coast.<br /><br />Lonely Planet has this to say about the coast road:<br /><blockquote>"If you are truly adventurous, have a lot of time on your hands and some experience driving in places where there is nary a road in sight, you might be ready to take on the southern Pacific coast of Peninsula de Nicoya. Make sure you have a 4WD with high clearence as well as a comprehensive insurance policy. Do <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> attempt this drive during the rainy season.... Take a jerry can of gas, your favorite snack foods, and plenty of water - if you break down, plan on spending some quality time on your own or with your traveling companion. For very good reason, Costa Rica's tourist office recommends against undertaking this journey."</blockquote>Oh, for goodness sakes, that seems a bit overly dramatic, don't you think? However, it was enough to push us to: 1) get in gear and get on the road before the rains get heavier; 2) get a rental car instead of taking our jalopy, and; 3) check the tide schedule and save the coast road for our return trip during low tide.<br /><br />So on Saturday we took the "main" road up and over and down and made it Montezuma in about 4 hours. Montezuma, or "Montefuma" as some like to call it, is described by Lonely Planet as a charming and tranquil village still well in touch with its hippie roots. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcq1FkKs_hdHWdo3R0Q7S0qZAVYIEcPx5V7RRcFKvr4PTUYA05A7IHSN4Mo9qwb7pH6QQF0cLwA2B58owGAP_0mjMVpvLQC53rGgm6nLg9LY5oCQm0JkAea2ahAgRvKUtRGG_ZoeHK3Jk/s1600/DSCN3478.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcq1FkKs_hdHWdo3R0Q7S0qZAVYIEcPx5V7RRcFKvr4PTUYA05A7IHSN4Mo9qwb7pH6QQF0cLwA2B58owGAP_0mjMVpvLQC53rGgm6nLg9LY5oCQm0JkAea2ahAgRvKUtRGG_ZoeHK3Jk/s320/DSCN3478.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610358660755536578" border="0" /></a>We arrived without a reservation anywhere and based on a few descriptions in the guide book and a drive down the main road, we chose to stay at a lovely little inn on the edge of town. A step up from our usual travel acommodations, the place was perched at the edge of the rocky coastline and beautifully landscaped with a large lawn strewn dozens of hammocks, benches and lounge chairs. Very unlike Nosara, where not only are there no lawns, but there is no development that close to the beach. It felt more Hawaii than Costa Rica.<br /><br />That evening we ate at an adorable beachside restaurant and had what was probably the best restaurant dinner we've had in Costa Rica. Ceviche, a bok choy and ricotta tort, fresh thick crusty bread, caprese salad (fresh mozzerella!), and chile rellenos with cheese (not quite up to par with Dona Tomas, but darn good and the only chile rellenos I've had in almost a year!). Everything was very fresh and very flavorful, as in FULL of FLAVOR. Yum.<br /><br />However, aside from the delicious meal, we weren't too taken with Montezuma. It was very small, practically devoid of children, and seemed to have an almost seedy element to it. It did not present the open friendly vibe that most Costa Rican towns do. We didn't have a real desire to stay there longer, so the next morning after hiking to a waterfall and getting caught in the rain, we packed up and headed around the tip (well, up and over the tip) of the Peninsula to Mal Pais.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFsl6BzEqw1yHBuTLDMqLYjS0E5vpG7S-c01EIvDxtpkvkboBUitrbEPlT46lm-PwHc7AtrffKtdDLJVYTLZBk1HLyMzvf45HXZtojVL81jx3jIaGHhG1hrsQKKEZjXNmTPc7DCuUqAMo/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFsl6BzEqw1yHBuTLDMqLYjS0E5vpG7S-c01EIvDxtpkvkboBUitrbEPlT46lm-PwHc7AtrffKtdDLJVYTLZBk1HLyMzvf45HXZtojVL81jx3jIaGHhG1hrsQKKEZjXNmTPc7DCuUqAMo/s400/photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610369415023505282" border="0" /></a><br />Mal Pais refers to the southwestern corner of the Peninsula and encompasses several small villages that all seem to run together along one main road that parallels the ocean. Mal Pais seemed immediately friendlier than Montezuma somehow. It reminded us of Nosara in many ways, as it is clearly another laid back beach community where many expats have settled and are now raising children. There is even a bilingual Montessori school. Interestingly, there is also a large Israeli community, and we saw many restaurants with signs in Hebrew.<br /><br />Mal Pais appears bigger and more "developed" than Nosara. Though, like Nosara, there is not much development right on the beach (at least no resorts or high rise condos), <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmcKA91sPoDmUScJvfw3DdKGpYWHAmbwyYuqD6YS37qk-P25DdxPGUpzLl6nTogYJEDlaU30-FscE0aOapJ35Me8LUlVREL6CQ9uyi4anm-fHKXNmQhYVe9mLAfaOEOs2ehRiG9LRr2Fs/s1600/DSCN3500.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmcKA91sPoDmUScJvfw3DdKGpYWHAmbwyYuqD6YS37qk-P25DdxPGUpzLl6nTogYJEDlaU30-FscE0aOapJ35Me8LUlVREL6CQ9uyi4anm-fHKXNmQhYVe9mLAfaOEOs2ehRiG9LRr2Fs/s200/DSCN3500.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610365983981429074" border="0" /></a>there was a lot of commerce along the main (still dirt) road. Lots and lots of restaurants. Lots and lots of variety of food. Based on another recommendation, we had our second best restaurant meal in Costa Rica (or maybe it was a tie for first). An out of the way, beautiful little SUSHI place. The Japanese sushi chef running the place kept the menu limited to a few kinds of fish and designed a huge variety of options based on those fish (grouper and tuna), shrimp and octopus, and some chicken and beef. Everything was very fresh and very delicious. The restaurant also was home to three dogs, one of which was a tiny puppy, so while Ian and I ate and ate, Sadie played with the puppy and a little girl who lived there.<br /><br />Oh, and the acommodations we chose. Sigh. As you know, we are devoid of a steady income this year and therefore during our travels we stay in places that fall under the "budget" category. Now don't get me wrong, we aren't hauling our rolling suitcases into the backpacker hostels - there are a few luxuries I refuse to do without, such as a private room. Our usual accommodations are small, basically clean, and functional with no frills. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg98E_0BvHKj1jqH5R7s364tVX4dc52nEwWvC3dDLlkH3qFLZjnlZk5OOPGdrCD3OCh3bmmMldKxmLnV-JOQYYx_pPhyphenhyphen80LWK-1KUYKBkTIhvi0htdWOdW-LQHIqCrwsQz0YZ1k0XzGtbE/s1600/DSCN3488.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg98E_0BvHKj1jqH5R7s364tVX4dc52nEwWvC3dDLlkH3qFLZjnlZk5OOPGdrCD3OCh3bmmMldKxmLnV-JOQYYx_pPhyphenhyphen80LWK-1KUYKBkTIhvi0htdWOdW-LQHIqCrwsQz0YZ1k0XzGtbE/s200/DSCN3488.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610368531676646146" border="0" /></a>Perhaps because we are headed quickly to the end of our sabbatical, we decided to live it up during this trip and significantly upgraded our lodgings. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6reLovkZfTnDyygAaBAKBaw2yDSnxmMUsD6R8obD3HP02b3rrIMUzAyzlpXKt5QN_j0kJmOnl6Bq2WrUznaY6XmG3tnVPsDIovQn7lmy6OYAxf2osd3WRw8SaXao74-KtHL-Ev7pUrE/s1600/DSCN3487.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 174px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6reLovkZfTnDyygAaBAKBaw2yDSnxmMUsD6R8obD3HP02b3rrIMUzAyzlpXKt5QN_j0kJmOnl6Bq2WrUznaY6XmG3tnVPsDIovQn7lmy6OYAxf2osd3WRw8SaXao74-KtHL-Ev7pUrE/s200/DSCN3487.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610359759108451826" border="0" /></a>Our home away from home for one luxurious night was a beautiful wooden cabin on a hill above the ocean. Two stories, two bathrooms, two little decks, a hammock. To give you some perspective on our usual acommodations versus this one, this was the first hotel we've stayed in this year that provided shampoo and conditioner! Oh, the luxury! Plus, English magazines! Bathrobes! Free movies! We even splurged for massages (my first in Costa Rica), in the open air massage palapa! Let me tell you, it was tough to leave Horizon Ocean View Hotel and Yoga Center.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrK1DYJ6Q7iQBbHwy6pJHN8_L0jLMR3wdE41Tvo-6RpuZbfhcrdc1dY38WuRO2khP0woML-Srr2kQg3gxGkECTzyv5EgwLHLQeJ0u9PAyk1sAWWUYSy5msJuoXeM5Z5xwzXRhFZjjnam0/s1600/st4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrK1DYJ6Q7iQBbHwy6pJHN8_L0jLMR3wdE41Tvo-6RpuZbfhcrdc1dY38WuRO2khP0woML-Srr2kQg3gxGkECTzyv5EgwLHLQeJ0u9PAyk1sAWWUYSy5msJuoXeM5Z5xwzXRhFZjjnam0/s400/st4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610367483483719810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Hotel grounds with "Massage Palapa" in foreground<br /></span></div><br />But leave we must. Determined to take the coast road home (see description above), we stopped at the grocery store for water, peanut butter, bread, avocados, cheese, chips, and more water, and hit the road going north in our rented Jimny (which was apparently named for Jiminy Cricket owing to its size. I've never seen anything with 4WD so small).<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF179SksTh7BbazpHgpaxXpreFHW90SFrUdYpvZzjvmwFkHxl7jCcYnAldVwWOfAFm8kh_ZaUMRwe2Jgu64HeXFmYj2LdLA6x5CMExrjbPzJwx6fqD2oabmJ20M7vOJjnWHK7SDVMckFo/s1600/DSCN3484.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF179SksTh7BbazpHgpaxXpreFHW90SFrUdYpvZzjvmwFkHxl7jCcYnAldVwWOfAFm8kh_ZaUMRwe2Jgu64HeXFmYj2LdLA6x5CMExrjbPzJwx6fqD2oabmJ20M7vOJjnWHK7SDVMckFo/s400/DSCN3484.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610366550686949042" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Mmmm..."Chis Wis"<br /></span></div><br />The road north along adjacent to the beach quickly got smaller and less and less maintained until it finally ended at someone's beach house. We had heard that we would have to drive on the beach for a portion of the way, so we veered off the road and onto the sand. It was unnerving to drive on the deserted beach so close to the waves as a passenger, but even more unnerving for the driver, Ian, who had more firsthand knowledge of how the car was "handling" plowing through sinking sand. I kept a positive attitude, however, insisting that the tide was going to continue to recede for several more hours, so we had plenty of time to keep going on the beach with hopes of eventually finding a road to turn onto (with some wiggle room to turn back if we had to).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8pAGQBcdKnSy2UofKt-Il0PiPvUKKde49lsQcdAYTqrMx7ftzUHMD-awlHyaBmGiNHTB0Xdkl-5HPM9UUE-j6eFrZMcCzfZztouAYVe0ujdjF6FF4aaAIbWI7iWlj0EPtxGp3_hhLTc/s1600/DSCN3504.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8pAGQBcdKnSy2UofKt-Il0PiPvUKKde49lsQcdAYTqrMx7ftzUHMD-awlHyaBmGiNHTB0Xdkl-5HPM9UUE-j6eFrZMcCzfZztouAYVe0ujdjF6FF4aaAIbWI7iWlj0EPtxGp3_hhLTc/s400/DSCN3504.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610360020795907026" border="0" /></a><br />Things were going along rather well, at least the car was still moving in the sand, until the sandy beach gave way to rocky intertidal. Hmmm.... We got out and walked the tidepools and decided to go for it. I wish I had taken a picture of the Jimny hugging the bottom of the cliff and trying to avoid the largest and deepest tidepools...but the moment was a little too nervewracking to stop and pose. Once back on "solid" sand, we really really kept our eyes open for any possible road.<br /><br />We did finally find a way off the beach and were happy to be back on a small muddy path, rather than the beach. Until the path ended at a large river. We knew we had to ford a few rivers on the coast road but not only did this look too large to possibly be fordable, but there also didn't appear to be anything resembling a road on the other side. We pondered our choices for a while then decided to retrace our steps back to the beach and continue on the sand until we could find another road. Just as we were getting back in the car, two pickup trucks drove up the pathway. The driver of the first truck asked us where we were going then suggested we follow him as he led the second truck across the river. So we did. Turns out the river <span style="font-style: italic;">was</span> fordable, even in the Jimny, and that further along the bank on the other side, just past those shrubs, was a road. After successfully reaching the road, we all stopped and we explained to the truck driver that we were going to go back to the beach and drive further north. Oh dear, that would NOT have been a good idea, he says.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDFejW4S5zzrpdzXxbtTVXbNjOb851WegHC1NtVxWN3-FOHVUjuywB1mnAacyla96_fPlJor6FzGv-up4pM6dKk2Mgzayxv_v19CLP8GgI0Uu4o8gIYTYfQuyTmF9VGfyQ1SbCuilQ_Q/s1600/DSCN3507.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilDFejW4S5zzrpdzXxbtTVXbNjOb851WegHC1NtVxWN3-FOHVUjuywB1mnAacyla96_fPlJor6FzGv-up4pM6dKk2Mgzayxv_v19CLP8GgI0Uu4o8gIYTYfQuyTmF9VGfyQ1SbCuilQ_Q/s400/DSCN3507.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610361315205161234" border="0" /></a><br />After leaving us and the second truck with instructions, the first pickup went back the way he came, and we followed the second truck through another large river. We convoyed together for an hour or so, stopping occasionally to compare maps and agree on turns, until they stopped for a break and we continued on.<br /><br />The road was slow but relatively easy to travel from there, and took us through miles of beautiful Costa Rican forests, pastures, villages, coast lines and mountain passes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNVSuxNzERlerfGgdrHwdcNksLssuJwJf6VTEZAn52gYMarQOLJkkWiRmV4mFKgyKUrpE5Cd8L0e5swHEoSN2mp2kcXQXMkXwsbzm5P2nmI38OJhJZBOR909e3YVOq3duvdDU1qkVowo/s1600/DSCN3513.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNVSuxNzERlerfGgdrHwdcNksLssuJwJf6VTEZAn52gYMarQOLJkkWiRmV4mFKgyKUrpE5Cd8L0e5swHEoSN2mp2kcXQXMkXwsbzm5P2nmI38OJhJZBOR909e3YVOq3duvdDU1qkVowo/s400/DSCN3513.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610361783603872242" border="0" /></a><br />We stopped once to eat our bread and cheese and avocado at the cleanest, most well maintained beach I've ever seen in Costa Rica (or maybe anywhere).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxnZ0Wfn2xxhULOMWTziW25BkIA_5IA1lfT53lCcH9q5O0FVIXkU87CPVIAXTRM7Xmdi8SPOrvHOb6amcQ7za-S-HdKeuAVnTdBaUe2dgqAHF2XZK0dxzFFmB_PzpppcJIi-BfMFfF38/s1600/DSCN3517.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxnZ0Wfn2xxhULOMWTziW25BkIA_5IA1lfT53lCcH9q5O0FVIXkU87CPVIAXTRM7Xmdi8SPOrvHOb6amcQ7za-S-HdKeuAVnTdBaUe2dgqAHF2XZK0dxzFFmB_PzpppcJIi-BfMFfF38/s400/DSCN3517.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610362438721856562" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjBnZ9ZaNnMN5Ed5DieF5BdjR-j9AU_rZCSSjIOl6m5USEXyJizt2iAMorSiOSU-vCGkT8rwFizSDWKwB7AlGMlAe-QwPlG3TQMmmCLmj_XGC3N_miksIUicIdEwWMm1dvrTuru99R74/s1600/DSCN3521.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjBnZ9ZaNnMN5Ed5DieF5BdjR-j9AU_rZCSSjIOl6m5USEXyJizt2iAMorSiOSU-vCGkT8rwFizSDWKwB7AlGMlAe-QwPlG3TQMmmCLmj_XGC3N_miksIUicIdEwWMm1dvrTuru99R74/s400/DSCN3521.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610362786850047506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Very impressive garbage/recyling collection. Even a can only for coconuts!<br /></span></div><br />We made it home in about 4 1/2 hours, and all in all it was a great drive. My dad, the King of Back Road Driving, would have loved it.<br /><br />Note to Lonely Planet for next printing: Keep the part about not attempting the road without a 4wd or in the rainy season, but feel free to scale back on the drama.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ0za2kIADmSsNzuwLukaEimkOEejuQqEyV05hg74rfExMn7se_CHcGo5tE5BkBS6amlZDnuBaCBBj8Az6dT-zVpsoanOeIIWyodVkTCOQYr4S2TQ6yXuHrb-Lds4ASZjgHY3mA-iOyC0/s1600/DSCN3524.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ0za2kIADmSsNzuwLukaEimkOEejuQqEyV05hg74rfExMn7se_CHcGo5tE5BkBS6amlZDnuBaCBBj8Az6dT-zVpsoanOeIIWyodVkTCOQYr4S2TQ6yXuHrb-Lds4ASZjgHY3mA-iOyC0/s400/DSCN3524.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610362158101678674" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-76186368572201176832011-05-16T14:31:00.000-07:002011-05-18T10:44:14.920-07:00Having our mango and eating it too<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHbbaDpmMrEHmJ1rlSQSyaxMQerIdRHz9Gid6UJyxJJT9xyMHn3ULJhZZED4T9TfYtlO45PwMfqTHlNgimTMzlhAk3buRKUYGjF4eb7Lg518ozBTG_EN8gzr2oB4ZgkW1Rz39AQ_oXBsA/s1600/nature_air.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 394px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHbbaDpmMrEHmJ1rlSQSyaxMQerIdRHz9Gid6UJyxJJT9xyMHn3ULJhZZED4T9TfYtlO45PwMfqTHlNgimTMzlhAk3buRKUYGjF4eb7Lg518ozBTG_EN8gzr2oB4ZgkW1Rz39AQ_oXBsA/s400/nature_air.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608087025217005874" border="0" /></a><br />Yes, we are leaving here and returning to the Bay Area as originally planned. Yes, we did spend some time considering the idea of staying for another school year, but in the end decided to stick to the original plan. Which frankly doesn't make it any easier to explain to people here. "Sticking to our original plan" doesn't mean much in a place where people come to visit and stay for decades, where changing your plans and reinventing yourself is as common as sweating in the sun and watching howler monkeys eat your mangoes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivmKK7dH37mHhJ5xHeezhPQwcwxWKYxeoCRETUkHRY_9xJ2UJfmm2rqw478G6LJxn9Y0V7jwLM-VQ7zLaDx7ytJRWIOiTusAuPRXKL0QUGWEPe86c3n-VxhCgo4YRnCD_0xRJldBW9F8I/s1600/DSCN3432.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 253px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivmKK7dH37mHhJ5xHeezhPQwcwxWKYxeoCRETUkHRY_9xJ2UJfmm2rqw478G6LJxn9Y0V7jwLM-VQ7zLaDx7ytJRWIOiTusAuPRXKL0QUGWEPe86c3n-VxhCgo4YRnCD_0xRJldBW9F8I/s400/DSCN3432.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607454889052639874" border="0" /></a><br />Yes, it is surprisingly difficult to explain why we are leaving. Our experience has been phenomenal here, we have met wonderful people, live in a fabulous house in the jungle with a view of the ocean, send our daughter to an amazing school, and enjoy all sorts of incredible day-to-day experiences. When faced with the question, we often simplify the answer by chalking it up to the challenge of having to make money. We say flippantly that staying in Nosara would require a lot of ice cream and zumba classes. But the truth is we <span style="font-style: italic;">could</span> make it work. We could expand the ice cream business, I could teach more classes, we could increase the number of properties we manage, Ian could commute to the states a few times a year for a couple of high paying corporate gigs. It would be challenging, but we could probably make it, and anyone who has been here for any length of time intuitively knows that. After all, making it work is precisely what everyone else here is managing to do.<br /><br />So the economic excuse falls a bit flat. Particularly if it is Ian who is answering the question. Most observant folks would agree that his delivery is less than convincing. As he stumbles to come up with more reasons why we are leaving it becomes apparent that Ian clearly doesn't want to leave, and therefore obvious that I, however, do.<br /><br />I've spent some time trying to figure out why it is that I do want to leave, despite the wonderful life that we are living here. Well, first there is the obvious - I miss my family and friends back home. In addition, I miss working. More specifically I miss working in coastal management. I love my profession, and I miss being involved with the issues that I care so much about. I miss feeling like I'm working to change the world for the better and I miss applying my skills and being rewarded with a tangible result.<br /><br />Then there is the small town/big city differences. Despite loving the stunning natural beauty that I am immersed in here, I miss living in a city. I do. I miss things like cafes and museums and dance performances and restaurants. I miss the energy of a city, the way the air is charged with possibility and creativity and ideas and complexity. I miss the fascinating outcomes of the combination of so many people and so much possible input and resources. I miss people watching. I miss fashion. I miss anonymity.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqsp0imFhEGR_k_nQkWZPtSHq4ciWCwrWLHxUzKT1pbB2n4r4dCnjrjaN4AWfCAWl4JU2y3JjjEkWflzlVtaDvZonSGui7cGHrAd3doDQxK7fkDRNS5BPJmaN_s-RQd2z7GNknIMO2MQ/s1600/mousecover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 188px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHqsp0imFhEGR_k_nQkWZPtSHq4ciWCwrWLHxUzKT1pbB2n4r4dCnjrjaN4AWfCAWl4JU2y3JjjEkWflzlVtaDvZonSGui7cGHrAd3doDQxK7fkDRNS5BPJmaN_s-RQd2z7GNknIMO2MQ/s400/mousecover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608092404514069362" border="0" /></a><br />Of course, what do I love about living here? The opposite, naturally. I love the experience of living in a small town - how you run into people you know everywhere you go, how you have to drive with one hand perpetually ready to wave. I love not working and having the time to spend with my family. I love that we spend Monday afternoons in an open air bar drinking cold beer, eating salty chips, studying Spanish and blogging while Sadie has art class at an adjacent table.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgB1wlmCi9fY76nlZq25X5WjwP4eCDQNtdVfTadm3CAO7vMmTEykGTgK66KriDT6SsAD6u9TpyhYFOM2t_4aoEBOngvhiEfjqWU5TicLV4yDzLBmPLapGxtrn2I-6SJmcaY_DNCmG2qqQ/s1600/IMG_0120.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgB1wlmCi9fY76nlZq25X5WjwP4eCDQNtdVfTadm3CAO7vMmTEykGTgK66KriDT6SsAD6u9TpyhYFOM2t_4aoEBOngvhiEfjqWU5TicLV4yDzLBmPLapGxtrn2I-6SJmcaY_DNCmG2qqQ/s400/IMG_0120.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608110398563035778" border="0" /></a><br />I love never being cold. I love how creative people are with their entrepreneurial ideas for how to make a living. I love the ceviche. I love how people understand the challenges of living in a remote place and are so quick to help one another. I love how active and healthy Sadie is, how she hasn't needed her inhaler since October. I love the feeling of driving down a dirt road in the dark just after a rain, the windows rolled down and the sound of the ocean close by. I could go on and on.<br /><br />I am an expert at nostalgia. It is an art form that I work to perfect. I am nostalgic for virtually everything in my past, from every car I ever owned to every house I ever lived in. I am even nostalgic for pasts that I was too young to have actually experienced (particularly for the accessories of past decades). I am so good at nostalgia that I am able to conjure up feelings of nostalgia for the present. A sort of "pre-nostalgia," if you will. The feeling you can get when you watch your daughter surfing in the sunset, a huge smile on her face. Present moments so precious I am already overcome with emotion over how I will remember them in the future. There is a plethora of those moments here and for that I am so very grateful.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_cKgMnZjPm6TOyWUjmxLq5QzePHE80NGDybyaEVjH-WF7pLUT-jIlSTt9Ks2N_kw9oI_fSTE0sU930-JxQB4qOgeY6_qP2iOCyJ_P6IyTCL4-fzLwKVaQnUNKtXriYNgSapyBiEhSXE/s1600/buddysystem1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 329px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV_cKgMnZjPm6TOyWUjmxLq5QzePHE80NGDybyaEVjH-WF7pLUT-jIlSTt9Ks2N_kw9oI_fSTE0sU930-JxQB4qOgeY6_qP2iOCyJ_P6IyTCL4-fzLwKVaQnUNKtXriYNgSapyBiEhSXE/s400/buddysystem1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607449563223350738" border="0" /></a><br />Our charge, then, is to fully live these next few months. To appreciate the present while not dwelling too much on either the past or the future. It's something to strive for at least.<br /><br />It's funny. If we had just arrived here for a 2 1/2 month vacation, home would be the farthest thing from our minds. But at the end of a year long sabbatical, 2 1/2 months seems right around the corner. I know avoiding the future is neither fully possible nor fully appropriate. This week I am working on my resume. Next week we need to decide what sort of aftercare we will have for Sadie for third grade. Sometimes we talk about what restaurant we will go to first when we return. Occasionally I find myself longing for a specific pair of shoes packed away in my garage. At times we chat about the addition of possible pets or the replacement of pieces of furniture.<br /><br />Most importantly, we should (and do) spend time attempting to analyze and articulate our experiences here and what aspects of our present lives that we want to work to incorporate into our lives back home. What we have learned about ourselves. What we want for our child. Our short-terms needs and our long-term desires. The potential compromises for a city mouse and a country mouse. Ways to facilitate future opportunities for "pre-nostalgia" moments. Fortunately, sitting on a deck in the jungle, watching the waves in the distance, drinking 12-year-old Nicaraguan rum and eating salty chips is an excellent environment in which to undertake such challenging work.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrMTUqHJDstrXGJJRd-t2mIwcbFCO2T0n23MqqsEuOl_fy8NJuz6fPjQQ5Q7AT_vC525SBrfD6OBZMhSTXSYTQ-QnSX6UNcXdLqcND5gt2YYYtJXFH7zlPuXV8LVmZ2dP8i4Ah4tNmRU/s1600/DSCN3464.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrMTUqHJDstrXGJJRd-t2mIwcbFCO2T0n23MqqsEuOl_fy8NJuz6fPjQQ5Q7AT_vC525SBrfD6OBZMhSTXSYTQ-QnSX6UNcXdLqcND5gt2YYYtJXFH7zlPuXV8LVmZ2dP8i4Ah4tNmRU/s400/DSCN3464.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608112324736546018" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-25615752660478768112011-05-03T09:11:00.000-07:002011-05-03T12:40:01.012-07:00Nicaragua, Nicaraguita<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiHFS3slzrOq-VSaM0wsY04s9if3ywBLOe-yJO4kJqwjzRNExZmW-2Xwe41nDcgLBbvTzimi-WyL0shwjC3aLB65mzxZO1jiDAZYIacWvc-Iybc1LAv1_ChltLKKegmZNqniqSawl_EQ/s1600/DSCN3406.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyiHFS3slzrOq-VSaM0wsY04s9if3ywBLOe-yJO4kJqwjzRNExZmW-2Xwe41nDcgLBbvTzimi-WyL0shwjC3aLB65mzxZO1jiDAZYIacWvc-Iybc1LAv1_ChltLKKegmZNqniqSawl_EQ/s400/DSCN3406.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602562533749316530" border="0" /></a><br />Once again we hit the road last week to travel to Nicaragua for another "visa vacation," our required border run to be able to stay in Costa Rica.<br /><br />This time we decided to stay with the Garcia family in Pio XII for four out of five nights, taking one day and night to travel north to León. For our short trip to León, we took along one of the Garcia kids, Sadie's good friend Natasha. We figured Sadie would have a lot more fun with Natasha around and therefore might better indulge our desires to look at old crumbling buildings and museums. As it turns out, none of us had much stamina for walking around in the very very hot city of León. We hit the big church (beautiful and with an added bonus of being able to climb up to the roof), then a wonderful modern art museum housed in two incredible historical mansions (think thirty-foot ceilings, huge carved wooden doors, tile floors, gigantic glass chandeliers, interior courtyards), and then we were all pretty much done.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CsBky3WvcIbLQbr2Y2B4IlEng42D99kjkgYyeC4PPWO1EV0foClTPupfBA4MYLHk4JoUSvMxpjz8tv1assMKwNA70nnqhdmU3ERmTKb_i7p7tPC17RKENekAlqkxHZ_XgrH9JFb9z7E/s1600/DSCN3328.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7CsBky3WvcIbLQbr2Y2B4IlEng42D99kjkgYyeC4PPWO1EV0foClTPupfBA4MYLHk4JoUSvMxpjz8tv1assMKwNA70nnqhdmU3ERmTKb_i7p7tPC17RKENekAlqkxHZ_XgrH9JFb9z7E/s400/DSCN3328.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602554711920700018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The view from the top of the cathedral<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5a14bmbbFDHc3u1kwlhDfreBLZ6Z0ux9iHyZvxkxvUfreCA0zFVpJp8McSWi5evM7ojjoLm9sY2MKJVKsjk8ACnvakuTUQ31GoXpeSDp398yL6K0gOVl3AObpXyVHuNF99B7O3Fok5I/s1600/DSCN3331.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5a14bmbbFDHc3u1kwlhDfreBLZ6Z0ux9iHyZvxkxvUfreCA0zFVpJp8McSWi5evM7ojjoLm9sY2MKJVKsjk8ACnvakuTUQ31GoXpeSDp398yL6K0gOVl3AObpXyVHuNF99B7O3Fok5I/s400/DSCN3331.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602555147620270754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Los Angeles Tienda<br /></span></div><br />Natasha was fun to have along as she and Sadie could spend hours simply wandering around the hotel. However she was a bit nervous to be with us on the trip I think (she hasn't left home much) and she was polite to the extreme. She barely ate dinner or breakfast and seemed to feel really badly about it. I wasn't sure exactly what was going on with her, though I figured it out fairly soon. On our way out of town, we were flagged down by the police. As we pulled over to the side of the road, Natasha stuck her head outside of the car and vomited. Though I felt badly for her, I did think her timing was terrific. What policeman would want to deal with a car with a puking kid in it? (either that or he'd wonder why a couple of gringos had a young sick paperless Nicaraguan in their car). Sadly, Natasha's state seemed to affect the police not one bit. While I took care of Natasha, the policemen proceeded to argue with Ian about his supposed infraction and described some sort of convoluted process involving lots of money and paperwork back in León. Ian asked Natasha to come help him understand what the police were saying. While the poor pale girl stood in the road with her water bottle and did her best to talk with the police, Ian used the opportunity to get his wallet. A $20 was exchanged and we were waved away. So long, León.<br /><br />Life in Pio XII is much different than life in León. Pio XII is a lovely small town. Small enough to feel tranquil but large enough to spend an afternoon sitting on the stoop people watching. The roads are paved, but the streets are narrow and lined with all types of trees, most seeming to have some sort of edible fruit. The dominant form of transportation in and around Pio XII is the 3-wheeled "moto-taxis" ("tuk-tuks" elsewhere), a fast and easy way to travel around the relatively flat landscape.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim-gQI-qp2zMNkmrzz8M2gZ3pmmuXnJVoYNiyqxjp1j4FT03BvN5AXYnuMP7C785IFffCJFAVmQg0fGQipyfjmXB43Alua426aLx9qIBLF3IIN1thecLKSD9ExPgtwffqxjMRU2K0oUbg/s1600/moto_taxi_in_nicaragua.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 288px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim-gQI-qp2zMNkmrzz8M2gZ3pmmuXnJVoYNiyqxjp1j4FT03BvN5AXYnuMP7C785IFffCJFAVmQg0fGQipyfjmXB43Alua426aLx9qIBLF3IIN1thecLKSD9ExPgtwffqxjMRU2K0oUbg/s400/moto_taxi_in_nicaragua.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602571528266591666" border="0" /></a><br />The Garcia family lives on a main road in Pio XII. There are a total of seven adults and ten children living in a group of small houses arranged on a plot of land. In the front of one of the houses is a small store selling various daily items such as coffee, eggs, oil, bread, batteries, crackers, soda, etc. to the population of Pio XII. When Ian stayed with the family 20 years ago, there was one small house with a dirt floor and an outdoor bathroom. Since that time, they have added several more houses, indoor plumbing, floors, and made many other improvements. The living is communal and everyone takes care of each other, though each family has particular jobs they are responsible for. It took me forever to figure out who was cooking for us, where the food was cooked and where the dishes were being washed. For the most part, we never saw the inside of any of the houses, we ate and visited in various outdoor areas among the houses. Across the street was a house belonging to a woman currently living in San Francisco. Oscar has been working on her house for her and he and his wife, and Ian, Sadie and I all slept there at night. It was very luxurious accommodations, really, with our own room and a big bathroom with a shower.<br /><br />But back to eating. Did I mention that we ate a lot? Though the original patriarch of the family died recently, the matriarch, Dona Teodora or "Mama," is very much alive and well and very insistent on us eating. A lot. The food was relatively simple, but delicious. We had rice and beans (gallo pinto) for virtually every meal, accompanied by eggs in the morning, salad at lunch, and vegetables, meat and cheese in the evenings. In between we ate lots of fruit (mangoes, oranges, melon, bananas) and various yummy bread products purchased from the neighbors. As the guests, we were always seated at the formal dining table on the patio, with Mama, the new patriarch, Oscar, (the only brother who is alive and living at the family compound), and sometimes another kid or two. It took a few days and lots of persistence, but I was finally allowed to wash a few dishes one day, and thereafter took every opportunity I could to return to that same sink with the hopes of being able to wash something. In other words, it is sweet and wonderful and overwhelming and exhausting and uncomfortable to get waited on like that for any length of time and we were acutely conscious of opportunities to be able to give back.<br /><br />One of the ways we helped out during out stay was by driving. Oscar had recently purchased a used truck, but didn't know how to drive yet. In addition, we had our rental car with us. With the rental car and the truck and two licensed drivers, the entire family (save one to run the store) got to go on an adventure to the beach. The coast is about 1 1/2 hours from Pio XII and several of the kids had never seen the ocean. We piled everyone in the two vehicles, along with a table, chairs, and tons of food (naturally) and hit the road.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpsLmRPmb_NSUlnnSTQO3uDNB_h9SfuJVwvVktMM99qALQG1PNPBUdm5awbdQoR5MrQYzsa9UAJJColDXnFh1uzyOYq9W44RG9X5aDcMRi4Fg9IEeV0N60Vm_LEJi09E8wdHt4AW2ehjw/s1600/DSCN3365.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpsLmRPmb_NSUlnnSTQO3uDNB_h9SfuJVwvVktMM99qALQG1PNPBUdm5awbdQoR5MrQYzsa9UAJJColDXnFh1uzyOYq9W44RG9X5aDcMRi4Fg9IEeV0N60Vm_LEJi09E8wdHt4AW2ehjw/s400/DSCN3365.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602557204730312802" border="0" /></a><br />One of the discernible differences between Nicaragua and Costa Rica is the beach culture. The beach we went to in Nicaragua was fairly developed, with a large parking lot, lined with restaurants, and offering both quad and horse rentals. However, everyone who was there looked as though it was the first time they had ever been to the beach. Though predictably the only gringos, Ian, Sadie and I were also the only ones on the beach wearing bathing suits. The rest of the beach goers were splashing about in the waves in shorts and shirts and sometimes even jeans. Perhaps it was because they weren't regular enough beach goers to bother with the time and expense of buying bathing suits, or perhaps it was for modesty, or maybe sun protection (something the Garcias seemed fairly concerned about - not wanting to get any darker than they already were). At any rate, it was a far cry from the hordes of itty bitty bikini wearing women and shirtless men in Nosara.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCY9XgTnISPZsBDWhi6RJI2JiTijZuET3dKIxoQzsw1cztolqaLtmgGQS9PL1Iky96c8UsP_EyRB915xrcgA15hcwNOcW1Ri4YITWUC3UAMdOaRdLcoieSQb2h0CC3Uve7c51InrRjaY/s1600/DSCN3354.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPCY9XgTnISPZsBDWhi6RJI2JiTijZuET3dKIxoQzsw1cztolqaLtmgGQS9PL1Iky96c8UsP_EyRB915xrcgA15hcwNOcW1Ri4YITWUC3UAMdOaRdLcoieSQb2h0CC3Uve7c51InrRjaY/s400/DSCN3354.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602556175742522482" border="0" /></a><br />Wet, sandy clothing be darned, the Garcia/Britton/Sweeney family had a blast. We played in the water, collected shells, kicked a ball around, ate fruit and rice and salad and barbecued chicken (who but the Garcias could manage to produce an actual <span style="font-style: italic;">salad</span> at the beach?). Ian and I closed our eyes to a few disturbing cultural differences (such as starting the charcoal with burning plastic bags and styrofoam plates) and we all had a wonderful time. Finally, sunburnt and heat exhausted, we piled all the stuff and all the people back in the vehicles and made our way back to Pio XII.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzp9XOJnLY958-bHMIG6kFZ_Uq9zwrwn1CJVg3eAma5bUOi0KvlNfKu0xMa7OXyOXlkKZ7yYCwOuoHgKNgw6sHcKC-dF_-TYZqfT9Zb2x1KD7M1b_g3rnA__zEjcXUHHOMIALgwtUwFI/s1600/DSCN3357.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzp9XOJnLY958-bHMIG6kFZ_Uq9zwrwn1CJVg3eAma5bUOi0KvlNfKu0xMa7OXyOXlkKZ7yYCwOuoHgKNgw6sHcKC-dF_-TYZqfT9Zb2x1KD7M1b_g3rnA__zEjcXUHHOMIALgwtUwFI/s400/DSCN3357.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602545332958410786" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Lunch time!<br /></span></div><br />The next day we piled about 2/3 of the family in the two cars again and went off to Masaya to watch some baseball. We were hoping to catch the big league home team (San Fernando, with a logo exactly like San Francisco), but as it happens there was an amateur game being played that morning in the stadium. We stayed for it anyway, enjoying the free seats behind home plate. The stadium itself is along the waterfront (a lake) of Masaya and beyond the parking lot is a really nice esplanade, or "malecón."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVefvt12yIiTX9wxFDxlYN5pKBuD4HJ-hsElVkWVmH-wgfy7SVSoLZr_w1hUUQNUJtUAFgTiHJTwyTFs-DQKlUOFM-PoqImMGBMID3OXLYV-45OgkECwUG-PDvneWtmFuEjCt5ud-UD60/s1600/DSCN3377.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVefvt12yIiTX9wxFDxlYN5pKBuD4HJ-hsElVkWVmH-wgfy7SVSoLZr_w1hUUQNUJtUAFgTiHJTwyTFs-DQKlUOFM-PoqImMGBMID3OXLYV-45OgkECwUG-PDvneWtmFuEjCt5ud-UD60/s400/DSCN3377.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602561761918155330" border="0" /></a><br />What with the the waterfront access and the various holes in the stadium walls big enough to see the field, I felt almost like I was at AT&T park. There was even a giant bottle over by the bleachers.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UmEQM9IQaIjvTGydZL0ZBdShu7H37izNUb0llMaOgE4z7MjYoW7isNqYEWck0JCNy4TKB6Po3hImP-26FVdFTJ7EEwHxvLp5n7HmtOLg9zFU1hH1qzJB6qYe8apPhylvx7U5nmbfAjo/s1600/DSCN3368.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UmEQM9IQaIjvTGydZL0ZBdShu7H37izNUb0llMaOgE4z7MjYoW7isNqYEWck0JCNy4TKB6Po3hImP-26FVdFTJ7EEwHxvLp5n7HmtOLg9zFU1hH1qzJB6qYe8apPhylvx7U5nmbfAjo/s400/DSCN3368.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602560392339654034" border="0" /></a><br />In between our car adventures (and car-related errands), we mostly sat and talked. Or, rather, they sat and talked and I sat and sometimes tried to follow the conversation and sometimes just gave up and spaced out (Ian assures me I did very well following the conversations and trying to participate with my broken spanish, but I thought I spent most of the time silent). Sadie, however, was nowhere to be found during these times. In between meals, Sadie was out and about with the kids, playing freeze tag or running around the houses or walking to the park or eating junk food or doing who knows what. All I know is she would occasionally appear, covered with dirt, to ask permission to do something (rare), give me a hug (also rare) or ask if it was time to eat (more likely). At night, she'd fall in bed dirty, full, exhausted and happy, and ready to do it all over again the next day. She was completely confident in her spanish skills and completely comfortable with her place in her newly adopted family.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zhxzG8VB8jq3aqRtz21Dhw8Z4ptDLFHeepf-21Ib7feah4veqPmozToWQ512qk5nYgLSKMzkDXGrS_3WqpQO4ZPYu0K_MnqfZMU05Rrgz_Kl_6EpMa9NVwehpmZ2JcttG-5VnW4E3TY/s1600/DSCN3378.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2zhxzG8VB8jq3aqRtz21Dhw8Z4ptDLFHeepf-21Ib7feah4veqPmozToWQ512qk5nYgLSKMzkDXGrS_3WqpQO4ZPYu0K_MnqfZMU05Rrgz_Kl_6EpMa9NVwehpmZ2JcttG-5VnW4E3TY/s400/DSCN3378.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602562138385001810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Hanging out in front of the store on Sunday<br /></span></div><br />We feel extremely blessed to have been taken in so generously and lovingly by the Garcia family. They are an extraordinary group of people in an extraordinary country. During one conversation over a yummy crunchy bread product, Ian and I tried to explain that although Costa Rica had a similar crunchy bread product, it wasn't as flavorful. This, we realized, pretty much sums up our opinion of the difference between Costa Rica and Nicaragua. Nicaragua has more flavor. I'm not sure why, exactly. Is it perhaps borne of living through so much economic and political turmoil and coming out the other side intact?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbM1JPyy5bneW1R_YB7EPXzr283o0-pIz3zNE0nm2a2fgeQ5S1SEbqsGk1FKLK5zwHvUQm4etuHqzTR7A2aKDq6mL9xu-RZ9ZOUzCAbNNnytuaFFv_bBqWq8OKaEImEpRiQOI7bwJYuM/s1600/DSCN3339.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrbM1JPyy5bneW1R_YB7EPXzr283o0-pIz3zNE0nm2a2fgeQ5S1SEbqsGk1FKLK5zwHvUQm4etuHqzTR7A2aKDq6mL9xu-RZ9ZOUzCAbNNnytuaFFv_bBqWq8OKaEImEpRiQOI7bwJYuM/s400/DSCN3339.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602555613101672402" border="0" /></a><br />In a strange way, I am reminded of the fierce pride that many Oaklanders have for their city - a pride born of seeing the beauty and flavor Oakland has to offer while the rest of the world seems to only be able to focus on the crime and the blight. That dichotomy is what gives places like Oakland much of its spice. Nicaraguans are fiercely proud of their country and all it has to offer including its natural beauty, poets and artists, music and dances, and rich and tumultuous history. Like Costa Rica, Nicaragua can feel very tranquil, but there is also an intensity, an energy, a passion, that I haven't found in Costa Rica.<br /><br />I'm acutely aware that my apparent need to explain and catalog these differences, to analyze and summarize our experiences, has much to do with the fact that this trip out of Costa Rica was our last. We now have the last 90 day visa that we will need here - our plane tickets have us out of the country and on our way back to Oakland on the 89th day. It is a bittersweet time for us, and one I'm certain will be the topic of several future blog posts.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFrXhiCZlbUvK-PNOZkGUSW-f_Vjgr5wD8HUOSOCKsIic4lfTN5Q0PKzkXSdJJkxamVWKPLbL8XaTR37kSGhxF83uBwQQPeqo7q1Xki_SF1oapYE4KoMCs44GT2VINnKjrKAvtMzslFc/s1600/DSCN3421.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFrXhiCZlbUvK-PNOZkGUSW-f_Vjgr5wD8HUOSOCKsIic4lfTN5Q0PKzkXSdJJkxamVWKPLbL8XaTR37kSGhxF83uBwQQPeqo7q1Xki_SF1oapYE4KoMCs44GT2VINnKjrKAvtMzslFc/s320/DSCN3421.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602576702372813554" border="0" /></a><br />Until then, thank you from the bottom of our hearts to our adopted Nicaraguan family, the Garcias. Much love from Juan, Catalina and Sadie. Hasta luego.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_M-BLgOF1h4YsroRXWQrtwwDsEqQCluBGsYNUZC9gnkM9A65VE6-I3ERTo4GsKls0MCDSCxpS0DFfNXWrKLPjhvcFUD0i2yHVYRDrRJxnL79_2Xgf7M6o7eSsY5J-7EHGRtRI3-sYrZ8/s1600/DSCN3395.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_M-BLgOF1h4YsroRXWQrtwwDsEqQCluBGsYNUZC9gnkM9A65VE6-I3ERTo4GsKls0MCDSCxpS0DFfNXWrKLPjhvcFUD0i2yHVYRDrRJxnL79_2Xgf7M6o7eSsY5J-7EHGRtRI3-sYrZ8/s400/DSCN3395.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602564134779930386" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-70323651135105639152011-04-25T14:56:00.000-07:002011-04-25T16:17:11.301-07:00Circo Del Mar<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8TEzjJUxenuWLO34CljH6YucteveICHzTP8YMCA28ISb638zNYqqTtUQTqkmKUdAsgwT76eX-urvvvkzrTFJDij0VwKukrAjWeYeMnH6uizXkcbmoSZ6MRv2hBIK8Q7qwiSxIoRsLa4/s1600/206640_10150177592328649_55918873648_6853743_7389896_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 365px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8TEzjJUxenuWLO34CljH6YucteveICHzTP8YMCA28ISb638zNYqqTtUQTqkmKUdAsgwT76eX-urvvvkzrTFJDij0VwKukrAjWeYeMnH6uizXkcbmoSZ6MRv2hBIK8Q7qwiSxIoRsLa4/s400/206640_10150177592328649_55918873648_6853743_7389896_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599661089080460898" border="0" /></a><br /><br />One of the joys of not working is that we have the opportunity (i.e., time) to get involved in Sadie's school. Sometimes <span style="font-style: italic;">very </span>involved.<br /><br />The month of April was dedicated to producing the world's greatest kids talent show ever. Also known as Circo Del Mar. Ian was the first one to get pulled in ("I hear you have experience in theater. How about you direct this year's talent show"?), followed quickly by me ("hon, you're gonna have to join me"). This year it was decided that the talent show should be in the form of a circus, Cirque du Soleil style, and we had a fabulous group of teachers, administrators, staff and parents dedicated to pulling it all off.<br /><br />And boy, did we need it. A circus format on the school's basketball court presents a unique set of, um, challenges. Audience on all sides, no backstage, a stage, sound, lights .... But our crew was up to the challenge and determined to pull off a fabulous show where the kids could really display their talents. With a water conservation message, no less.<br /><br />Audience on all sides? No problem, the kids all rose to the challenge and choreographed their dances, skits, and songs in such a way as to make sure no one was looking at their backs for any length of time. No backstage? Fine, all the kids will be in costume and watch the show and quickly and quietly get up to get ready for their routines. In addition, we had "hosts" - mother nature and a Nosara tourist - to smooth over all transitions. A stage? Hauled the one the school had onto the basketball court, painted it, and draped it with blue cloth. Lights? Bought four floodlights from the hardware store, and witnessed a very impressive (albeit a bit unnerving) afternoon of wiring. Sound? Half the schools and half rented from a local band. Then Ian with two Macs and some editing software created and ran an hour's worth of music and sound effects.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7fsEKajfvbZOPTDFLQkKKlr-FGfnMwrob-ozQC4G8ux5KfISTkCMsaSI5t5rWj41AaiJ5x7HgMFruXXph9xFHJiQxbZ3bJr6DySGHibMdOHDHVAA4OIfIp2C5aC6LGp_a1JBRiKcu7Y/s1600/DSCN3289.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7fsEKajfvbZOPTDFLQkKKlr-FGfnMwrob-ozQC4G8ux5KfISTkCMsaSI5t5rWj41AaiJ5x7HgMFruXXph9xFHJiQxbZ3bJr6DySGHibMdOHDHVAA4OIfIp2C5aC6LGp_a1JBRiKcu7Y/s400/DSCN3289.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599657407353615778" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Four floodlights hung on two trees and two basketball hoops</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcICWh_XWNez-9hSad5WZlIvFfT34jVKYGLAcq8KBf1JIFGQnlFOJYbA8PjrtqmUFajbCIBmIy8oEUbWS_jr-b-bWb1JHNUxUjf0wYxoloTqSh63e4hfXa9O72-P526gX2XaOwr8XTPE/s1600/DSCN3293.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcICWh_XWNez-9hSad5WZlIvFfT34jVKYGLAcq8KBf1JIFGQnlFOJYbA8PjrtqmUFajbCIBmIy8oEUbWS_jr-b-bWb1JHNUxUjf0wYxoloTqSh63e4hfXa9O72-P526gX2XaOwr8XTPE/s400/DSCN3293.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599658058658761442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Yes, it's safe. Really<br /><br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHfArojlcqZ6WB3WG6fhJUyvnK5pIbFvcIRDPNnPMnfLG7TFsaWfJ0kZZd7WM0CAkjG2WZa7Hm1dkwkPCnmDzpyHIhgWpyxWlRYBddWzi5WY-Nq_hzwlCA7g3fnaZ-AZY7BDXoSgqTIBo/s1600/DSCN3301.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHfArojlcqZ6WB3WG6fhJUyvnK5pIbFvcIRDPNnPMnfLG7TFsaWfJ0kZZd7WM0CAkjG2WZa7Hm1dkwkPCnmDzpyHIhgWpyxWlRYBddWzi5WY-Nq_hzwlCA7g3fnaZ-AZY7BDXoSgqTIBo/s400/DSCN3301.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599658295903239378" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The on/off switch for the lights - 15 feet up<br /></span></div><br /><br />I hope I didn't make that all sound easy, because it wasn't. Challenging and fun, but not easy. One thing we quickly realized that this sort of heat is no problem when you are lounging around in a hammock reading, but quite a different thing when you are actually in it and working for hours on end. How did we ever work all day long? How do people actually work here?? We have a new found appreciation of those who have to make a living in this weather.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOG_ZD4E8YDwe5XrB7dRHa_0Rjnbz4R6qwGW6T9ixDhpshdKoMLaAKe6zqGaOx-1Uf5vo0q8fminI2Sk0bPyfhNj56zmCf5UzKyE4L8vRvkVxk88Z19vDEVXRyxC-CXtuCxYwx7nZrZc/s1600/217355_10150176837598649_55918873648_6848252_5203661_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLOG_ZD4E8YDwe5XrB7dRHa_0Rjnbz4R6qwGW6T9ixDhpshdKoMLaAKe6zqGaOx-1Uf5vo0q8fminI2Sk0bPyfhNj56zmCf5UzKyE4L8vRvkVxk88Z19vDEVXRyxC-CXtuCxYwx7nZrZc/s400/217355_10150176837598649_55918873648_6848252_5203661_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599654907015793778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Ian and the Stagehands<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbbNG4QYqVpjTswIW8PHalMUsR0SCaO4xcJoYBdZekV21UTAe_DOVSPfMyUOE_0q2ABpVG1IZxXum_9jfU0xQ77f9rHfpKQm3_eHk_4o0BlI9EvpYV9DN69znMpXYwqt5PXElS1GKGHk/s1600/208704_10150176835728649_55918873648_6848241_7881381_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbbNG4QYqVpjTswIW8PHalMUsR0SCaO4xcJoYBdZekV21UTAe_DOVSPfMyUOE_0q2ABpVG1IZxXum_9jfU0xQ77f9rHfpKQm3_eHk_4o0BlI9EvpYV9DN69znMpXYwqt5PXElS1GKGHk/s400/208704_10150176835728649_55918873648_6848241_7881381_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599654757190085682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Me and Melania, the Stage Managers (aka, kid wranglers)</span><br /></div><br />But in the end, of course, it was fabulous. The crowd was great, the technical aspects were smooth, and, most importantly, the kids were absolutely fantastic. We had a real clown who happened to be visiting and agreed to help out, we had popcorn sellers roaming the crowd, we had folks wrangling the kids, we had great sound and lights, and we had an amazing group of performers.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0McjXQmdT1fcwAxO-vZA3RHHedJgNVA-_d7vQ6PyPTcSt6_afDGusmncZn5hCVjZOEnbYj3qyVPrKCLMe6xvyjcm3rOV33F1rx2ClKzNXDmNJpeDtScL2HG2Qhdh1dVDSL2hQrBJDok/s1600/216399_10150177592043649_55918873648_6853738_66693_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0McjXQmdT1fcwAxO-vZA3RHHedJgNVA-_d7vQ6PyPTcSt6_afDGusmncZn5hCVjZOEnbYj3qyVPrKCLMe6xvyjcm3rOV33F1rx2ClKzNXDmNJpeDtScL2HG2Qhdh1dVDSL2hQrBJDok/s400/216399_10150177592043649_55918873648_6853738_66693_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599655002723962482" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Preshow snack</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ETWIQzv_fYG95v9ZrqOvNGhjNd7PkJuow-_WNa_6F2V6Mt9dWZWyiQoLu9XwSq_ROqdHDSHcJKiz9sPQBUFt10kjmsX_ZB1j3dIgk-owkXKmzgsPvyNqoBVws8RJIIhwBrdrfE-Edgg/s1600/DSCN0393+0+00+41-03.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 364px; height: 348px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4ETWIQzv_fYG95v9ZrqOvNGhjNd7PkJuow-_WNa_6F2V6Mt9dWZWyiQoLu9XwSq_ROqdHDSHcJKiz9sPQBUFt10kjmsX_ZB1j3dIgk-owkXKmzgsPvyNqoBVws8RJIIhwBrdrfE-Edgg/s400/DSCN0393+0+00+41-03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599654307387383778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Sadie showing off her famous hulaneck move<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Thank you everyone for a wonderful experience and a fantastic show!</span><br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnjkkze2WyeF5d8NOWYomzmh8ZMYx8a_ZN750AnUIfOt06lnp21r9UHJlseZcsHlCsXCs0cIq8hPEOlHgHE63j7_U9nRkx2sfJiAN6GTpcHDssbOGqLn-pa2Nq3RooG5i-zpYpSmMsDk/s1600/205458_10150177591903649_55918873648_6853736_1907854_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnjkkze2WyeF5d8NOWYomzmh8ZMYx8a_ZN750AnUIfOt06lnp21r9UHJlseZcsHlCsXCs0cIq8hPEOlHgHE63j7_U9nRkx2sfJiAN6GTpcHDssbOGqLn-pa2Nq3RooG5i-zpYpSmMsDk/s400/205458_10150177591903649_55918873648_6853736_1907854_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599654577803726754" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Here are a few videos for your enjoyment.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwVyZ-Rc2MVg7Kxg2VqSOmCqXkjXQiaqN_6OtW2_u87LlSHfvZ9p4hAS6jPxDde-3eUNiDpDgTCFXt6qVyArw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxJzPJGCo9XnAHY1VEjdOMD1JMtkTj1uUGCE6lODUQz8XDEFLUxqKD-9DQJi2eANCWv3lGK88JQPlbeyBBCQg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://vimeo.com/22534580">Del Mar Academy Talent Show 2011 Highlights</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user724203">projectgfs</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/22534580?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" frameborder="0" height="225" width="400"></iframe></span>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-4498737967718925862011-04-13T06:49:00.000-07:002011-04-13T08:07:36.460-07:00More checks and more visitorsLately we've been checking things off our Costa Rica list that we hadn't intended to ever PUT on the list. Well, at least Ian has.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziX0-qUaT7X2yIXUkjrP2n-JIQbyUnm7loN3NJ7_rVQIxakgYoGjnSy3Y9a6dCJmuKlck6E9cw8SJJjVlOB0ZDtSV11GkfsH9nf-Dl1Bwv4NUN84LE1EznLKgl0bEl6uyXyCShxSapdA/s1600/Cashew_nuts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhziX0-qUaT7X2yIXUkjrP2n-JIQbyUnm7loN3NJ7_rVQIxakgYoGjnSy3Y9a6dCJmuKlck6E9cw8SJJjVlOB0ZDtSV11GkfsH9nf-Dl1Bwv4NUN84LE1EznLKgl0bEl6uyXyCShxSapdA/s200/Cashew_nuts.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595074197984803122" border="0" /></a>The other day our gardener brought up two cashew fruits from a tree on our property. Personally, I had enough interactions with cashew fruit during my time in Brazil years ago and wanted nothing to do with the nasty things. But naturally Ian and Sadie were curious. For those that don't know, the cashew nut is actually the seed of the cashew fruit, and the large fruity-looking thing above is an "accessory fruit" or "false fruit," known as the cashew apple. The cashew apple is a very popular thing to eat and make juice out of in some places, but to me it tastes terrible.<br /><br />Anyway, Ian and Sadie commenced to exploring the cashew apple while I excused myself to do something else. "Hey Caitlin," hollers Ian from the kitchen, "is the cashew nut poisonous?" "Yes, it is, don't eat it!" I reply. "Uhhh...too late...." Sure enough, they had managed to get the nut (seed) out of the casing and had both tried it. "My lips hurt," says Ian. "My tongue feels funny," says Sadie.<br /><br />The cashew seed is surrounded by a double shell containing an allergenic resin, anacardic acid, a toxin related to what is found in poison ivy. "Raw" cashews sold in stores are not actually raw - they have been roasted in order to destroy the toxin.<br /><br />Thankfully, it was Ian who had done all the hard work of busting through the shell to get to the seed, and it was he who suffered the most severe reaction. Sadie's tongue stung for about 24 hours, but was fairly mild. Meanwhile, Ian's lips blistered, he developed a rash on his arm that soon spread to his torso, and the skin on his hand began to peel. Not life threatening (though believe me we did lots of internet research) but very annoying. More than a week later, most of his symptoms are gone with the exception of a rash on his belly which is taking its time to run its course.<br /><br />Learn the hard way to not eat raw cashews.<br />Check.<br /><br />This past weekend we were treated to another round of visitors - Libby, Rich and Kalin. Kalin is a good friend of Sadie's from home and she was thrilled to pieces to have her visit. While they were here we did all sorts of the usual fun things, including going to the beach of course.<br /><br />We were enjoying a nice Sunday morning at Playa Pelada and Ian goes to take a turn with the boogie board. He had barely walked out into the surf when he stepped on something painful and came back out of the water to take a look. His foot seemed to have a small cut and it was bleeding. It must have been a stingray we guessed. Sure enough, within seconds Ian was in absolutely excruciating pain. He looked and sounded like he was in labor, as he rode wave after wave of horrific pain that went from his foot all the way to the backs of his eyeballs.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMjtNF8mqN3rl3zPn6EcGwdGoId3BKn5tro6ULXAxF9yHifxkEsvCPtjpXI7rjzIPiC_2PhePA3eB4SzSQfLxXH0X_o5iB8t8xoGT48chCyo6J47HNDKPMjjVKK6B5dnn-iHtC1zXos4/s1600/Longtail_Stingray_005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbMjtNF8mqN3rl3zPn6EcGwdGoId3BKn5tro6ULXAxF9yHifxkEsvCPtjpXI7rjzIPiC_2PhePA3eB4SzSQfLxXH0X_o5iB8t8xoGT48chCyo6J47HNDKPMjjVKK6B5dnn-iHtC1zXos4/s400/Longtail_Stingray_005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595073894740578738" border="0" /></a><br />Well, lucky for us, Rich happens to be an aquatic biologist and diver who is trained to respond to all sorts of underwater emergencies, including from poisonous marine critters. "Hot water" he says. So we gather the (somewhat frightened) girls and all our stuff and make our way back to the house, Ian writhing in pain in the front seat, unable to talk or even hear what is going on around him.<br /><br />Once at home, we deposit Ian on the deck, put his foot in a cooler and begin to pour in hot water. Almost immediately Ian has some relief from the pain. Rich monitors him closely as we continue to pour in hotter and hotter water (again we take to the internet to make sure there isn't some other type of even more poisonous creature that could have caused the injury - but all agree it was definitely a stingray). Ian suffers waves of progressively subsiding pain for the next 90 minutes. Within two hours he is able to get up and put pressure on the foot and soon after it is as if nothing ever happened. Everyone stayed calm, the girls did a great job making themselves scarce until the scary part was over, and all was fine in the end.<br /><br />Stingray barbs - Hot water. Immediately. For 90 minutes.<br />Check.<br /><br />Despite the drama of the stingray, we had a great visit with Libby, Rich and Kalin. We did lots of bird watching, critter hunting and bug playing. In the mornings we watched birds and at night we watched fireflies and geckos. Keeping their promise to the girls, Libby and Rich managed to catch a baby gecko, which spent only a terrifying half hour in the bug house before being let go.<br /><br />Sadie gave Kalin a scorpion we had found and had the surf shop guys encase in resin (it was already dead, I promise), Libby gathered cicada skins to adorn our hair and clothes, and Rich took some great photos of the bats that live under our house.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3KLU4YxikLSsBnna_ASeKKs5GmF0-lZiYRO7WET3GY2olbj1EMSiIyaLYqlsqgMKK7oLVhnmJX6kaey_uVDvZkL7t9A0JGM2BKNzQcIq0Xd8Hdx8B8p4rWBcmsklt_eHEwMMT258JTs/s1600/220995_1622706091481_1351327790_1267702_7918442_o.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy3KLU4YxikLSsBnna_ASeKKs5GmF0-lZiYRO7WET3GY2olbj1EMSiIyaLYqlsqgMKK7oLVhnmJX6kaey_uVDvZkL7t9A0JGM2BKNzQcIq0Xd8Hdx8B8p4rWBcmsklt_eHEwMMT258JTs/s400/220995_1622706091481_1351327790_1267702_7918442_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595077145317130962" border="0" /></a><br />We also ate a lot of course. We celebrated Rich's birthday with calamari, tuna and octopus at our favorite restaurant. (Check out his <a href="http://tonmo.com/blog/entry.php?75-Cephs-is-tasty-in-Costa-Rica">blog posting</a> on his birthday meal)<br /><br />We hugged them all goodbye yesterday and as they headed inland on a little plane for more Costa Rican adventures, they managed to find our house and captured us waving to them from the balcony.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5jzibwL3DuNVrZJ7-75mnqYdu8YX8Pn0I3ME-ltO6nuaQkitREs5cY2i5rZOqTOLEQY7ty8L7TGQixpHhppgQmhG-fAX7czuLijrwNZqv4AjSHlwYUWBsq4yk0FCLzdnBIp6WnfbTIk/s1600/218425_1790755022358_1644102332_1733279_1806461_o.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk5jzibwL3DuNVrZJ7-75mnqYdu8YX8Pn0I3ME-ltO6nuaQkitREs5cY2i5rZOqTOLEQY7ty8L7TGQixpHhppgQmhG-fAX7czuLijrwNZqv4AjSHlwYUWBsq4yk0FCLzdnBIp6WnfbTIk/s400/218425_1790755022358_1644102332_1733279_1806461_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595077309416512034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hasta luego!<br /></span></span></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-90895151966095276462011-04-04T12:03:00.000-07:002011-04-04T15:30:26.312-07:00Spring in Nosara?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfeQwnPV-syhI807BhLSYLarMdyamnzE1LDxz0QdomICPQSsxbLoXwJaQ-2yPaIo0Br3P3Pvh6Qrim8vfT1GJ_6tlutRVRSb_1PLrfO_pG3WHxZGI8kCwWhtbTNJDgTlOoPwa9PT2hb8/s1600/DSCN3175.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfeQwnPV-syhI807BhLSYLarMdyamnzE1LDxz0QdomICPQSsxbLoXwJaQ-2yPaIo0Br3P3Pvh6Qrim8vfT1GJ_6tlutRVRSb_1PLrfO_pG3WHxZGI8kCwWhtbTNJDgTlOoPwa9PT2hb8/s400/DSCN3175.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591853025206770034" border="0" /></a><br />I've noticed a lot of talk on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Facebook</span> lately about spring back in the States. Folks all over the country are finally seeing some flowers poking out, the chill of a long harsh winter making way to warmer spring weather, switching out boots for sandals....<br /><br />Here, as you know, it is hot. In fact, it has gotten significantly hotter over the past week or so. We have not suffered a long cold winter. However, as we near the end of the "dry" season and closer to the "wet" season, things are changing in many of the same ways as back home.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Nosara</span> is blanketed with deciduous trees that lose their leaves during the long dry season, significantly changing the landscape from when we first arrived.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzfwa-2oLNV03zA6DfEDsFH94Ui__65jtkkmmjXzWcdLh6CUqSkXuDaqjLhyxiWv2xIX6itu0oOISYzKMUG6Us37QPc_adAt5V5zBVUz9qqCzFBmBqAXFoem2GrXRytIszrN_KnQ5INw/s1600/Rainy2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzfwa-2oLNV03zA6DfEDsFH94Ui__65jtkkmmjXzWcdLh6CUqSkXuDaqjLhyxiWv2xIX6itu0oOISYzKMUG6Us37QPc_adAt5V5zBVUz9qqCzFBmBqAXFoem2GrXRytIszrN_KnQ5INw/s400/Rainy2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591814538951650530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">View from Deck - September</span></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJxEHWBIuRs-0vDL9YekUAboWwtZ_gBQrAIKyMwEgbJDR3g1hDHxLB4ldSiiOTImF9U9ykjPmhyphenhyphenj9S5wG2yvxe5jkJtEmrcx1BpPuh8lgA15LfXtPaYbm5Ic1JnYS07GbQG2QWbnGr3E/s1600/DSCN3208.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJxEHWBIuRs-0vDL9YekUAboWwtZ_gBQrAIKyMwEgbJDR3g1hDHxLB4ldSiiOTImF9U9ykjPmhyphenhyphenj9S5wG2yvxe5jkJtEmrcx1BpPuh8lgA15LfXtPaYbm5Ic1JnYS07GbQG2QWbnGr3E/s400/DSCN3208.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591814950577961618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">View from deck - April</span><br /><br /></div>But as we now move towards the rainy season, the air is getting more humid and the landscape is changing again in preparation. Trees are regaining leaves and flowers are beginning to show in what seems to me unexpected and random places. It is beautiful in its unexpectedness, charming in its surprise. Intriguing to see signs of "spring," in the change from hot and dry to hot and rainy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStEQvETz3SmfEeryU00NRnfc9kOaLPHZnkxSe-iMh1WQV8Dk6n9c8dMLkG0Tam5vxGpphAIZoYlyvtOJZYyIoU2GX-9GsML3HaJuDsJWQWv-goEuL2JTwHMqdTbwruC4NpSCpT8FVdI4/s1600/DSCN3190.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgStEQvETz3SmfEeryU00NRnfc9kOaLPHZnkxSe-iMh1WQV8Dk6n9c8dMLkG0Tam5vxGpphAIZoYlyvtOJZYyIoU2GX-9GsML3HaJuDsJWQWv-goEuL2JTwHMqdTbwruC4NpSCpT8FVdI4/s400/DSCN3190.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591851891239914690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh36x4V73qEwLw9SokiTd2wAVJro7QIbSp8wPctafUtYCoAVtW4Ekv2OYfGC8N5Ty1T54STSuIrZ4nbVo_qcfUmCvrgc5p2Rzel6Rcc1ZOPX735GT-r4D6u2i7VDmmlbVznyScNXXi861w/s1600/DSCN3183.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh36x4V73qEwLw9SokiTd2wAVJro7QIbSp8wPctafUtYCoAVtW4Ekv2OYfGC8N5Ty1T54STSuIrZ4nbVo_qcfUmCvrgc5p2Rzel6Rcc1ZOPX735GT-r4D6u2i7VDmmlbVznyScNXXi861w/s400/DSCN3183.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591851021397098898" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkv7p0l7it4MXiB2CAz9PrUKCFmIzFLN6_cFv8wEFiCsj-9NS_MTEs1M4W_Ppgbk9NtfuF3F5IZkJgstP3xYKBi0dGg_dr8JBBaoMZRSysiVId6YghSkldeo0uJLqBMSsn0PCwYEnrh_o/s1600/DSCN3188.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkv7p0l7it4MXiB2CAz9PrUKCFmIzFLN6_cFv8wEFiCsj-9NS_MTEs1M4W_Ppgbk9NtfuF3F5IZkJgstP3xYKBi0dGg_dr8JBBaoMZRSysiVId6YghSkldeo0uJLqBMSsn0PCwYEnrh_o/s400/DSCN3188.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591851458964975618" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYxEJzUSfLrY0piyafHyGSojgi0tgFZ78dNp-kiNrzCx5AW-UrXSnC5z1cJ-6y_yHxPAjogkiLt3PAKFPdQlDkbH-1_2Js9X4tcv_HSw5fVWv-xMu2HMbuk08YL6A0NnlulGXTqzWGrA/s1600/DSCN3202.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtYxEJzUSfLrY0piyafHyGSojgi0tgFZ78dNp-kiNrzCx5AW-UrXSnC5z1cJ-6y_yHxPAjogkiLt3PAKFPdQlDkbH-1_2Js9X4tcv_HSw5fVWv-xMu2HMbuk08YL6A0NnlulGXTqzWGrA/s400/DSCN3202.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591852368978667954" border="0" /></a><br />We did have a nice little storm move through here about a week ago. It was short but strong, bringing rain of the type that we haven't <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0aqeGPuhXR6xmrtnNvyLllh4K60z1UKFWsaedJaj3CFb3gIDbazkewxrGUakkxUkeN2OBbVSmMe-mlgtp9QMOPY-TYQwVyH0h75lf-l6QsqaiJDPHA8t0JFPWRpB21b7y9HF06ml-Sss/s1600/winged-ant-5.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0aqeGPuhXR6xmrtnNvyLllh4K60z1UKFWsaedJaj3CFb3gIDbazkewxrGUakkxUkeN2OBbVSmMe-mlgtp9QMOPY-TYQwVyH0h75lf-l6QsqaiJDPHA8t0JFPWRpB21b7y9HF06ml-Sss/s200/winged-ant-5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591856175756338450" border="0" /></a>seen in months, enough to even wash off some of the layers of dust from the sides of the roads. Shortly after the storm, we were treated to a nasty home invasion of flying ants. Large winged queens, smaller winged males, and wingless workers suddenly appeared at dusk, swarming around any and all light sources in our house. It got so bad on the second night that we couldn't even have the light from the computer on, or we would be swarmed by dozens and dozens of the things (thankfully they don't bite). I read to Sadie by flashlight under the covers and <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHEf0BXlBpJy5Czie4otPQa93MRSTdXoMind3kbOOJMUnJdaWiVTxuP2L1Zk3RkFa-ZatnVat0HWIWdWUho6IFrOgFFsfZ_DXsg1nH9rd8MGgv4s0LFtW2x3FVAo_OyGI895iuhtN7AJk/s1600/829swarm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHEf0BXlBpJy5Czie4otPQa93MRSTdXoMind3kbOOJMUnJdaWiVTxuP2L1Zk3RkFa-ZatnVat0HWIWdWUho6IFrOgFFsfZ_DXsg1nH9rd8MGgv4s0LFtW2x3FVAo_OyGI895iuhtN7AJk/s200/829swarm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591856274091205330" border="0" /></a>I spent the early morning sweeping away hundreds (really!) of dead winged ants from the floors of the house. On the third night, Ian finally came up with the smart idea of opening up all the doors to the house, turning off all the lights inside, and putting a couple of lamps out on the porch to lure them outside. Thankfully, the worst of it was over after that night and on the fourth night we actually turned on a light or two for a short time inside. By the fifth night it was over and we could again eat dinner, write emails, and read. Springtime for <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">hormigas</span> alas</span>.<br /><br />Luckily, winged ants aren't the only things exploding this time of year. We're seeing more birds around our house, the monkeys seem to have more babies, and...it is MANGO SEASON!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JSq8p-FDDM-9BQ4GKCaxfx4v3WiBZ7grPalLcg1fALiRtypJ3G2Rvuqwf6Y5M_bxmTEFBJQD15GG7156aYCJ9wAMYsCgPpN1Sc7jiIteJgd3LcCvMQfBPVj1BTzwcYDxZMBohHLasOc/s1600/DSCN3177.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JSq8p-FDDM-9BQ4GKCaxfx4v3WiBZ7grPalLcg1fALiRtypJ3G2Rvuqwf6Y5M_bxmTEFBJQD15GG7156aYCJ9wAMYsCgPpN1Sc7jiIteJgd3LcCvMQfBPVj1BTzwcYDxZMBohHLasOc/s400/DSCN3177.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591850659438125762" border="0" /></a>Finally, after seven months of waiting, not only are there <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">mangos</span> all over town, but we have them within arm's reach from our house! Time for mango smoothies, mango margaritas and mango ice cream.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Happy spring, everyone!<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha8JaKa1hxM3FS_Kt_k_7FeAMI8A3vMlzPblC_-U3jib72cy4XwNWpr6U7rX32X_f-4JDtH-BqAJq67_ARRN7DfES6eHDeA7GuNgWHt4tq8MIQ5cMNjYPmEZvtGyp-x4uJDY_R0wbqxDM/s1600/DSCN3176.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha8JaKa1hxM3FS_Kt_k_7FeAMI8A3vMlzPblC_-U3jib72cy4XwNWpr6U7rX32X_f-4JDtH-BqAJq67_ARRN7DfES6eHDeA7GuNgWHt4tq8MIQ5cMNjYPmEZvtGyp-x4uJDY_R0wbqxDM/s400/DSCN3176.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591852696377702882" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-65556142896253314922011-03-28T10:28:00.000-07:002011-03-28T14:15:54.358-07:00Check, Check, CheckI know, I know, I've missed three Blog Mondays! Terrible! What has happened to my sense of responsibility?!? My ability to meet a deadline?!? I blame... I dunno, March was busy.<br /><br />Anyway, here I am. But before I go any further, I'd like to officially dedicate this Blog Monday to our sweet, fun, sassy girl who is eight years old today. Happy Birthday, Sadie!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYyCiA7NIVvxzp-z_ijYHaMeGrmvUHA2h8KiKEkWA6hSigAei71O2AOe2GQWLYAS0viF0VanwVcIi1gBCg11AsD2ZB3A6SOKRqEVfn9GWvTECgriYHrUAeYANunf89AKgG8-WJbiAptRs/s1600/DSCN3169.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYyCiA7NIVvxzp-z_ijYHaMeGrmvUHA2h8KiKEkWA6hSigAei71O2AOe2GQWLYAS0viF0VanwVcIi1gBCg11AsD2ZB3A6SOKRqEVfn9GWvTECgriYHrUAeYANunf89AKgG8-WJbiAptRs/s400/DSCN3169.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589190902709213778" border="0" /></a><br />You will all be relieved to know that during the busy month of March, we were able to check off several items from our "need to do in Costa Rica" list. First up was a much anticipated trip out of hot and dusty Nosara and into the mountains of Costa Rica. To the cloud forests of Monteverde. My mother was here visiting at the time and since I am so busy I asked her to guest blog about it. Here is the experience in her words (you can tell it's my mom because I've never used the word "redolent" - though now I wish I had):<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"></span><blockquote style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">When I first heard the name, Monteverde cloud forest, it called to me as a magical place full of birds and tall trees.<br /><br />And then last weekend, my family and I drove off on the hot, dry, dusty, bumpy road out of Nosara, with a short stretch of real paved smooth highway where we all opened our windows and breathed, on up the mountainous, misty, cool and also very bumpy road leading to Monteverde.<br /><br />Once there, we stayed in a sweet small casita on a finca run by a biologist and his family who were also preserving the property with several trails running through meadows, forests and streams. Each morning we donned our rain gear and walked to breakfast down the road, through a bit of woods and onto the cow path. Said cow path was very muddy and redolent of the 40 dairy cows who walked there at least four times a day. One afternoon, Sadie and I actually watched all 40 cows come home on that same muddy path.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZUinif87vkLHG5dK21Xp5hpxpqp3_dLQ4n3fHN8eRA7S_qmIDrQxdOm4JCrrOP-4QVEisBfZrw0ZDEyiHi5mUBMtMyCu30iJky8j9wOw2Y664joG_LErH5u3BumNRBqtPOZ51pLU_U8/s1600/DSCN3086.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZUinif87vkLHG5dK21Xp5hpxpqp3_dLQ4n3fHN8eRA7S_qmIDrQxdOm4JCrrOP-4QVEisBfZrw0ZDEyiHi5mUBMtMyCu30iJky8j9wOw2Y664joG_LErH5u3BumNRBqtPOZ51pLU_U8/s320/DSCN3086.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589233090292745234" border="0" /></a><br />I took a walk by myself on the paths and predictably losing my way, slipped, slogged and slid on the muddy paths and fell into the stream. Muddy, wet but not hurt.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NQut58gYuKYotiw_NLMxj2BqIqeryma6ccBtNGllGeajsh68Ihb3SnCCkYE4-VVoQ0tuhygw9sLzi_Iogak0Mm2S2arqqYcf9hmO7fCHf4nkphHEjzp9zH8mqo-EOYRZLY2nnQVT4cM/s1600/DSCN3092.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NQut58gYuKYotiw_NLMxj2BqIqeryma6ccBtNGllGeajsh68Ihb3SnCCkYE4-VVoQ0tuhygw9sLzi_Iogak0Mm2S2arqqYcf9hmO7fCHf4nkphHEjzp9zH8mqo-EOYRZLY2nnQVT4cM/s400/DSCN3092.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589234845631104562" border="0" /></a><br />Earlier that day, we had a delightful misty walk in the very beautiful Santa Elena reserve. Fauna, as in birds, were few (said to be taking shelter from the rain) but the flora, large trees, vines, bright red flowers, were magnificent. I had found my magical place.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Muchas gracias to my family for taking me there.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfCckpoSsLaFhEdzfDYdloSbT8KEwzdobHaXSA9DOd-G-e5WmYr-R1S00oWfZqy04nn6jmgCRH-YzEVtDp-2v20DVv6R-fYWg_C6sY6E691VPNVcn2T6CihJTMVEeGxxK_PrTriPi5Jv0/s1600/DSCN3088.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfCckpoSsLaFhEdzfDYdloSbT8KEwzdobHaXSA9DOd-G-e5WmYr-R1S00oWfZqy04nn6jmgCRH-YzEVtDp-2v20DVv6R-fYWg_C6sY6E691VPNVcn2T6CihJTMVEeGxxK_PrTriPi5Jv0/s400/DSCN3088.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589233307431934578" border="0" /></a><br /></div></blockquote><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hGURaC2puJ2u2Di7OvSdfsyYylRcxTc-kvpFxHIPV_OvjH_SeLlCihNmTp1_b2aVHYq0dYuLtdJTY6X50sl_07VFwr1CdeXC8pUHT44AQDSRS4ANAxeViALN2RlHgEDbFTsoXlBkpKY/s1600/DSCN3083.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_hGURaC2puJ2u2Di7OvSdfsyYylRcxTc-kvpFxHIPV_OvjH_SeLlCihNmTp1_b2aVHYq0dYuLtdJTY6X50sl_07VFwr1CdeXC8pUHT44AQDSRS4ANAxeViALN2RlHgEDbFTsoXlBkpKY/s200/DSCN3083.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589232521114580978" border="0" /></a>Lovely, no? It was, indeed, a magical place. And cold. Very very cold. Perhaps we have turned into complete wimps after seven months of living here, but even after donning all the layers we had we were still cold. I think we even complained about it. Probably too much. The other part my mom left out was how during one of our cold muddy walks, we came across a skull. Then a femur. Then a jawbone. Then another jawbone. Coyote? Panther? Wild boar? Well maybe it was just a small horse, but either way the girl had to bring it all back to our cabin. We eventually convinced her to leave the femur and a jawbone in the forest, but predictably the skull is now prominently displayed on the ledge outside our kitchen window. Keeping us safe. Or something. Definitely redolent with symbolism.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4MBWFh7pBKKkoVI5h3qpWsR6wlJWp1uy8k-ukvT1PmZNfRsKtXB5Ms-r7Hq9RvBLGpSlPb-lt0GiS_C_yjI6JGPi-hNuBsydXhxLqZzTvKrGAmvkEXw4r-lWtrhSz_Z0Du5OjthVt674/s1600/DSCN3079.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4MBWFh7pBKKkoVI5h3qpWsR6wlJWp1uy8k-ukvT1PmZNfRsKtXB5Ms-r7Hq9RvBLGpSlPb-lt0GiS_C_yjI6JGPi-hNuBsydXhxLqZzTvKrGAmvkEXw4r-lWtrhSz_Z0Du5OjthVt674/s400/DSCN3079.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589231933505192258" border="0" /></a><br />Our other way cool stop in Monteverde was "The Jewels of the Rainforest Collection" - bugs, bugs and bugs. The world's largest private collection of insects, displayed in unusual and beautiful ways. The pictures don't do the displays justice, but I hope you get the general idea.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBW8_4GnmwR8_khdBL7F2TFy6tbPKjOXxvkvWAjtNy1eyWh3D6Oa1QTQpO3eycZhihLBnpkCpR0gHqJFSjX5HYmpbwszTgaEzn84UYf5A0PQlsqo_x9qvghbByiSZAJhaHJx8FD_mRNKk/s1600/DSCN3095.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBW8_4GnmwR8_khdBL7F2TFy6tbPKjOXxvkvWAjtNy1eyWh3D6Oa1QTQpO3eycZhihLBnpkCpR0gHqJFSjX5HYmpbwszTgaEzn84UYf5A0PQlsqo_x9qvghbByiSZAJhaHJx8FD_mRNKk/s400/DSCN3095.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589234006386671938" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-eHe9U-QI3knlNEqrHIiwRQKLJ2cXOEaNLom4frmr2LY4CI0W1-pbeLGXU0WbnO6R5Jr4SZF56dLck-yY6ychAvBVohOjE_xUW7F8RYHV2rcsIbRnyLLKSKpqe4acA8vQcffYiWzH5Mc/s1600/DSCN3100.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-eHe9U-QI3knlNEqrHIiwRQKLJ2cXOEaNLom4frmr2LY4CI0W1-pbeLGXU0WbnO6R5Jr4SZF56dLck-yY6ychAvBVohOjE_xUW7F8RYHV2rcsIbRnyLLKSKpqe4acA8vQcffYiWzH5Mc/s320/DSCN3100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589234385543632450" border="0" /></a><br />Another activity we checked off our list while my mom was here was kayaking up the Rio Nosara. Actually the Rio Nosara and the Rio Montana. The trip was led by biologist extraordinaire, Felipe, and it was fabulous. The rivers were both so peaceful and beautiful, bordered on both sides by thick jungle plants, through the rich and redolent mangrove forests.<br /><br />We saw 28 different species of birds, a nice present for my mother particularly after very few sightings in Monteverde (it was too cold and rainy there, apparently). We kayaked for over two hours, getting out once to stretch our legs and take a short path to the beautiful and completely empty Playa Nosara (unreachable by road). Felipe promises to send pictures of some of the best bird sightings, but I just couldn't let another Blog Monday go by without posting, so I'll have to add his photos later.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwFnvfprxuSyIcmYPYs8O10-smNkxIuejDlkfw0SyhszbPLr2ZRCEWn66PvvrfFSwo_x8kosVmLiiZpdIk39lHgVN1CfAYut1JTg3KWPViLyRlw3g7Iq8flLNbAV0To_-o4duiPGdcXw/s1600/DSCN3110.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwFnvfprxuSyIcmYPYs8O10-smNkxIuejDlkfw0SyhszbPLr2ZRCEWn66PvvrfFSwo_x8kosVmLiiZpdIk39lHgVN1CfAYut1JTg3KWPViLyRlw3g7Iq8flLNbAV0To_-o4duiPGdcXw/s400/DSCN3110.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589238306718152194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqlrHIhTfCtQCUizJKMBY_VzSTy8Y0AznoCae24iRMMBWAV9tUR1PxJ4G2ZkJJBeIrEo7fqyGWBM0s7uHTTwtnyGQVbyFFXX8Lk8n0Sm1z-2PS7FVSViPdZplVkySZab5urKlXe9p1Sc/s1600/DSCN3126.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqlrHIhTfCtQCUizJKMBY_VzSTy8Y0AznoCae24iRMMBWAV9tUR1PxJ4G2ZkJJBeIrEo7fqyGWBM0s7uHTTwtnyGQVbyFFXX8Lk8n0Sm1z-2PS7FVSViPdZplVkySZab5urKlXe9p1Sc/s400/DSCN3126.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589235956042505202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0MxNc9Ju9bX1W-ZQincjx36TdegevJPiE-VThg1qb7GzMnzIFd4i_z5wUIijhdoyIHyju47gWQt-Gb230_WLtasr0_0lLFyCgOU6olUE0C4BJ6er_z4qtlAHCOQMmV7gDj7CVFxX-zxA/s1600/DSCN3116.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0MxNc9Ju9bX1W-ZQincjx36TdegevJPiE-VThg1qb7GzMnzIFd4i_z5wUIijhdoyIHyju47gWQt-Gb230_WLtasr0_0lLFyCgOU6olUE0C4BJ6er_z4qtlAHCOQMmV7gDj7CVFxX-zxA/s400/DSCN3116.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589235357392524930" border="0" /></a><br />Finally, while Grandma was here we checked off another Nosara "first" that we hadn't even put on our list! <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy-iRkyYpGD-ow_OuQzlXOodlhcW_EICzEzGnTK1lvPZcgpR442cL-TlBNH-CZuebbOuzClH1_L3Q6UlwC9iMhFMbOQV2wlXG7xrZ5MkIbw1Prs3rNDyfoSVlPCWePu7dqv7ChmqE2V8Y/s1600/DSCN3130.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy-iRkyYpGD-ow_OuQzlXOodlhcW_EICzEzGnTK1lvPZcgpR442cL-TlBNH-CZuebbOuzClH1_L3Q6UlwC9iMhFMbOQV2wlXG7xrZ5MkIbw1Prs3rNDyfoSVlPCWePu7dqv7ChmqE2V8Y/s200/DSCN3130.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589236559672950642" border="0" /></a>One evening Ian and I got a little bit cleaned up and went out to dinner by ourselves. Yes, that's the first time in 7 months - the only other time we've been out at night without the girl was for a school fundraiser. We had Italian food (including a wine redolent of an actual drinkable beverage) while Grandma and Sadie cooked together in the casita, took a night swim and had a sleepover. In the morning, Sadie came knocking on the front door of the main house, toothbrush in her hand and "Beary Bear" tucked under her arm, ready to make our morning coffee as usual.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Thanks for the visit, Mom!<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPmoupVQ7Yz5sITsQwr7rdfbRSfepW6MKod8WB7hQYqTYXDVxYzzPVa8mzIr3rQWZkdgEVW853WM92iPKS1s5_GgMzmNQ-Qg2lUR28GvU7Jm8UBADOtUhlWAT2vue5IWGoeQNKR0-qHc/s1600/DSCN3144.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPmoupVQ7Yz5sITsQwr7rdfbRSfepW6MKod8WB7hQYqTYXDVxYzzPVa8mzIr3rQWZkdgEVW853WM92iPKS1s5_GgMzmNQ-Qg2lUR28GvU7Jm8UBADOtUhlWAT2vue5IWGoeQNKR0-qHc/s400/DSCN3144.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589237665698178018" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-70391394992841783912011-02-28T17:22:00.000-08:002011-03-28T10:28:11.119-07:00Half Empty or Half Full?Sorry for the blog delay. I don't really have a good excuse, except that life seems to have gotten sort of busy lately. Yes, yes, I know it's all relative.<br /><br />We're officially past the halfway point now. Six months into our 11 month sabbatical. We're on the other side of the hill. Or wave. Or something.<br /><br />Six months in and things have definitely picked up around here. Take the "family business" for example. My !Que Rico! duties used to be confined to marketing. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZOn-c-Mj5Sxzsna0sq5Ao3EvecHwp6VhmAMQh6_WsvhZqhqFXAf01P6kiOGL6YiOOaZhIWMHbUV_H_fnG8N4IEVl4iMnvM6Jz1sISmr6EPur5ByUVlfeN8ndUhuzDms5ksguwtz5W_o/s1600/DSCN2945.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZOn-c-Mj5Sxzsna0sq5Ao3EvecHwp6VhmAMQh6_WsvhZqhqFXAf01P6kiOGL6YiOOaZhIWMHbUV_H_fnG8N4IEVl4iMnvM6Jz1sISmr6EPur5ByUVlfeN8ndUhuzDms5ksguwtz5W_o/s200/DSCN2945.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578895439700218546" border="0" /></a>Meaning I created a facebook fan page and occasionally posted items of interest on it. But now business has picked up substantially and I spend evenings cutting out tiny little circular labels and painstakingly taping them onto tiny plastic lids. I'm also in charge of ice making and with the increase in delivery demands I have to make ice ALL the time. It's exhausting. To top it all off, I have recently had to participate in the actual making of ice cream! And I don't mean just as the official taste tester. No....now you might find me slaving over a hot stove stirring stirring and stirring and stirring chocolate. Whose idea was this whole ice cream making thing, anyway??<br /><br />On the plus side, we have officially entered into the exciting world of BARTER. I've never had a barterable skill before (who wants to trade a massage for a wetland restoration policy?) and I have definitely been missing out. We trade ice cream for all sorts of awesome things now. Ice cream for organic kale, homemade fruit leather, cheese, boxing classes, a beautiful sign. At up to four batches a day the possibilities are endless....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokXj5FcWDZYalR0O5hTWIcVCGYn7_fUKac1UzloD_pXvGaIk_ucayiVET-LKX8HkszGaQbR8Leg_2admdS2dFXUSvO6dE6SREAnIWKJP55JFk20umMsy9e02kTrObjrh5Pi9V6YmlYrM/s1600/DSCN2923.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokXj5FcWDZYalR0O5hTWIcVCGYn7_fUKac1UzloD_pXvGaIk_ucayiVET-LKX8HkszGaQbR8Leg_2admdS2dFXUSvO6dE6SREAnIWKJP55JFk20umMsy9e02kTrObjrh5Pi9V6YmlYrM/s400/DSCN2923.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578743767112370338" border="0" /></a><br />In addition to selling (and trading) ice cream, I have decided to cast aside all fear of abject failure and humiliation and teach Zumba. That's right, you read it correctly. Zumba. While Ian and Sadie got their visas renewed in Nicaragua, I flew to Portland for a lovely weekend with good friends and one very long day at the "Diva Den" to get licensed to teach Zumba. No, I'm not going to explain what it is if you've never heard of it. And for those of you who have heard of it, don't even think about laughing! Class begins next Saturday - I expect to see all of you there. In the meantime, here's a preview:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwL34IWS48Dz_HPLhUdKuzhBH68__rYZDSFSgziHqZBiKE7WGTkfG-MMmqBD21Q9EZ5lUlChRo3ts2Rmt8x' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br />Oh, and we've become property managers. The couple who was managing the property we are renting picked up and moved to Italy, leaving us to manage our own property, as well as the former property managers' property. Throw in another house on the hill that we are responsible for opening and showing to potential buyers and, voila, we have a drawer full of keys.<br /><br />In addition to ice cream and Zumba and property management we are involved in many ways with Sadie's school. I'm on the environmental committee and Ian is on the community committee and also heading up this year's talent show/circus. The school is absolutely totally fabulous and I only mention our involvement as an excuse to bring up the school so that I can share this cute video:<br /><br /><a href="http://vimeo.com/19929654"><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/19929654" frameborder="0" height="225" width="400"></iframe></a><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/19929654">Del Mar Academy Nosara Costa Rica</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user724203">projectgfs</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p><br /><br />Extra curricular activities also keep us busy. All three of us take boxing class now, at different times during the week - women's class, men's class, girl's class.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DyhoaAXkMN-_Hb5UTsjgNkD6BYj9yoma8Z8f3RLnf95VTaj1-f1YKwACy5mVVW_UoAfJSnzwrvUVFcsNaHSTS08Uh-alUbtmGWtbVAlNdP3tQ4jMb_9qxhiuWiI_hsS69J44wtO6h2Y/s1600/DSCN2264.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_DyhoaAXkMN-_Hb5UTsjgNkD6BYj9yoma8Z8f3RLnf95VTaj1-f1YKwACy5mVVW_UoAfJSnzwrvUVFcsNaHSTS08Uh-alUbtmGWtbVAlNdP3tQ4jMb_9qxhiuWiI_hsS69J44wtO6h2Y/s400/DSCN2264.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578747126175647202" border="0" /></a><br />Ian still takes spanish lessons and sometimes yoga and I am occasionally found taking a "body sculpting" class when I'm not boxing. Sadie still loves her once a week surf club and swimming club begins next week (she gets yoga class at school - the fabulous school). Recently we also found a great afternoon drop-in kids art class. At a bar. Fun for everyone. Yesterday Sadie even got to go horseback riding. Here is the trailer for the upcoming movie of the adventure:<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Ev5Z4kzGb14" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" width="640"></iframe><br /><br /><br />We're so busy but we have so much yet to do here!!<br /><br />Yes, we've taken myriad classes, met great people, traveled to two other countries, become part of a very large Nicaraguan family, started a business, experienced a change of season, learned how to get a downed phone line repaired and where to get natural peanut butter. We've watched lots and lots of monkeys, we've seen hundreds of turtles lay eggs and watched thousands of babies hatch, we've read lots and lots of books, we've seen countless beautiful sunsets, we've captured (and released) dozens of bugs, we've seen several scorpions and one tarantula. We've even (finally) found a decent beer - Costa Rica's first craft brewery is now available and our fridge is stocked with two cases.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkm2ABy3agpjNZQs75NmXyiKZKt_tYkfzWIOYPLCs9ivaFL_PZsiP-Pkym6RsWmDGpp8nm1t3vKEcdJ0NP5r55i75teuFeUs9l8Dir4aP6N3NuEQ5uP5IckcPIZtukcECHhVd5XujW8ok/s1600/DSCN2942.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkm2ABy3agpjNZQs75NmXyiKZKt_tYkfzWIOYPLCs9ivaFL_PZsiP-Pkym6RsWmDGpp8nm1t3vKEcdJ0NP5r55i75teuFeUs9l8Dir4aP6N3NuEQ5uP5IckcPIZtukcECHhVd5XujW8ok/s400/DSCN2942.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578841854845058562" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7e3WQPGJT4AXdzm0viK376ROYZ4bi5s8vOKHSvm4DVK0ZKwuTlhzuro0DQd5pGMFi8p29MXPeL4kI7sOnqTKJtsiiO1Dz71qtRpSlEdVWmQjbXRE6t2eh68KKSc-RyosrgUlgyjQ9KSw/s1600/DSCN2938.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7e3WQPGJT4AXdzm0viK376ROYZ4bi5s8vOKHSvm4DVK0ZKwuTlhzuro0DQd5pGMFi8p29MXPeL4kI7sOnqTKJtsiiO1Dz71qtRpSlEdVWmQjbXRE6t2eh68KKSc-RyosrgUlgyjQ9KSw/s320/DSCN2938.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578930932682227266" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cIx8_iKmF4EHY6N6NLo0HwLZZk1VKnVHki3jqiNrlhIA8ybyCnr4CM1F4xRCs3C1K2b0aemVGhyphenhyphen7_eS6yA4UGwkvsXYv3REk4oGb6JxbqohRjyEv8cg6ohUBM7sjiqwzlGrL3IYPHl8/s1600/DSCN2946.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6cIx8_iKmF4EHY6N6NLo0HwLZZk1VKnVHki3jqiNrlhIA8ybyCnr4CM1F4xRCs3C1K2b0aemVGhyphenhyphen7_eS6yA4UGwkvsXYv3REk4oGb6JxbqohRjyEv8cg6ohUBM7sjiqwzlGrL3IYPHl8/s400/DSCN2946.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578841505918392226" border="0" /></a><br /></div>But...we haven't driven down the coast road to Montezuma, we haven't seen the volcano or the cloud forest, we haven't even kayaked up the Nosara River. Two of us haven't zip lined and none of us have tried stand up paddling or been fishing. Heck, we haven't even been on a boat! I haven't learned spanish and I still can't open a coconut with a machete. And we <span style="font-style: italic;">definitely</span> don't spend nearly enough time these days walking on the beach or lying in a hammock.<br /><br />The glass is definitely half full, but I have a feeling the next five months will fly by at an alarming rate. So much to do, so little time....<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPlRx7fAUOehoh4tTebgs92d3B4aK0CBeFW5MtdtPpnLs8xobCZ2zDCAjel5yoMloB93leyGPJV2QL3HK6gJmR9JbF5Fey5gfV-saf87GAmGo4bskF3cOtXcz9_gFGqpy3f0Y4QkctOk/s1600/DSCN2639.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjPlRx7fAUOehoh4tTebgs92d3B4aK0CBeFW5MtdtPpnLs8xobCZ2zDCAjel5yoMloB93leyGPJV2QL3HK6gJmR9JbF5Fey5gfV-saf87GAmGo4bskF3cOtXcz9_gFGqpy3f0Y4QkctOk/s400/DSCN2639.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578843774731290834" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-77969850841500999562011-02-09T10:32:00.000-08:002011-02-09T12:23:56.679-08:00Dream for Monkeys<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruriBhqtENwuh6hvrJ_WcsroypHfle0ZM1poQYcbcaz-EXvIT9dEKRsuD7RkiCnj-LLAJx6Bua1DIWgJdiOkcQqowzDQV1pBr0iUPntuP2sRutI1BZqLX2zZmWslRYkV6boefSfP-OHY/s1600/howler_monkey_sleeping_on_tree_Cahuita_NP_01_mod.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhruriBhqtENwuh6hvrJ_WcsroypHfle0ZM1poQYcbcaz-EXvIT9dEKRsuD7RkiCnj-LLAJx6Bua1DIWgJdiOkcQqowzDQV1pBr0iUPntuP2sRutI1BZqLX2zZmWslRYkV6boefSfP-OHY/s400/howler_monkey_sleeping_on_tree_Cahuita_NP_01_mod.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571782043874488034" border="0" /></a><br />One of the things we love most about this house is the monkeys. We have a tribe of Howler monkeys whose territory includes the trees on all sides of our house and we spend lots of quality time watching them from the balcony.<br /><br />After we had settled in to life in Nosara, we went looking for ways to spend our time, including volunteer opportunities. I perused the list of the various Nosara nonprofits, of which there are quite a few. Not finding anything coastal management related, I went for the next best thing. Monkeys.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHbzPdIuelyRBlMzKmVUOzka-32ZwZxFMPbk4g5SVBoHzIxG1rID5JjlCwshz9hJ3r8o7LTuYnV-6M8dpICkpJfaEH_Nc_mhJVchm89LR7t4RSStJFDhaqN_c6jgFZ68m0Rtx4nME2SM/s1600/DSCN2750.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEHbzPdIuelyRBlMzKmVUOzka-32ZwZxFMPbk4g5SVBoHzIxG1rID5JjlCwshz9hJ3r8o7LTuYnV-6M8dpICkpJfaEH_Nc_mhJVchm89LR7t4RSStJFDhaqN_c6jgFZ68m0Rtx4nME2SM/s400/DSCN2750.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571777517790792098" border="0" /></a><br />The increase in tourism and accompanying development have had a severe negative impact on Costa Rican monkey populations. Between 1995 and 2007, Howler monkey decline in the country was estimated at 65%. In Nosara and surrounding areas, Howler monkeys are particularly vulnerable to electrocution from uninsulated power lines that are draped through the thick canopy of trees to houses, resorts, and businesses, mimicking the vines that the monkeys use to travel between feeding grounds (I'll spare you the graphic electrocution photos).<br /><br />Refugio Animales de Nosara and the SIBU Sanctuary, together known as Nosara Wildlife Rescue, work tirelessly to save the Howler monkeys in Nosara and surrounding areas. Refugio focuses on rescuing injured adult Howler monkeys and orphaned infants. Medical care is provided, humane life term care is given for those animals whose injuries are too severe to be rehabilitated (99% of adults die of their injuries within a week), and around the clock care and feeding is provided for the orphaned infants. When the infants are ready, they are transferred to the step-down release facility at SIBU Sanctuary.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilT4eGlaAViCCRzxwIQxydzcUAfskxVOVh2TU726b7c4b9ByvdPb0GI3rFG9xSTKuo3GdQArmy89edV5tckJV8BSsDIzGkk2h2pj-hXinxYz8OUshAgagzW_VRru3JgF-bPUg8Nv7m1Tw/s1600/DSCN2736.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 346px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilT4eGlaAViCCRzxwIQxydzcUAfskxVOVh2TU726b7c4b9ByvdPb0GI3rFG9xSTKuo3GdQArmy89edV5tckJV8BSsDIzGkk2h2pj-hXinxYz8OUshAgagzW_VRru3JgF-bPUg8Nv7m1Tw/s400/DSCN2736.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571773597917334978" border="0" /></a><br />The entirety of Nosara Wildlife Rescue essentially consists of three dedicated individuals who work on a volunteer basis full time (or more) rescuing and caring for Howler monkeys and any other animal that is injured or abandoned and brought to them. By pure determination and passion for their cause, they have managed to subsist for over ten years in Nosara based on sporadic private donations, caring for hundreds of monkeys and other critters every year.<br /><br />They are committed. And exhausted. And always in need of more help and more money.<br /><br />My volunteer efforts with Nosara Wildlife Rescue has been mostly focused on working directly with Steve and Vicky of SIBU Sanctuary.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj501ghntURWvrxObd6zMLOg3JeuicAAFTyvXEag1KgCEPraKynpTAXCA8q0OPB4Bp_hhCI2hYbftqBx_J86x0iAyT8VWzp8Nl25gze6EDJsBfd8Ge5-TG2DSxSk56OsFgrwD1XORJKvbk/s1600/DSCN2745.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj501ghntURWvrxObd6zMLOg3JeuicAAFTyvXEag1KgCEPraKynpTAXCA8q0OPB4Bp_hhCI2hYbftqBx_J86x0iAyT8VWzp8Nl25gze6EDJsBfd8Ge5-TG2DSxSk56OsFgrwD1XORJKvbk/s400/DSCN2745.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571775110091989282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Vicky with the newest transfers to SIBU</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0FOwOZXSJw1Cpz8hz0I6VpPg3UU_Ju5JJVJvuUvJfZfkFVmsjEheM5MBcHbS2GTmJiVNeDa8nJ5YZUyW0MGqc8jCLABJ2v_kBmlOznuWHb6I1tk4Azwr4WrEnVYGeSrFOF2knp6szohg/s1600/DSCN2785.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0FOwOZXSJw1Cpz8hz0I6VpPg3UU_Ju5JJVJvuUvJfZfkFVmsjEheM5MBcHbS2GTmJiVNeDa8nJ5YZUyW0MGqc8jCLABJ2v_kBmlOznuWHb6I1tk4Azwr4WrEnVYGeSrFOF2knp6szohg/s400/DSCN2785.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571774526850022162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Steve with a rescued orphan porcupine baby</span><br /><br /></div>Specifically, we have been working to design and implement an idea for a consistent source of funding that capitalizes on the strong environmental ethic of both business owners and visitors to Nosara, and the rise of "travel philanthropy" throughout the world.<br /><br />“Dream for Monkeys” is a program where local hotels and vacation rentals make a donation to Nosara Wildlife Rescue equal to a percentage of the cost of lodging. Businesses that participate in the “Dream for Monkeys” program directly help mitigate the damage to the monkey populations caused by tourism and increased development. Guests who choose accommodations that help save the Howler monkeys enjoy their vacations with the knowledge that they are acting responsibly.<br /><br />The program is a way for those in the accommodation sector to help alleviate negative impacts to local wildlife associated with tourism and increasing development, while also increasing profitability by providing socially and environmentally conscious guests the choice to help save the wildlife that is such an important part of their Costa Rican experience.<br /><br />Sounds great, doesn't it? It is a great idea in theory (in all its variations), but honestly is proving difficult to actually implement. Nosara is a small town full of wonderful people committed to great causes - and all of them need monetary support. Everyone has fundraisers in January and February (during the busy season) and frankly folks get tired of being asked over and over to donate. In addition, though tourism here is big business, it is of course subject to the ups and downs of the global economy. Hotel owners are uncomfortable committing to a year round donation program. Finally, the idea seems overly complicated to them - full of extra paperwork and more time with their calculators.<br /><br />Still, we continue to pursue the idea because the idea is good and a dependable funding source is critical. Nosara Wildlife Rescue is making a difference in the long-term recovery of the Howler monkey population, but the day-to-day fight for survival continues and increased support is essential.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Sz78Ok7WgmGnEU5TmstdQJ5LZ6d-6hbOSXqgTAoukSeRGmdtFo9byBEoiR_3n6Pg7aTQpQQwF0QBA5V9cf2-MJp9fDU6CjNe8HdkMk-Xf77TUYYqivDa8KIbux2YvLBmhki641o60bk/s1600/DSCN2779.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Sz78Ok7WgmGnEU5TmstdQJ5LZ6d-6hbOSXqgTAoukSeRGmdtFo9byBEoiR_3n6Pg7aTQpQQwF0QBA5V9cf2-MJp9fDU6CjNe8HdkMk-Xf77TUYYqivDa8KIbux2YvLBmhki641o60bk/s400/DSCN2779.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571776205002480434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Partially completed "Open Canopy" habitat at SIBU</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPYHKtoqkkaUUMttn_O9NWrwo-V0eYFIFICPIqCbFxH_RlwBsPSdAfSnR2dipQq3kZBFPeD1dSVZkL5xN2ymLHEO8RiXX6JwyYFaE7K8jvShbkbf6y-wl7zwL3GbBG2A6zRTbwi2yo6w/s1600/DSCN2744.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcPYHKtoqkkaUUMttn_O9NWrwo-V0eYFIFICPIqCbFxH_RlwBsPSdAfSnR2dipQq3kZBFPeD1dSVZkL5xN2ymLHEO8RiXX6JwyYFaE7K8jvShbkbf6y-wl7zwL3GbBG2A6zRTbwi2yo6w/s400/DSCN2744.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571774266583647986" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">One of the new transfers to SIBU</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlklFDskGfV1ZZ-rymgtQT7-LtSG6-j3hPdRNS_3dBGLtYW4FWgRSHoGDHT-st7G6Q0sZVXcDbEaqzWMqmKO541bKc5Fb04ZkuujYmOpsDLtVbgq5k7l-Y3Gmc23Ho7qGENUWK1gXcOA4/s1600/DSCN2783.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlklFDskGfV1ZZ-rymgtQT7-LtSG6-j3hPdRNS_3dBGLtYW4FWgRSHoGDHT-st7G6Q0sZVXcDbEaqzWMqmKO541bKc5Fb04ZkuujYmOpsDLtVbgq5k7l-Y3Gmc23Ho7qGENUWK1gXcOA4/s400/DSCN2783.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571776945430815842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Bella and baby SIBU (the first baby born at SIBU)<br />Bella and her baby were recently released and are slowly acclimating to life in the wild</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Ideas, comments, suggestions, etc. regarding the "Dream for Monkeys" program are welcome. In the meantime, I am focusing my efforts in the short term on the upcoming Nosara Wildlife Rescue fundraiser and auction, to be held February 25th. Even !Que Rico! is pitching in for the cause, with a donation of ice cream delivery once a week for a month. If you live in Nosara, I hope to see you there!<br /></div></div><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-91440122846207145402011-01-31T07:06:00.000-08:002011-01-31T10:45:17.147-08:00Fiesta!This weekend was the big Nosara Fiesta, held once a year and much anticipated by everyone. Carnival rides, horse parade, the crowning of the Fiesta Queen, music, food, and, most importantly, bulls. A giant wooden bullring was constructed in a large field just for the event, which attracts folks from all over the region. This is when the BIG bulls are brought in.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglw0Ee4OXhK3PTgF6XWve7OLQSki47JOl0onKlcO-HPyNCVYHclOGHBBg4rGJQtrY5xy358VrP7RRO7H1GxLibtA01LhP1-rHP-gq3Sfmo4DURphe6BGmFe7bd1uMuF4l5V1qWJV-8uD8/s1600/DSCN2675.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglw0Ee4OXhK3PTgF6XWve7OLQSki47JOl0onKlcO-HPyNCVYHclOGHBBg4rGJQtrY5xy358VrP7RRO7H1GxLibtA01LhP1-rHP-gq3Sfmo4DURphe6BGmFe7bd1uMuF4l5V1qWJV-8uD8/s400/DSCN2675.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568402160574749602" border="0" /></a><br />We went to the Fiesta twice but both times opted to avoid the bullring. Having been to a smaller version last month, we already had our fill of watching men try to ride bulls and fall off, at which point other men (mostly inebriated) jump into the ring to "distract" the bull from the fallen rider. Sadie was absolutely petrified, didn't understand the point, and hated the whole thing. I felt sorry for the bull and decided I didn't need to see any more (though the cowboys at the end who actually rope the bull were definitely cool). As a consequence we missed lots of exciting moments at this year's Fiesta such as this:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vN6D2NKgcYn6TLtg1pWzhGoGH6P1Y2k9a_QCWItg_Jp7u20CTmtQNQRzyI6LZUuvgibGf0LXQ-QFgeS7ZEaM20bAjCaIVrhtlmhqiRbslMJZdxSPvnWjLXydO3N7tbE3qUTTv7x81lk/s1600/bullfight.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6vN6D2NKgcYn6TLtg1pWzhGoGH6P1Y2k9a_QCWItg_Jp7u20CTmtQNQRzyI6LZUuvgibGf0LXQ-QFgeS7ZEaM20bAjCaIVrhtlmhqiRbslMJZdxSPvnWjLXydO3N7tbE3qUTTv7x81lk/s400/bullfight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568398986319374290" border="0" /></a>And this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHXg8ZdkKr0NvH8BjxowxUby9rG8G4MI0ycLVSqr2kboHcYcBfOEyrAkRz4hCYVL3b_-ucW5ZSWKVsp6MtButY5qtzO8xWXtIELxvyybvKgGdlzwaHwGR21vX2mzyAy_jyrKJugy2bwhc/s1600/gored.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHXg8ZdkKr0NvH8BjxowxUby9rG8G4MI0ycLVSqr2kboHcYcBfOEyrAkRz4hCYVL3b_-ucW5ZSWKVsp6MtButY5qtzO8xWXtIELxvyybvKgGdlzwaHwGR21vX2mzyAy_jyrKJugy2bwhc/s400/gored.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568399074431707810" border="0" /></a><br /></div>But we had our own exciting moments.<br /><br />The Fiesta included several carnival rides, trucked in on the dusty roads from who-knows-where. They were standard issue carni, circa 1970. A little rough around the edges, if you know what I mean.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4LNCXsKEE6lSz0SciXTg7YoqMbHuYZxIxnnHFL8DG_bru6zkpZtsPMBr-lCSpJk8Cj6NF76uxCKgiF0DIqQXFoYcD5ArEWR6POscSqTTURl20Pn67aaDUKusQLPWekHIPCyX8ZNu4BE/s1600/IMG_0075.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4LNCXsKEE6lSz0SciXTg7YoqMbHuYZxIxnnHFL8DG_bru6zkpZtsPMBr-lCSpJk8Cj6NF76uxCKgiF0DIqQXFoYcD5ArEWR6POscSqTTURl20Pn67aaDUKusQLPWekHIPCyX8ZNu4BE/s400/IMG_0075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568401728051989042" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Plus in what other decade would you name a ride the "Hustler"?</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxft2BaLU3GXqpGYNAXKIcq5mDKOmP9jX54l6RZTcCuReJ4uPEwgGyJBwhKeehDyaLW2NiUlXCsL-_DAGkaXXpC0eWCiPofJB1UyA5di2oSfZzFDKRoQXVtHfSavUhaUqTotjNmhsiloQ/s1600/DSCN2694.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxft2BaLU3GXqpGYNAXKIcq5mDKOmP9jX54l6RZTcCuReJ4uPEwgGyJBwhKeehDyaLW2NiUlXCsL-_DAGkaXXpC0eWCiPofJB1UyA5di2oSfZzFDKRoQXVtHfSavUhaUqTotjNmhsiloQ/s200/DSCN2694.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568400915469066178" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Naturally, the Hustler was exactly the ride the kids were drawn to.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjd8dq1IBylPdmXslBwuQ763_RPO3atgG_T7JYSW3OKeO4JZ4QVGdM3nSsmhkbhEnuLQIdBkgel4mi-qvlGly-yyp-Kk9rSWRVgo0r7EFb4L7e-WuwrQCL1vU9XmwsUVQehXbctJbpn4/s1600/DSCN2674.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjd8dq1IBylPdmXslBwuQ763_RPO3atgG_T7JYSW3OKeO4JZ4QVGdM3nSsmhkbhEnuLQIdBkgel4mi-qvlGly-yyp-Kk9rSWRVgo0r7EFb4L7e-WuwrQCL1vU9XmwsUVQehXbctJbpn4/s400/DSCN2674.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568394920606865570" border="0" /></a><br />Sadie and her friend Ella desperately wanted to go, as did Ella's younger brother, Lucas. Trouper that she is, Ella's mom, Maggie, gamely accompanied the three vulnerable small children on the spinning nightmare while the other adults watched grimly from a safe distance. At the conclusion of the ride, the kids hopped off excited as could be, followed by Maggie who mouthed "that was not fun" as she stepped gingerly to safe ground.<br /></div></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BGko1_M6d8NyfHgt1vF6SrX9C-NwInT-bklWqIbo-91XU462pNlJQHNaHFVL8Cv1ItAJxl_uvUs0NJ8YNXX5JOPODoVKMZVnP5Hlrci6w5eTmDslyQVW9cryUABXbE8l7eqkxEhxw8Y/s1600/2011-01-28+020.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BGko1_M6d8NyfHgt1vF6SrX9C-NwInT-bklWqIbo-91XU462pNlJQHNaHFVL8Cv1ItAJxl_uvUs0NJ8YNXX5JOPODoVKMZVnP5Hlrci6w5eTmDslyQVW9cryUABXbE8l7eqkxEhxw8Y/s400/2011-01-28+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568396104445697442" border="0" /></a><br />The thrill of danger coursing through their blood, the kids raced back to the gate to ride again. "Maggie," says Scott, her helpful husband, "they can't go alone!" So off to the Hustler again went Maggie. This time they were joined by two other people in their car, which seemed to greatly increase the velocity of the spin. Once again, when the ride stopped the kids jumped off with huge smiles. Maggie followed them slowly, looking a bit pale. She smiled gamely at us all, walked around to the side of the ride, and...puked. Way to go, Maggie, thanks for taking one for the team!<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXdud_Dr5MDQkSbnRTDCA07hznwRuOWGnA1V_VB0UpZK5ffpXAEqgVqyoHKCVyXm25cTmduBEpRZOoEDlDiCls9BIOYpGwVGum_tBd9Rp6tFtoEf7CKcr4esCm43NbMJo5ekhQi3byoM/s1600/DSCN2668.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXdud_Dr5MDQkSbnRTDCA07hznwRuOWGnA1V_VB0UpZK5ffpXAEqgVqyoHKCVyXm25cTmduBEpRZOoEDlDiCls9BIOYpGwVGum_tBd9Rp6tFtoEf7CKcr4esCm43NbMJo5ekhQi3byoM/s400/DSCN2668.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568394257227414722" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-style: italic;">(No one rode this one. Gorgeous though, isn't she?)</span> </div><span style="text-decoration: underline; font-style: italic;"></span></div><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6aC48lb7pZWm-PbB_uRFcXd5KMEJkeMPA_WRS-7AgnISwy0XSnISXrzkTQrKPCj3ckW-jp2WpjmvU0FSsJKkJm-XWfQxVKk2Osadsp6EgU6dEoS7XZAqz7EaFrxg8K6B1pcOXpGRn5oU/s1600/IMG_0082.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6aC48lb7pZWm-PbB_uRFcXd5KMEJkeMPA_WRS-7AgnISwy0XSnISXrzkTQrKPCj3ckW-jp2WpjmvU0FSsJKkJm-XWfQxVKk2Osadsp6EgU6dEoS7XZAqz7EaFrxg8K6B1pcOXpGRn5oU/s400/IMG_0082.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568393254548449042" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">After the Hustler, the kids desperately wanted to ride the bumper cars. Sadie and Ella were beyond excited for this important carnival rite of passage.<br /><br />They climbed in a car together all smiles and waves and then...BAM!!<br /><br />Shock and disbelief covered their faces and Ella's hand went protectively to her neck. Not to be dissuaded, however, the girls gritted their teeth, grabbed the steering wheel, and slammed on the gas. They meant business.<br /><br />BAM!! Suddenly Sadie was gone! I stared, horrified, thinking that she toppled out of the car (seat belts in Costa Rica? Come on, now!) and was lying unconscious on the bumper car floor. Suddenly I saw her head poking up from under the steering wheel. She hauled herself up from the floor of the car and quickly gave us a big grin and a thumbs up. Pedal to the metal again and they were off. I stopped looking.<br /></div></div><br />After the rides, the adults were all a little unhinged so we sent the children off for a beer run. That's right. We sent three small children by themselves to the beer tent with some money and they brought us back bottles of beer with absolutely no trouble. Gotta love this country.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLi2jo3phr1aNzLO4C66fYjJ7OkXZO35Wy9PqkDLPgskvVUCgxrOh98VjKCtE7zz2ph9BIoHSrdRjKlPCEXZKd7YVqlR0OMVtNLaEtte7B0FWg9QbRCdsxoWNv2u_HZeVj7zSiUTu1KY/s1600/DSCN2704.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLi2jo3phr1aNzLO4C66fYjJ7OkXZO35Wy9PqkDLPgskvVUCgxrOh98VjKCtE7zz2ph9BIoHSrdRjKlPCEXZKd7YVqlR0OMVtNLaEtte7B0FWg9QbRCdsxoWNv2u_HZeVj7zSiUTu1KY/s320/DSCN2704.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568396803299761650" border="0" /></a>In addition to being able to send your children for beer runs, you could also get a tattoo at the fiesta. A real one. Just like you used to be able to do at carnival midways back in the day. Probably about the time when that bumper car ride was first built.<br /><br />Our last day at the fair was Sunday and we went specifically to see the "parade of dancers" which we knew nothing about. The parade was to start at 3, so we arrived at 3:30 in an effort to account for "Costa Rica time." At 6:00 it finally began. As it turned out, the event consisted of two Comparsa groups - a smaller (probably high school) troup, and a larger, fancier professional one. Wikipedia told me today that a Comparsa is a parade of dancers and musicians (drums and horns) associated with Latin American carnivals. It was loud and colorful and fun.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNVMPc3hLOMfib_SpAvR_M_AEQlcx2LWtgJjjX0l_dgE-33vcQwvstMNYn_6bkyI70jzNTM_X-DSKDq8A9_KV2nL9efyg0sIH0fLEluXbslZU8u22N4k-BkOe-d_lkVbkC2E2WtI6kfWQ/s1600/DSCN2699.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNVMPc3hLOMfib_SpAvR_M_AEQlcx2LWtgJjjX0l_dgE-33vcQwvstMNYn_6bkyI70jzNTM_X-DSKDq8A9_KV2nL9efyg0sIH0fLEluXbslZU8u22N4k-BkOe-d_lkVbkC2E2WtI6kfWQ/s400/DSCN2699.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568399695174916322" border="0" /></a><br />After the parade, we made our way back to the car to go home and wash off the dust and cotton candy and try to get a good night's sleep after an exciting weekend.<br /><br />And that, my friends, was the Nosara Fiesta. Fun for everyone (except maybe the bulls).Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-26452499558595285092011-01-24T12:30:00.000-08:002011-01-24T10:46:43.868-08:00!QUE RICO!<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" class="youtube-player" type="text/html" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/KLfvO9xu8fs" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" width="480"></iframe><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br />No, no, not mambo, I'm talking about<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ICE CREAM</span>!<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgFsvg1zmKxTnnaG688d-XmzJIUO8_1t5G-sh7Eq_vIpGvHOyRnZYihbwif7pdh6r-BbYxtjBZ0vTgLBdGCehisKw1alWWLXsawYbPapefWwULqGgfe_Aa64p_cR2_kaz0EWgbfa2Pzo/s1600/goodhumor.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgFsvg1zmKxTnnaG688d-XmzJIUO8_1t5G-sh7Eq_vIpGvHOyRnZYihbwif7pdh6r-BbYxtjBZ0vTgLBdGCehisKw1alWWLXsawYbPapefWwULqGgfe_Aa64p_cR2_kaz0EWgbfa2Pzo/s400/goodhumor.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565813424914012642" border="0" /></a><br />Yes, Ian has managed to turn his hobby/obsession into an actual full fledged business (with a little help from me and Sadie - the official tasters). !Que Rico! Helado is booming!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQ2VbNmKUqSlorHTFGC2fEI_xZML7z6GrFbtOD8eRjYthpTvWHP-4FGoWHITHwWqB7wWOtdz3diyPw4SjxOfND_bYvscKb5G-Q67R5_edNN-S3VE6zZL0ZhFq-THud9qx63bqXawD3vo/s1600/QueRico+Poster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 114px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQ2VbNmKUqSlorHTFGC2fEI_xZML7z6GrFbtOD8eRjYthpTvWHP-4FGoWHITHwWqB7wWOtdz3diyPw4SjxOfND_bYvscKb5G-Q67R5_edNN-S3VE6zZL0ZhFq-THud9qx63bqXawD3vo/s200/QueRico+Poster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565813949767426178" border="0" /></a>I think I mentioned a few posts back that it is for sale in handy "to go" size containers at the Beach Dog Cafe. Ian now sometimes makes several deliveries there a week and discussions regarding possible expansion ideas are in the works. The Beach Dog Cafe is in a perfect spot, within walking distance of the beach. Remember that in Nosara there are no businesses right on the beach, so the Beach Dog is actually in a prime location, a mere "block" up the road, to entice weary sunbathers and surfers to stop and get some ice cream. In addition, it happens to be a place we, ourselves, love. They have great food and delicious smoothies, prices are good, the folks that work there are great, as is the ambiance. We couldn't ask for a better primary client.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcj-jgAJYkn9p1JdbdZB13NgaXS2qR7hQE13FCLNog6hRLbqCxQEAJnazQ6Qyh2yS5nEwhUYWorjhGYfmsTvd6rMn_h7PYNRoo47Pos99V3JVocUwyJZpQjyO9DY-FcpSODsn3eqvePF4/s1600/DSCN2625.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcj-jgAJYkn9p1JdbdZB13NgaXS2qR7hQE13FCLNog6hRLbqCxQEAJnazQ6Qyh2yS5nEwhUYWorjhGYfmsTvd6rMn_h7PYNRoo47Pos99V3JVocUwyJZpQjyO9DY-FcpSODsn3eqvePF4/s400/DSCN2625.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565814914440043266" border="0" /></a><br />To help promote the business we created a Facebook Fan Page ("!Que Rico! Helado") and are proud to have 23 "likes" (and 4 of those people even live in Nosara!).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAv5BIYRj8lh8N2_hWNlKpiRKAuCZRTv2VBo3ytBPlGYzgzdN4REhCpC5GSsvjOk5wfK6wyf2D0dIPRvW1OHOQPN84DrX74xRhcxqJsSOlVBVQWV-BGqGlMt-uTtxnRYtNe9sIm8Qfp3I/s1600/DSCN2656.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 129px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAv5BIYRj8lh8N2_hWNlKpiRKAuCZRTv2VBo3ytBPlGYzgzdN4REhCpC5GSsvjOk5wfK6wyf2D0dIPRvW1OHOQPN84DrX74xRhcxqJsSOlVBVQWV-BGqGlMt-uTtxnRYtNe9sIm8Qfp3I/s200/DSCN2656.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565816957161455842" border="0" /></a>In addition to the Beach Dog, we decided to try our hand at selling ice cream at the local Farmer's Market, held every Saturday in the parking lot of a hotel/restaurant. We spent the week prepping - getting both small and large containers, making labels and signs, making lots of ice cream, buying a cooler, etc. - and on Saturday morning at 7:00 am, we all packed the car and headed down the hill to set up.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKnQKgO4LIFJ54YaESW5zbthD-Oo1kgjvWeiVnVAEd2r4A_wqd3gKNyTIKy1DcQP3LdtYZlHJju_UKFMbdp_osby87lTTuKkMqBqut4QtrAy2vSa6t6YYsCwYLyqxv3Wri3oWxVg-W5E/s1600/DSCN2652.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 342px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglKnQKgO4LIFJ54YaESW5zbthD-Oo1kgjvWeiVnVAEd2r4A_wqd3gKNyTIKy1DcQP3LdtYZlHJju_UKFMbdp_osby87lTTuKkMqBqut4QtrAy2vSa6t6YYsCwYLyqxv3Wri3oWxVg-W5E/s400/DSCN2652.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565816501516218402" border="0" /></a><br />Though it was initially challenging to get people to taste or buy ice cream at 7:30 in the morning, business soon picked up. We offered two sizes for sale of Mango, Strawberry, Salted Caramel and Peppermint Oreo, and by 9:30 we were almost completely sold out of everything. We gave away the dregs of the samples and a couple of small size containers and called it a day.<br /><br />In addition to the profit we made, I think the Farmer's Market also helped build up !Que Rico!'s fan base. Many folks had already had the ice cream at the Beach Dog and were thrilled to be able to buy a larger container of their favorite flavor. Others came and tasted for the first time and many of those will hopefully head to the Beach Dog for more.<br /><br />Okay, so we're not quite in the same league as the cheese guy, but it's a start.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0B10TeZvyUeq7O5Juin4vpmFA-AoNFk8UohduNLAFEhhBQeLsophqGIfsnJyGuvNqLiIF0iiKxI7KN9K3eNiGnbwSdYq-lNJFeo1FdoWPX0CZrlyiv92SytaxSfyiQN3C0Up_JnmTv2s/s1600/DSCN2653.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 378px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0B10TeZvyUeq7O5Juin4vpmFA-AoNFk8UohduNLAFEhhBQeLsophqGIfsnJyGuvNqLiIF0iiKxI7KN9K3eNiGnbwSdYq-lNJFeo1FdoWPX0CZrlyiv92SytaxSfyiQN3C0Up_JnmTv2s/s400/DSCN2653.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565817376915988338" border="0" /></a><br />On a more personal note, though Ian was not totally comfortable in the vendor role, I found the whole social aspect of selling at the market to be quite fun. I told him he is more than welcome to stick to making the ice cream and send me to the market to sell it.<br /><br />All in all, a successful venture for !Que Rico!<br /><br />This week !Que Rico! is experimenting with new flavors. Anyone care for a chocolate covered strawberry? If so, come see me next week at the Farmer's Market. I'll be at the small rickety table next to the cheese guy with the refrigerator and the huge tent.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydLUBHxY_eW6fmpzmkFVLLpAfLQhGrjjKQgiNbpuZ-GuA9_vcZSoCnjCjnMG1NLUmbgEJfCHnL8ofOqB6pZANnMwqWRUUH3Z4RFBkOWzmPW99eWYRGYPg0TU2mzemfqTeNK05fhzvSII/s1600/DSCN2657.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiydLUBHxY_eW6fmpzmkFVLLpAfLQhGrjjKQgiNbpuZ-GuA9_vcZSoCnjCjnMG1NLUmbgEJfCHnL8ofOqB6pZANnMwqWRUUH3Z4RFBkOWzmPW99eWYRGYPg0TU2mzemfqTeNK05fhzvSII/s400/DSCN2657.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565817851044498130" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-70385495945209247952011-01-17T17:28:00.000-08:002011-01-18T04:47:55.242-08:00MusingsIt's Monday and the couple of post topics I had in mind are still, well, in my mind and not fully formed, nor do I have the appropriate photo accompaniments. So, in lieu of a fully formed idea with a beginning, middle and end, I am resorting to some half formed musings. Some pros and cons of life here (or "opportunities and challenges" as the policy wonks like to say).<br /><br />1. Health Care<br />A big pro on the health care front is that it is of high quality and wildly affordable, at least in comparison to our less than perfect system in the US. I hear tell of week-long hospital stays for $2000, of mammograms for $30 (complete with immediate results). The con for us in Nosara is that we are no where near all that high quality medical care. We are an hour away from the nearest hospital (in Nicoya) and word on the street is that you may want to bypass that particular hospital and get yourself to San Jose should you find yourself dealing with something major (except snake bites. Nicoya is known for their antivenoms).<br /><br />On the other hand, we do have a couple of doctors here, at least one of which is usually in town at any given time. Just recently we found ourselves in the position of knocking on the clinic door, our child in my arms, covered in blood with a towel on her head. Seems she had a nasty run in with a cement tunnel at school. The doctor was pleasant and efficient. He cleaned her up and told us that the wound wasn't too serious and would likely heal fine. However, he cautioned us, if we can't wake her up the next morning we should probably go to Nicoya. He didn't charge us a thing. You see why my feelings are a bit mixed.<br /><br />Here's another example. I've recently been dealing with a minor but annoying urinary tract infection. I haven't been able to fight it off myself so was resigned to getting some drugs. Not too long ago Ian was sick and we learned the helpful trick (when we couldn't reach a doctor) of going directly to the pharmacy and getting medicine with a diagnosis from the pharmacist. This seemed like another good candidate for that option so off to the pharmacy I went today. After explaining my symptoms briefly (very briefly, since it was in Spanish and I had only looked up a few key words in the dictionary), the woman behind the counter conferred with the pharmacist over the phone, got out a box, handed me a sheet of 12 pills and told me to take 2 every 12 hours. It took 5 minutes and cost $8.<br /><br />The pills came with no information but did have the name of the drug stamped on the sheet. When I got home I took two and then Googled the drug. The drug is not available in the US so all the websites with critical information are in Spanish. I used Google Translate and learned that you should never take the drug if you are nursing or epileptic. I'm neither, not that anyone at the pharmacy asked. In addition I learned that I should take it on an empty stomach (good information) and that it will turn my urine orange (huh. Sounds like just the type of critical information I should know before I go to the bathroom for the first time and freak out and make Ian drive me to Nicoya). I also should stay out of the sun (a bit of a challenge here). I'm thankful I have access to Google but quite concerned for those who do not. In addition, Google Translate is very good, but not perfect. I am now deeply concerned with the potential for "subjective and reversible visual disturbances without objective findings" (do I see spots or do I just think I'm seeing spots because of my spot-seeing history?) and maybe even "cartilage erosions joints and other signs of arthropathy." Oh my god!<br /><br />But I avoided the middleman completely and have utter faith in the ability of the pharmacist to treat something so common. Five minutes and $8....<br /><br />2. The Weather<br />I'm obsessed with weather. Not because of how it is an amazing and complex scientific phenomenon, but because of how it affects me personally. My relationship with weather is completely self-centered. Mostly because I hate to be cold. I love always being warm here. I love never thinking about taking a sweater anywhere (even if I'll be out past dark), I love getting up in the morning and being as warm as I was when I went to bed at night. I love never wearing socks and never shivering.<br /><br />But.... In Costa Rica there are two seasons - the rainy season and the dry season. In many areas of the Country, the dry season just means less rain than the rainy season. Here in the Guanacaste region, however, rainy means rainy and dry means dry. I loved the rain but I also already complained about the rainy season months ago, so I won't repeat myself.<br /><br />Now we are in the dry season. As in, not a drop of rain for months and months. The weather is lovely. The mold is gone, you can go to the beach every day, each night we sit on the deck and are treated to amazing sunsets. But...it's hot. And I hear we have no idea what hot is yet. But not only is it hot, it is dusty. So very very dusty. No paved roads, lots of vehicles (it's high season for tourism), bad combination. In many areas of town they pour some sort of molasses product on the dirt roads, which hardens and dries and helps keep the dust down. But still it pervades. Folks wear goggles and tie bandanas around their noses when they travel by foot or motorcycle. Despite never rolling the car windows down when we go through town, I feel the dust in my nose and throat. Sadie coughs at night frequently and I worry about her and all the other children in Nosara. It's hot. We wait for rain but likely won't see any until April. I didn't realize how extreme the seasons were here. It's a challenge, but does give me ample fodder for my obsession.<br /><br />3. The Language<br />Costa Rica is a Spanish speaking country. Yes, it is. That's one of the reasons we chose it. If you live in the beaches area of Nosara, however, you'll hear mostly English. It is the language of tourism, of an expatriate community, of the service industry that serves both. It is relatively easy to live here and get by with speaking very little Spanish. A plus if you are like me and don't speak Spanish and maybe even have a block about learning Spanish that you can't seem to get over but still like living in a Spanish speaking country. A shame (and an easy way out) if you are like me in all of the above ways and end up living in Costa Rica for a year and learning very little Spanish. A challenge if you are like Ian and came here specifically to work on your Spanish and are forced to actively seek out ways to do so.<br /><br />Ian is dedicated and determined. In addition to taking actual Spanish lessons, he continues to find creative ways to practice and learn more - taking cooking lessons, volunteering at the library, making friends with the owners of the farm he buys milk and eggs from, reading Junie B. in Spanish every night with Sadie. For me, I pin all my hopes on Spanish by osmosis. I alternate between being relieved and disappointed that I am not forced to learn and speak the language. In situations when I am forced to try, I am left feeling frustrated and isolated, with an occasional slight urge to do something about it. In the meantime, thank goodness for Google Translate (as long as my vision problems clear up).<br /><br />4. Surfing<br />I can't surf, I'm too old to learn, I'm going to hurt myself, I'll never get it, lessons are too expensive, I'm going to get water in my ear.<br /><br />I love surfing, it's so fun, I love the ocean, I'm sure I can learn, I'm in good shape, friends will teach me, I'll be great, I just need to get out there and do it.<br /><br /><br />Until next week...<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1Jhsio38w8RkYEGobxIq6izTXTmvsy7GzRwERz02HPk7KRy9joFebjxiYiEIRNTBzgFGM_KWoo8KHH-UxamMy-ZClkUCMFv4lyTl6xsNbymtiIgnY4_NaA5w3NNRTG2kCNg_IxdO7gg/s1600/surf2_january.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN1Jhsio38w8RkYEGobxIq6izTXTmvsy7GzRwERz02HPk7KRy9joFebjxiYiEIRNTBzgFGM_KWoo8KHH-UxamMy-ZClkUCMFv4lyTl6xsNbymtiIgnY4_NaA5w3NNRTG2kCNg_IxdO7gg/s400/surf2_january.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563361379455668402" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-51237324219908144932011-01-10T08:27:00.000-08:002011-01-11T11:44:39.668-08:00Danza de los DiablitosWe needed a place to stay for a night on our way back to Nosara from Panama and so, before we left for the trip, we found ourselves searching our trusty Lonely Planet guidebook for something interesting. We came across a small section on the indigenous reserve of the Boruka (Boruca, Brunka) people. The one page on the reserve mentioned a yearly three-day festival, called the Fiesta (or Danza) de los Diablitos, symbolizing the struggle between the Spanish and the indigenous populations. As luck would have it, the festival was going on right during the time we were driving back. How could we miss that? As there are no hotels in the village, we arranged a homestay through a gallery in San Jose.<br /><br />The Borukan reservation is a collection of several small villages rising into the mountains from the beautiful valley of the Rio Grande de Terraba. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_8A5KETAUQ5tkRebnhJHDsm4lgNdNQH9b7KPoRc9DuFK4our472WjcUOV7jlURL82y7gn42dJQkUYqMIlyC54sroiA9th9W2sWUPWyirY4x2EEcaZbASefhipgfZmLFxQobfbEzV36o/s1600/DSCN2592.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh_8A5KETAUQ5tkRebnhJHDsm4lgNdNQH9b7KPoRc9DuFK4our472WjcUOV7jlURL82y7gn42dJQkUYqMIlyC54sroiA9th9W2sWUPWyirY4x2EEcaZbASefhipgfZmLFxQobfbEzV36o/s320/DSCN2592.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560695695272618178" border="0" /></a>We drove up and up along small dirt roads until we came to the small village of Boruka, itself. As instructed, we asked for Doña Margarita at the local pulperia (corner store) and were directed to our homestay. Boruka looks pretty much like any rural Costa Rican town. Modest houses made of cinder block and tin (many with outdoor kitchens), a church, a school, a couple of little stores selling ice cream and beer. The Borukan residents wear the same type of clothing as Costa Ricans elsewhere (in fact, the guidebook's admonishment to "dress modestly" when visiting only serves to make you look like even more of a gringo - the dress code in Costa Rica is basically tight, low, short). Because of the festival, however, there were many tourists (mostly ticos) wandering around the dusty streets, going in and out of various homes to buy crafts.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1iYG2GegRSMv7zkkOBDa1k_pbzm66zI1jJnj5-b9lPH-DmVkrTg7yMmjxuVl49Mi9NEgcUZyJumbDGokFSpV2pg2ZCIKCl9ke4mwSwwxJs_vftcqGRaemeY1cHNrb3NT2kzc9RggZBE/s1600/DSCN2572.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1iYG2GegRSMv7zkkOBDa1k_pbzm66zI1jJnj5-b9lPH-DmVkrTg7yMmjxuVl49Mi9NEgcUZyJumbDGokFSpV2pg2ZCIKCl9ke4mwSwwxJs_vftcqGRaemeY1cHNrb3NT2kzc9RggZBE/s400/DSCN2572.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560692748161353586" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">View of the village from the porch of our homestay<br /></span></div><br />We were given a small room off of the porch with a keyed lock, and shown the bathroom inside the house. Doña Margarita was holding court on the porch, explaining the festival to some students visiting from San Jose. As she explained it, the festival celebrates the fact that the Boruka fought hard against the Spanish conquistadors and, unlike many other native populations that were in the path of the Spanish, the Borukan were not entirely obliterated (only about 1% of Costa Rica's current population are indiginous). In addition, the Doña explained that the festival also celebrates the Boruka people's continued efforts to retain and promote their culture. She explained that during the rest of the year, outsiders are not particularly welcome in Boruka, but for three days they are welcomed, during which the Borukans share their culture as a "gift."<br /><br />There are around 2000 Borukans in Costa Rica. In 2006, only 5 people were semi-fluent in the native language and the Borukans were suffering the common challenge of how to live in the modern world while encouraging their children to stay in the villages and retain their culture and traditional way of life. Once small-scale agriculturists, the Borukans have turned mainly to their art and handicrafts as a way to sustain themselves economically. Hand carved balsa masks and textiles (woven on pre-columbian looms using natural dyes) are sold to tourists all over Costa Rica. There is now a strong effort to teach the kids how to speak the language in the schools and the population is apparently expanding.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisdUo9MGpiJBxNIRuFIhqQSSWqQukfNbvpIpMrEftg9Fr4sWqS1mMeOLIa40AeHGRdZcIb3y8yBDaz2f9iWPh8AOOPf9ZvsR7ZdYUtW8MO_blTAxjwKg9uyrQdGdfH4zYSlJ27HvJl770/s1600/IMG_0045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisdUo9MGpiJBxNIRuFIhqQSSWqQukfNbvpIpMrEftg9Fr4sWqS1mMeOLIa40AeHGRdZcIb3y8yBDaz2f9iWPh8AOOPf9ZvsR7ZdYUtW8MO_blTAxjwKg9uyrQdGdfH4zYSlJ27HvJl770/s400/IMG_0045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560693889420312594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">Examples of some of the beautiful hand-carved masks for sale<br /></span></div><br />But back to the Festival. For three days, beginning each afternoon, the men of the village don costumes of burlap and banana leaves and wooden masks. One man wears a bull mask, symbolizing the Spanish conquistadors, and the others wear elaborately carved devil masks symbolizing the native people. There is a "battle" and the bull loses.<br /><br />Sure enough, at about 3:00 pm, we began hearing lots of commotion. While men dressed as abuelas (grandmothers) played flutes and drums, the devils faced the bull linked together in pairs or trios. Much mayhem ensued and the bull eventually collapsed to the sound of a giant firecracker.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeqWz1K_6NAl33YU2FzIJ6N_UHT3m8iwCnXSXC8x4cxo58nJS3FSiSCe7iCCslhcF-eYIUpjWHEBxs6vrHZ4yWp2gr3E1tBUHYJh9KTaHKucbMTht4jvDQYjZdHeXDWm6YFhNCuzfhBc/s1600/DSCN2579.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeqWz1K_6NAl33YU2FzIJ6N_UHT3m8iwCnXSXC8x4cxo58nJS3FSiSCe7iCCslhcF-eYIUpjWHEBxs6vrHZ4yWp2gr3E1tBUHYJh9KTaHKucbMTht4jvDQYjZdHeXDWm6YFhNCuzfhBc/s400/DSCN2579.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560694830568615650" border="0" /></a><br />After each battle, the men gathered around the nearest house and asked for chicha, the local moonshine made from fermented corn. Once they had their fill, a new bull came forward, the masks were put back on, and they continued down the street for another battle. In fact, the whole town seemed to be drinking chicha, and our house was apparently ground zero for chicha production. There was a steady stream of folks coming through our porch into the kitchen to fill up mason jars and old Fanta bottles with chicha, as the group of increasingly drunk devils and bulls slowly progressed along the dusty streets of the town. (Upon hearing my explanation of the festival later, a friend astutely commented, "oh, I see. It was a pub crawl!")<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ll3ozXYZZne5xtavbZK_Ro9YH6pEt0zxWF82cXjNdz4HD_T15TER7HA211w3fwOB8KwSvEqKTOsgsSokZYdoKz3EeggiNiLkf9uDPq77nAMnhcZjJlxU0hWgbgZc91_Rcdy0dFnpQ1o/s1600/DSCN2583.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ll3ozXYZZne5xtavbZK_Ro9YH6pEt0zxWF82cXjNdz4HD_T15TER7HA211w3fwOB8KwSvEqKTOsgsSokZYdoKz3EeggiNiLkf9uDPq77nAMnhcZjJlxU0hWgbgZc91_Rcdy0dFnpQ1o/s400/DSCN2583.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560695114014780450" border="0" /></a><br />Amidst the mayhem of chicha and fireworks and stumbling men, suddenly a large semi came plowing along the small road and pulled up to a tented area across from our house. We watched with growing unease as men began unloading piece after piece of what looked to be a gigantic sound system. Oh yes, says the Doña, there is a dance party tonight. Really? In the middle of this remote indigenous mountain town, there was going to be a party with enough sound equipment for a 30,000-seat stadium concert? A mere one hundred feet away from where we were supposed to be sleeping? This was going to be an interesting night.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDQrZb2Cyl8B8u2tLHiPJ1Q1LMsusJJe3iaW5UKUQXeu3C7JI4IwIwdficcYIBOLA46gVCjLApoRP5C5t8ihbkXK6AqgJKBInqC1Isx6w6RuBGk2nrlNIwNkOTHS6DIhX__fL5PAjX9g/s1600/DSCN2570.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRDQrZb2Cyl8B8u2tLHiPJ1Q1LMsusJJe3iaW5UKUQXeu3C7JI4IwIwdficcYIBOLA46gVCjLApoRP5C5t8ihbkXK6AqgJKBInqC1Isx6w6RuBGk2nrlNIwNkOTHS6DIhX__fL5PAjX9g/s400/DSCN2570.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560696036976254066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The porch where we sat for hours and hours watching the village world go by<br /></span></div><br />Two more trucks arrived. There will be two bands we hear. One all the way from Mexico. Sure enough the first band began playing at around 9:30 pm. Very loud. While Sadie slept in the room, Ian and I sat on the porch and listened and took turns going to peek at the tent. Very few people were dancing, most were standing around the edges of the tent or outside, apparently waiting for the party to really pick up. Eventually we got tired and decided to try to sleep.<br /><br />We couldn't sleep of course. There was a band playing. And then another. It was loud. Very loud.<br /><br />But we didn't know loud.<br /><br />Somewhere around midnight, the last band stopped and the DJ took over.<br /><br />Oh. My. God. Now I got what all that sound equipment was for. The tin roof on our house pounded and rattled to the beat while the DJ hollered into a microphone ("Let's hear it for the Indigenous Festival 2011!!") over the sounds of sirens and explosions. For hours. And hours.<br /><br />Okay, okay, since you asked, here's a little sample of the some of the music (though you must imagine it with the bass turned waaaay up and some guy hollering every 40 seconds and lots of sound effects):<br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/V5zdwImXOuo?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/V5zdwImXOuo?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="480"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Of course we also had to hear the most popular song in Central America. Though there are many many remixes (and we were treated to a particularly loud and bass-heavy one that night), I like this one.<br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/h3S4dBk4E1g?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/h3S4dBk4E1g?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="480"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />(Just for kicks, here is the original of that song from the 1950s for those of you who might be interested):<br /><br /><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/iX9LSJAXoQc?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/iX9LSJAXoQc?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="480"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />But back to the dance party. My skull was shaking, my heart was thumping, it was loud enough to break glass and I'm pretty sure it did, and it seemed it would never end. I kept thinking about how the United States invaded Panama and drove Noriega out of the house he was holed up in by blasting Metallica and Slayer. I thought my head might explode or that I really truly might go crazy.<br /><br />At 3:30 am, it finally stopped, to be quickly replaced by the sound of every single rooster in all the neighboring villages who must have been really confused by the party and so, just to cover their bases, began crowing at 3:30 am and didn't let up until 6:00 am.<br /><br />Sadie slept through the entire night and woke up the next morning refreshed and hungry (she had won over Doña Margarita the night before by asking for multiple servings of her beans). We stumbled into the kitchen, downed the delicious gallo pinto that Doña Margarita cooked up for us, packed the car, and headed back to the peace and quiet of Nosara. Phew.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEYLkv12HArSoOeHBeLyms5Z5b5euDKGgJp2zxUj-8068E922Vpk-HUyJDpeytF6txNHq29rRexkrobCHh5wzAEtkUzw6hpOyekn68YWwPhPQUHU6wmnO6yyq6bhv-ObGiTDjQI1u1k0/s1600/DSCN2173.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEYLkv12HArSoOeHBeLyms5Z5b5euDKGgJp2zxUj-8068E922Vpk-HUyJDpeytF6txNHq29rRexkrobCHh5wzAEtkUzw6hpOyekn68YWwPhPQUHU6wmnO6yyq6bhv-ObGiTDjQI1u1k0/s400/DSCN2173.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560962560518906434" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-63655339256887433442011-01-03T10:22:00.000-08:002011-01-04T06:36:52.634-08:00A man, a plan, a canal, Panama!<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMzC2hvXIZb60lsgsDF-6gKOvR7BzncseImLQuKJrQ7BiIhd8GTxeWCTraEPUvnF4Li7TtSvvAP4dyu-oDqQHCN7bKXhY_aR-m_riBc22bnn0Rx0GKs_FbVZwkbL-jhlBWYJ903tL6MQ/s1600/DSCN2462.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMzC2hvXIZb60lsgsDF-6gKOvR7BzncseImLQuKJrQ7BiIhd8GTxeWCTraEPUvnF4Li7TtSvvAP4dyu-oDqQHCN7bKXhY_aR-m_riBc22bnn0Rx0GKs_FbVZwkbL-jhlBWYJ903tL6MQ/s400/DSCN2462.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558108399620057170" border="0" /></a><br />Well, you'll be relieved to know that we made it back safe and sound from our Panamanian adventure. Tired and dusty, like the many roads we traveled, but back. But let's rewind to the beginning, shall we?<br /><br />The trip to Panama was mostly about exactly that. Getting to, then around, then of course back from, Panama. We began by driving south along the Pacific coastal road of Costa Rica, a stunningly beautiful part of the country. We stayed one night in Costa Rica to break up the trip, then headed to the border, la frontera. We parked at the border (oh, did I make that part sound easy? Perhaps you should reread that sentence another 2o times or so), gathered our bags and crossed the border by foot. Okay, it wasn't that easy, but it wasn't Nicaragua either. It took probably close to 2 hours of mostly standing in line, the time increased by a few surprises such as the fact that Panama requires you to have a bus ticket <span style="font-style: italic;">out</span> of the country to get <span style="font-style: italic;">in</span> the country, car parked at the border be darned. Three tickets from Panama City to San Jose later we were able to cross the border. Oops, then we asked someone if it was okay to cross. Bad idea. Ask questions and you get sent back for a bag inspection. Okay, now we can cross. Really.<br /><br />Once across, we took a mini bus to David, the second largest city in Panama, about a 90 minute ride from the border. David is a loud, crowded, dusty city full of shopping. At least that was my impression from the small bit of it we saw. Sadie, however, was in heaven. Santa gave her 20 dollars to spend in Panama (I'm guessing because he didn't get her the make-your-own-gum and make-your-own-jawbreaker kits that she really wanted and was trying to make it up to her). Let me tell you, 20 dollars can buy you <span style="font-style: italic;">lots</span> of nail polish and cheap jewelry in David. Speaking of dollars, interestingly, that is the currency in Panama. They don't print any paper currency but instead use US dollars, US coins, and a smattering of their own coins the same size and denominations as US coins. I guess 82 years of US control of the Panama Canal did have some effect on the country.... At any rate it definitely makes the exchange rate easy to calculate.<br /><br />As for the parents, our favorite part of David was the Lebanese meal we ate. With the exception of some great fresh fish we've had in Costa Rica (and my side trip to the Osa with my mom) our Lebanese dinner was probably the best dinner we've had since we moved. Well worth the trip to David.<br /><br />The next morning we woke early and hopped on a bus to Panama City. Again, throw in lots of misinformation, running around to various areas of the bus station, and the last minute jumping on a waiting bus without food or coffee and you get the real picture. The good news was that we had seats. The bad news was that our seats were in the back of the bus by the bathroom. Enough said. The 7 hour bus ride was a good 6 hours too long and we were ready to kiss the ground of the Panama City bus station when we finally arrived. As a side note, and a common theme for the transportation aspects of our trip, Sadie was terrific. Thank goodness for some 20 hours worth of Avatar on her ipod and a copy of The Lightening Thief - she spent the entire time reading or watching videos and never complained. Except maybe a bit about the smell, but really, who wouldn't?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4k35C0wjgzvpfrVmxQjdPBd5hrA6hPCvGi83NJc9CIrYwOCHRKOE7wbtHthrFekdOOc-GqgJiwKCwacomIIyvIK_F8Crh_-g5RTLoaSzqOu-gpXLdEhyIb5uoGzNfoTlueVAWLEyQY8Q/s1600/DSCN2552.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4k35C0wjgzvpfrVmxQjdPBd5hrA6hPCvGi83NJc9CIrYwOCHRKOE7wbtHthrFekdOOc-GqgJiwKCwacomIIyvIK_F8Crh_-g5RTLoaSzqOu-gpXLdEhyIb5uoGzNfoTlueVAWLEyQY8Q/s400/DSCN2552.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558131298325039618" border="0" /></a><br />Panama City is huge. Over 3 million people, sprawling, packed with cars and buildings. The number of high rises rivals that of San Francisco and a good 15 more are currently under construction. Development seemed rampant and money seemed to be flowing, though poverty was also obvious, of course.<br /><br />The city is a collection of several distinct areas, including the old part, Casco Viejo, the ancient part, Panama Viejo, and the modern areas.<br /><br />Casco Viejo was very interesting. Once the entirety of modern Panama City, then as the city grew the area of the poorest inhabitants, and now undergoing rapid gentrification, Casco Veijo looks a bit like a grittier version of the French Quarter of New Orleans, or parts of what I imagine Havana to look like. Narrow brick streets and old colonial building in various states of disintegration or renovation.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoJxJT-Vri_MZ8HIi6at4BlP3ftrxuiICQKu3FYBNzMPIImWtg3g2F16d8ksrGMFcl4Fb_alj2-bcFev04LPXVdwiRIWjS37_AYUJezGjJBDn2H1G_H851Wh_8oA8odORCMGe2bws0EI/s1600/DSCN2342.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJoJxJT-Vri_MZ8HIi6at4BlP3ftrxuiICQKu3FYBNzMPIImWtg3g2F16d8ksrGMFcl4Fb_alj2-bcFev04LPXVdwiRIWjS37_AYUJezGjJBDn2H1G_H851Wh_8oA8odORCMGe2bws0EI/s400/DSCN2342.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558098850348089170" border="0" /></a><br />It is a gem of an area for Panama City's growing tourism market, and I can only imagine how it might look in 10 years. In the meantime, it retains a fascinating mix of rich and poor, of crumbling and fully restored, of hole-in-the-wall old school salsa clubs and upscale restaurants and galleries. Somehow Sadie can withstand a 7 hour stinky bus ride with nary a complaint, but wandering around looking at "old falling down buildings" is akin to torture for her. Thankfully the area also had a fantastic ice cream parlor which we visited several times.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJymwbxGpkd6eG9uAW9obHE4V1U253Ze2ltF2b8yMTgkQrRuiHYk3bM5DH8qWps7F5yLooip_l6O5699vGXuQGOJJlWTF83BOQjTbJg5yuHsyjQgHq-BxBGPWPtU-3iS-KjgOd_0eDUyQ/s1600/DSCN2343.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJymwbxGpkd6eG9uAW9obHE4V1U253Ze2ltF2b8yMTgkQrRuiHYk3bM5DH8qWps7F5yLooip_l6O5699vGXuQGOJJlWTF83BOQjTbJg5yuHsyjQgHq-BxBGPWPtU-3iS-KjgOd_0eDUyQ/s400/DSCN2343.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558100018706600002" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_GtFAtX0KfDAD6whygwQlkIRUecEWQdMQDqm5aA0cmeX30mpNtwQa49oXaDjn6XvLoezmB5C52atZ67hM7S4zn7CmS4637sqmukmAZ_NCfI1OTlVI-2Y_gTOFHUUr4RGrjtprbNSzyM/s1600/DSCN2355.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_GtFAtX0KfDAD6whygwQlkIRUecEWQdMQDqm5aA0cmeX30mpNtwQa49oXaDjn6XvLoezmB5C52atZ67hM7S4zn7CmS4637sqmukmAZ_NCfI1OTlVI-2Y_gTOFHUUr4RGrjtprbNSzyM/s400/DSCN2355.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558100818000292834" border="0" /></a><br />We had some good food in Panama City, but not too much great food. The highlight was a restaurant upstairs in the gigantic fish market. Whole fried fish, fish soup and ceviche, topped off with a pisco sour.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-slo_t2rI3TJPOdHEO3H-b8s55FHc1rwUMJ_01E3dI_t4audVEBazCYS7zVJ-Yz3AE2biGczgU5eai1XGnMd3fj_jK-oTsThYhTOs3Gppgu3zAXx1GfFT2l5beE5XFdVXshnDXLv_Zc/s1600/IMG_0038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT-slo_t2rI3TJPOdHEO3H-b8s55FHc1rwUMJ_01E3dI_t4audVEBazCYS7zVJ-Yz3AE2biGczgU5eai1XGnMd3fj_jK-oTsThYhTOs3Gppgu3zAXx1GfFT2l5beE5XFdVXshnDXLv_Zc/s400/IMG_0038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558112602096103650" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0mCV-DLuXdpFLu-HH9PfO60eT8Is3dVb9tkgy5HoolaXdC525ngBT2osBHz8_2hMrJqoxyrELPkttRnNt_DP5Lcjc02H22oKf8HxucLijMSQj0Khl2mg_9yFGabBmzL_9BBOdBwEVXUI/s1600/IMG_0032.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0mCV-DLuXdpFLu-HH9PfO60eT8Is3dVb9tkgy5HoolaXdC525ngBT2osBHz8_2hMrJqoxyrELPkttRnNt_DP5Lcjc02H22oKf8HxucLijMSQj0Khl2mg_9yFGabBmzL_9BBOdBwEVXUI/s400/IMG_0032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558112213414345490" border="0" /></a><br />The ancient part of Panama City, Panama Viejo, was also interesting. More so than the ruins themselves, was the juxtaposition of the ruins against the backdrop of skyscrapers, and how the ruins themselves exist along the edges of one of the poorest areas of the City, and themselves are poorly maintained and poorly signed.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYuB9S_Uu2UoWHHn2HUP7ZApfgVCHa4PYE3bAoZr7D7dSzuZTWNZI-oW48od_03Fg4RG7_qamT8AJhxEESOWkTichyphenhyphenPK2laZCrtkCdTRihfLkydlXNH5hYoPc_eKaYT6yeuAXq9lSsaE/s1600/DSCN2458.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYuB9S_Uu2UoWHHn2HUP7ZApfgVCHa4PYE3bAoZr7D7dSzuZTWNZI-oW48od_03Fg4RG7_qamT8AJhxEESOWkTichyphenhyphenPK2laZCrtkCdTRihfLkydlXNH5hYoPc_eKaYT6yeuAXq9lSsaE/s400/DSCN2458.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558110088607924866" border="0" /></a><br />Here's what Sadie thought of wandering around ruins. Clearly we have not yet reached the artisan market at the end of the pathway.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhq5iyeJE56NPlUTYmQdLtyT7lOE7FiyLj0msiYdUvUXN0q1DDqJhFi7COExVZUUYF1zH3iOIpIWnn2Xg9dxChKjYM16mnyQ-E_omO_4DXG_QWP8duqkCCnf13CNE3YPTGlvE_5lNEfSk/s1600/DSCN2445.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhq5iyeJE56NPlUTYmQdLtyT7lOE7FiyLj0msiYdUvUXN0q1DDqJhFi7COExVZUUYF1zH3iOIpIWnn2Xg9dxChKjYM16mnyQ-E_omO_4DXG_QWP8duqkCCnf13CNE3YPTGlvE_5lNEfSk/s400/DSCN2445.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558131952965738034" border="0" /></a><br />Like Casco Viejo, there is an effort underway to make the ruins more accessible and the journey more interesting and educational for the tourists. The pathway to the ruins along the waterfront has several areas with benches and interpretive signage about the ecology of the area (the vast mudflats and occasional mangroves that border the City). However, maintenance is an issue (of course) and trash is a city-wide problem. Here's a picture for you policy wonks out there.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9B0e4MuZWWdS9YK1d-r0iWqKrwVqG3O1eAWWE-Opbe4rLUTn0QrxbbJ0fHtlupoUM2oDi6oSOFyei3t5hqoeXRKnEd0UIRBsk9p4-gcHjOoF4NT_mSm6CTtkszSwWV0XV8j52hPxkbCc/s1600/DSCN2455.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9B0e4MuZWWdS9YK1d-r0iWqKrwVqG3O1eAWWE-Opbe4rLUTn0QrxbbJ0fHtlupoUM2oDi6oSOFyei3t5hqoeXRKnEd0UIRBsk9p4-gcHjOoF4NT_mSm6CTtkszSwWV0XV8j52hPxkbCc/s400/DSCN2455.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558105459859054642" border="0" /></a><br />Then...there was the canal.<br /><br />The Panama Canal! The whole reason we suffered through that 7 hour bus ride to get to Panama City. They have recently built a visitor's center at the Miraflores locks, which are a convenient 15 minute cab ride out of the city. Seeing the Canal in person was awesome in the sense that I loved having to get my mind wrapped around the idea that I was actually seeing THE Panama Canal! Not unlike how I felt when I first saw the Mississippi River. However, it does not inspire the actual physical awe that other marvels of the world, like, say, the Pyramids of Egypt, do. The locks are big, but not BIG, the ships going through were big, but not GIGANTIC. Still, it was very cool to see. The visitor center included several large outdoor viewing areas that are situated very close to the locks and we got to witness a couple of container ships go through, assisted by groovy little motorized trains.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihx-RwqLB2tAogWp5I92qCyITU3ajTLkg0l6CYOC_v7hwomnoy5MMv8phfrt50tJA6cDCJU_SWcxi76EfGOEbwzzXEhuuzLCC7dhyphenhyphen3hfp-SUeBiJkRgflu8vOysKE9Rie9tv9smfjPmWQ/s1600/DSCN2358.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihx-RwqLB2tAogWp5I92qCyITU3ajTLkg0l6CYOC_v7hwomnoy5MMv8phfrt50tJA6cDCJU_SWcxi76EfGOEbwzzXEhuuzLCC7dhyphenhyphen3hfp-SUeBiJkRgflu8vOysKE9Rie9tv9smfjPmWQ/s400/DSCN2358.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558107014432703586" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-l_4tMqLKeFbqHsKP84IobxK25K7PVA23Nh9XvYrH54DRsDz0j_X5UYkcUvP1xjSCpnf0OPzaPm7q7NTt10TlPAUJgKD7RtJIzpMNWM8AGlJwP-ZEsQTjS-z9bsGnvDlPCje219zb0wM/s1600/DSCN2366.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-l_4tMqLKeFbqHsKP84IobxK25K7PVA23Nh9XvYrH54DRsDz0j_X5UYkcUvP1xjSCpnf0OPzaPm7q7NTt10TlPAUJgKD7RtJIzpMNWM8AGlJwP-ZEsQTjS-z9bsGnvDlPCje219zb0wM/s400/DSCN2366.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558106146433527778" border="0" /></a><br />Here's a link to a webcam at the Miraflores locks so that you, too, can be sufficiently awed. This is THE Panama Canal!:<br /><br />http://www.pancanal.com/eng/photo/camera-java.html<br /><br />(Note: most ships pass through from 9-11 am and 2-4 pm, east coast time)<br /><br />The visitor center had some good exhibits about the past, current and future of the canal, including a nice section on the watershed surrounding the canal, water management, and the surrounding environment. There was a definite emphasis on the future. As in expansion. The glory of the planned expansion project was described in great detail, including the benefits to the people and the environment of Panama (and the world of course), the expansion plans themselves (two additional locks on each side of the Canal, adjacent to the existing locks, and deepening of the majority the rest of the Canal), a date for the grand opening of the completed expanded canal (2014), the price tag (I forget, or blocked it out), and the expansion work already underway. Here's the expansion webcam:<br /><br />http://www.pancanal.com/eng/photo/camera-java.html?cam=Expansion<br /><br />Finally, although the people of Panama approved the expansion project via a referendum in 2006, the actual financing of the entire project was a bit unclear. Hmmm....<br /><br />(Another interesting side note I learned by a later google is that the US-based CH2M Hill is actively involved in the Canal expansion project as the "program management services consultant")<br /><br />Really, the Canal is endlessly fascinating. The history of the initial construction, the past and current management of it (managed exclusively by Panama only since 1999), the expansion project, etc. I won't take up any more room on this week's post with more details, but I do encourage you to do some googling yourselves when you have some free time.<br /><br />And that, my friends, was Panama City. Huge, loud, busy, crazy, Panama City. Interesting, but I don't need to go back.<br /><br />We did need to go back to David, however. This time we chose the unfortunate day of New Year's Eve to travel. The bus station was a chaotic pulsing mass of bodies, all trying to get somewhere important. Long lines, few signs, lots of complaining people. With little hope for getting out of Panama City we got in a line and lo and behold the stars aligned for us as a random man came to the line and gathered anyone who was headed to David and the border and urged us onto his express bus leaving immediately. So we all got on to a mini bus (this one with no bathroom) and we would have left immediately as described but apparently we had to wait so that we could pile in as many more people as physically possible.<br /><br />I'm determined to live a life free of sin because I know what is in store for me for my eternal damnation. A crowded mini bus. I actively worked to stave off a panic attack, breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth, as more and more people crammed in. I convinced myself that if I really did literally freak out, the bus driver would surely stop the bus and let me out, darned if I cared where, and settled in for a very long 7 hours. Again, while I tried desperately to block out reality and go to my happy place and not have a heart attack or throw up or start speaking in tongues, Sadie did great. Not a complaint from her.<br /><br />We stopped once to eat and use the bathroom, and eventually arrived back in David to be greeted by a city preparing madly for midnight. The streets were more crowded than ever, fireworks were for sale everywhere. Once settled back into our hotel, we managed to elbow through the crowd to make another trip to the cheap jewelry store, then headed back to the Lebanese restaurant for another (expensive) stellar dinner.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQHc9YHz6uktPO1gukafI3VEpnCL62aUhbi8vNUVd0ss6y2AAREqUBQJJuDyWTkPpz8PuY_HlNWPor-PF6IEEdpv5yzejqpX4rVW6zS240HMprU7gMcTSgxCPh0YYsGD9e_8Ts5BDDaI/s1600/DSCN2568.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQHc9YHz6uktPO1gukafI3VEpnCL62aUhbi8vNUVd0ss6y2AAREqUBQJJuDyWTkPpz8PuY_HlNWPor-PF6IEEdpv5yzejqpX4rVW6zS240HMprU7gMcTSgxCPh0YYsGD9e_8Ts5BDDaI/s400/DSCN2568.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558114335626067554" border="0" /></a><br />I don't really need to explain our night's sleep, do I? Suffice it to say it was New Year's Eve. Naturally Sadie slept through the whole thing.<br /><br />The next morning we squished onto yet another mini bus. This time Ian got to be scrunched up on the seat with the wheel well next to Panama's tallest man, while Sadie and I enjoyed the two seats opposite to ourselves, though we suffered the glares of a few folks who apparently thought it would be more polite if Sadie sat on my lap with all our bags on the wheel well so as to free up another seat. A mere 90 minutes later we were back at the border. Once through (easy peasy, less than an hour), Ian got the car.<br /><br />OUR CAR! At that moment, there was no better sight than our stinky, dirty, rattling, transmission fluid leaking, jalopy. No squishing up with strangers, no terrible smells, no blaring half tuned in radio station, no beholding to someone else's schedule. By god, we could pull over and pee on the side of the road any time we wanted to!<br /><br />Five minutes later we were on the open road in Costa Rica. Thankful to be back in "our" country.<br /><br />We had one more adventure on the way home (involving the Borukan tribe, devils, bulls, and dancing) but I'll have to save that for the next post as I'm pretty sure I've used up my allotted space on this one.<br /><br />Feliz Año Nuevo!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh974hR_GKdW4yNIJ2AtLfi2o0ThAMVNQo7ZlsD-wO4wgfQ4rkDhHP2b0Kb2VaYYC9VOq9xgetQgGn1QLNhLrZjZa0qGZAKbBFiYZHn14zhMfz_uuHndkORLUHWXA2v51hhxPqMitykNKQ/s1600/DSCN2514.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh974hR_GKdW4yNIJ2AtLfi2o0ThAMVNQo7ZlsD-wO4wgfQ4rkDhHP2b0Kb2VaYYC9VOq9xgetQgGn1QLNhLrZjZa0qGZAKbBFiYZHn14zhMfz_uuHndkORLUHWXA2v51hhxPqMitykNKQ/s400/DSCN2514.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558111623070691906" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-79686167040516214652010-12-20T18:33:00.000-08:002010-12-25T09:17:43.871-08:00Food Begets LifeWe have come to the end of the high season at Casa Sweeney-Britton. Our last guests for a while, the Miller-Ouimet family, left yesterday. Sniff.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRC2oArb4j0RdbeujksQU0HDoIqH4d4FIOlMQNwu1Qude09g7G7p7Az_1k7QLd84DgI1AlkYzLP2-6KONvrZnZDcwiE4d3njnl80ixfCmPZv-QdelRj0TlifEC0et_DaL58LqtP0Unb8/s1600/DSCN2286.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqRC2oArb4j0RdbeujksQU0HDoIqH4d4FIOlMQNwu1Qude09g7G7p7Az_1k7QLd84DgI1AlkYzLP2-6KONvrZnZDcwiE4d3njnl80ixfCmPZv-QdelRj0TlifEC0et_DaL58LqtP0Unb8/s320/DSCN2286.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554653224400850258" border="0" /></a><br />While they were here, the blog was a periodic topic of conversation. Specifically, this week's topic. We batted around several topics but eventually settled on food.<br /><br />So much of our lives here revolve around food. The finding of, the buying of, the preparation of, the eating of, the cleaning up after of, etc. Food provides sustenance, satisfaction, frustration, adventure, entertainment, and creates and strengthens friendships.<br /><br />Take ice cream, for example.<br /><br />You may remember that our first guests to the casita kindly lugged with them a rather large and heavy ice cream maker. Once washed and plugged in, the hum of the motor became the constant soundtrack to our lives at home. Ian experimented with flavors and friends and family provided willing assistance as official tasters. A few batches later, a few conversations later, and "¡Que Rico! - Helado Natural de Nosara" was officially launched!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDDVV86RupXvOrimzqi0BGT5kxxOMvLkwGM7p7KI0XPAIJ_gfQITL7ryRkUgjfMYpWvDvkfhBVEFPjYlxEJMPvhz9x2vbuysKTn0liD9NgO76HNwzYWIYJmo7SJU5nY9imBRDkAHoRxw/s1600/DSCN2234.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 296px; height: 395px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDDVV86RupXvOrimzqi0BGT5kxxOMvLkwGM7p7KI0XPAIJ_gfQITL7ryRkUgjfMYpWvDvkfhBVEFPjYlxEJMPvhz9x2vbuysKTn0liD9NgO76HNwzYWIYJmo7SJU5nY9imBRDkAHoRxw/s400/DSCN2234.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554652686227021810" border="0" /></a><br />Deals were made, spreadsheets were created, and labels were drafted, printed and taped. Salted caramel was created as the signature flavor and, voila, we have an income! (Get your cup at Market Organico or the Beach Dog Cafe now!) Granted, the profit from a batch of ice cream is minimal, but no one is complaining at the bonus dinner out each month. Food begets food.<br /><br />The salted caramel flavor was launched first because: 1) it is darn good, and 2) all ingredients are available locally. Which brings us to food begets friendships. Ian's search for good, fresh ingredients led him to a local farm where we now purchase fresh raw milk and fresh eggs. The owners of the farm are wonderful, nice and generous people. We brought them a sample of the ice cream made with their milk and eggs and they sent us home with a huge bag full of langostinos they had caught the night before in the river.<br /><br />They also invited us to come back to help make juice from sugar cane. Their small sugar cane mill is powered by a horse that walks in a circle pulling a beam of wood which turns the gears of the mill. While the gears are turning, the sugar cane is pushed between heavy rollers. The kids worked hard pushing the cane in and were rewarded with a ride on the horse and a taste of fresh sugar cane juice over ice. Food begets adventure.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPt6nVt0eWMSeypNyIQEfex9_3PTrZCQXqfChof0hWeYDbuV0jVu01JxyY-22oy8OGXl-gHYe8oHt4ZeWI0s3lDtW6pm0wlba3oxtv_aqd5eLPelzDgNjA1gPoQcuCdqka4Ey_HFOJV0k/s1600/PC180563.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPt6nVt0eWMSeypNyIQEfex9_3PTrZCQXqfChof0hWeYDbuV0jVu01JxyY-22oy8OGXl-gHYe8oHt4ZeWI0s3lDtW6pm0wlba3oxtv_aqd5eLPelzDgNjA1gPoQcuCdqka4Ey_HFOJV0k/s400/PC180563.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554653680987737346" border="0" /></a><br />Food also begets conversation. Guests to Nosara are treated to endless discussions on food. What we can and can't get, how much it costs, the best and the worst of, what we wish for, what we have had enough of....<br /><br />We describe the typical costa rican "casado" lunch of salad, rice, beans and meat or fish, and compare and contrast our favorite lunch spots.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAobDpiXBLyEtetXEynmsxUbHWi3gU-6rUFvQLvQhTvz56vgFwPKWGa5ITGGz1G4UNubOPspA3MGazXHEcDzWOI5cSgH9anEzrWvN82-Hbx-8X5_Noytj-_eA2pcYYqyjUX0FQlmayItU/s1600/DSCN0115.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 317px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAobDpiXBLyEtetXEynmsxUbHWi3gU-6rUFvQLvQhTvz56vgFwPKWGa5ITGGz1G4UNubOPspA3MGazXHEcDzWOI5cSgH9anEzrWvN82-Hbx-8X5_Noytj-_eA2pcYYqyjUX0FQlmayItU/s400/DSCN0115.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554658659518047730" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64G9jPJYiBd11Ip4As4IBZXu4U4Li4cPXnQ8lJLzHdypE94vYeQi0f8leIWAuqDKGFC3WNTWObo_lLzpnm_RQnQwsn2y9cewqBMWlazfQGm9_mGK6gpgp7SS1PFdXp4E0S1RzeV2Gf6A/s1600/DSCN0533.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64G9jPJYiBd11Ip4As4IBZXu4U4Li4cPXnQ8lJLzHdypE94vYeQi0f8leIWAuqDKGFC3WNTWObo_lLzpnm_RQnQwsn2y9cewqBMWlazfQGm9_mGK6gpgp7SS1PFdXp4E0S1RzeV2Gf6A/s200/DSCN0533.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554659854947360066" border="0" /></a>We talk about how we can get fresh bread from the bread truck and fresh fruits and vegetables from the fruit and veggie truck.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq-dfs_eLsaWv1oZHB9sI5mLDIqJ5GIn9BrzNfc9WEOqjNZwpAmvMohjxLs_irc2y7oFDdEXY0qeDFFGINDuNC2nlB2yc5fC7LWiZ4bobOksb8m-RtLvbAlmxlD9yVw4QJWChQm4Wra2c/s1600/DSCN0534.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq-dfs_eLsaWv1oZHB9sI5mLDIqJ5GIn9BrzNfc9WEOqjNZwpAmvMohjxLs_irc2y7oFDdEXY0qeDFFGINDuNC2nlB2yc5fC7LWiZ4bobOksb8m-RtLvbAlmxlD9yVw4QJWChQm4Wra2c/s200/DSCN0534.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554665603222590098" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />We describe how Sadie and Ian figured out how to get fresh fish from a house on the beach before it gets delivered to the fish markets.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCmcEmG9JPWf4ZlqMHjQ8lhU7h-6oTe6aN6rd_XtNYC8vnK9yXw_4z_8A6d7fgTnTPM7mLhWcGkY2urlj2mFfMBVRkKG6Ukm3DxCHF7DKqQtXspVc5BKf8C2ZeavDTXOINPLQjKusv0Y/s1600/DSCN0476.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCmcEmG9JPWf4ZlqMHjQ8lhU7h-6oTe6aN6rd_XtNYC8vnK9yXw_4z_8A6d7fgTnTPM7mLhWcGkY2urlj2mFfMBVRkKG6Ukm3DxCHF7DKqQtXspVc5BKf8C2ZeavDTXOINPLQjKusv0Y/s320/DSCN0476.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554661717878382466" border="0" /></a><br />We talk about getting great cheese (ordered in advance now) and organic greens at the farmer's market. We talk about our rental property and its mango, banana and lime trees. We talk about the price of olive oil and soy sauce.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivmkbHmbY_WH-soYTtwMl54axacr3EfI7qtPGQEuiHpgwIolyPfqoRUv-UvDy9S8kX3ntQq1QK8IQDumY_dY5pe5vdVmLTWmJleNByyISTzwD63llmLC9CDGY4Fk6hBFFJmZf9Zk-t7vM/s1600/DSCN0491.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivmkbHmbY_WH-soYTtwMl54axacr3EfI7qtPGQEuiHpgwIolyPfqoRUv-UvDy9S8kX3ntQq1QK8IQDumY_dY5pe5vdVmLTWmJleNByyISTzwD63llmLC9CDGY4Fk6hBFFJmZf9Zk-t7vM/s200/DSCN0491.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554655773313367794" border="0" /></a>We love to compare and contrast for our guests the ceviche in various establishments. Who uses what kind of fish, which one is the freshest, which one is the spiciest. No visit with us is complete without a trip to the gas station to where the best ceviche is sold from a small table near the pumps<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqoUBPcRRDwlid_nFG01mNikkgvHu9ZfGKiglNRqkxmfYT3YLpME3qEcaaUV3tlIHWTaqqiViU_DdwezliFgk5oXeGHHYEHtFA7glP4ozPdFplIfMcXeiCHZ9GVTLJSBdgsHr7SGL51WM/s1600/DSCN0555.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqoUBPcRRDwlid_nFG01mNikkgvHu9ZfGKiglNRqkxmfYT3YLpME3qEcaaUV3tlIHWTaqqiViU_DdwezliFgk5oXeGHHYEHtFA7glP4ozPdFplIfMcXeiCHZ9GVTLJSBdgsHr7SGL51WM/s200/DSCN0555.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554656156618520274" border="0" /></a> (which explains why our car always has a slight smell of fish - eating a cup of ceviche on the Nosara roads is definitely a challenge).<br /><br /><br />We have a lot to say about food and I'm certain it is as fascinating a topic for our guests as it is for us. Right? Right??<br /><br />With guests we relish in the relatively rare treat of dinner out (fish and tempura at our favorite restaurant on the beach or pizza at our favorite Italian restaurant), but we also relish in the joy of cooking and eating at home together. Food strengthens bonds.<br /><br />With the Miller-Ouimets, in addition to spending close to 20 years in each others' kitchens, we have spent many vacations together, renting houses on the Russian River, Hawaii, and Mexico. We fall easily into our comfortable and collaborative roles for cooking and cleaning for six. Over food we all share stories and opinions, we laugh, we discuss the day we've just had and we plan for tomorrow. For entertainment we watch the geckos catching and eating insects, and the monkeys eating flowers and leaves.<br /><br />Finally, as our guests leave, we send them off with hugs and plenty of snacks for the long journey home.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDquUpb1lD5LuuQL7_WTSsi08kFrdm9E9Hha7B_uIVrb2E0eMQm-BuguNxjQJADlPhTeqcRYXgI6vwEv2i2s1MQmomBy2CwHRqW6juobB6wQlkuMxaRjj3KjrTvMIM4rm1q8cGE3m_9Bk/s1600/PC180592.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDquUpb1lD5LuuQL7_WTSsi08kFrdm9E9Hha7B_uIVrb2E0eMQm-BuguNxjQJADlPhTeqcRYXgI6vwEv2i2s1MQmomBy2CwHRqW6juobB6wQlkuMxaRjj3KjrTvMIM4rm1q8cGE3m_9Bk/s400/PC180592.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5554654263433442706" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-52156703616536512022010-12-13T06:13:00.000-08:002010-12-13T11:54:16.057-08:00Peninsula de Osa<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAzePqpSM7WfbsASceou4xu3Uy0BmtLaciOuKwQU8owMqig-aZEUIFBUcOmClhkOXiTkrVvSt8AuFIYn8VlTdpxv3XviFXMVDc2VGikE3GKMnaxU-C7mGNM2Z0yJlxZN2iREvWtN841s/s1600/osa-peninsula-map.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 366px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinAzePqpSM7WfbsASceou4xu3Uy0BmtLaciOuKwQU8owMqig-aZEUIFBUcOmClhkOXiTkrVvSt8AuFIYn8VlTdpxv3XviFXMVDc2VGikE3GKMnaxU-C7mGNM2Z0yJlxZN2iREvWtN841s/s400/osa-peninsula-map.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550197970537470562" border="0" /></a><br />Lonely Planet describes the Osa peninsula as "the most picturesque, the most pristine and the most perfect spot in Costa Rica." Much of the peninsula is taken up by Parque Nacional Corcovado, containing the last great original tract of tropical rainforest in Pacific Central America. Lonely Planet goes on to say, "...Osa is the real deal....it's a place for travelers with youthful hearts, intrepid spirits and a yearning for something truly wild." In other words, the perfect place for my mother and I to steal away to for a long weekend.<br /><br />My mother and I meet in San Jose where we take in the city sites for a day before hopping on a puddle jumper to fly to Bahia Drake, on the Osa peninsula. It is a short and beautiful flight and we soon land on a patch of dirt in the jungle that somehow met the qualifications for an airport. We fish our small bags out of the belly of the plane, and climb in a waiting jeep. Our ten year old driver (okay, maybe he was 13) takes us past some farmland, among coastal jungle, through several very large rivers, and drops us off at a beach. Bahia Drake. He points to a small open motor boat and bids us farewell.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdF2ecp6FP2j6HXyWIhhjaaoU2I1zT9jbkKVkrvKaxDDYzXwKdi4VEmelbFp9ugTwz2Dy21x7mD1mp7GI95h27rApGv_SGKVnAWyhhVHCJ4Iko5iQJrXLxFbZ5SUvlIEvgAiIaZtMfnM/s1600/DSCN2096.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 337px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdF2ecp6FP2j6HXyWIhhjaaoU2I1zT9jbkKVkrvKaxDDYzXwKdi4VEmelbFp9ugTwz2Dy21x7mD1mp7GI95h27rApGv_SGKVnAWyhhVHCJ4Iko5iQJrXLxFbZ5SUvlIEvgAiIaZtMfnM/s320/DSCN2096.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550201560620479794" border="0" /></a><br />Thankful at the minimum amount of baggage we brought with us, my mom and I wade into the sea, climb in the boat, and speed off to the other side of the Bay. We turn inland on a river and soon pull up to a small wooden dock.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dxd10gVZX-2-OMkZcJqIwObM-D5wNGwE-02Exz8OhSvGYv2o230pNr-MYnooitWxMDBhKT0iFz9ak2nWeUhlxmZ16-0Q8lQ7iJeZWU0Ze7CLhkwUYnlasC-QPDt0hVde8xlwR_hjFhA/s1600/DSCN2163.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2dxd10gVZX-2-OMkZcJqIwObM-D5wNGwE-02Exz8OhSvGYv2o230pNr-MYnooitWxMDBhKT0iFz9ak2nWeUhlxmZ16-0Q8lQ7iJeZWU0Ze7CLhkwUYnlasC-QPDt0hVde8xlwR_hjFhA/s400/DSCN2163.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550197795245413874" border="0" /></a>Our bags are grabbed, and we are helped out of the boat and up the stairs. We have arrived at our home away from home for three nights: Drake Bay Wilderness Resort.<br /><br />Again, to quote Lonely Planet, the resort "occupies the optimal piece of real estate in all of Bahia Drake." Quite right. Situated along the coast at the edge of the Bay, the resort consists of several small wooden cabins situated among beautiful landscaping, all with porches and all facing the water. Breathtaking.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhferFueZiLQSy6T_1FFKV46Y87T47QJWfkwpb0VNu5wYQseu3HJKLkfoSVXx7BVYYqnUVSwuC2GpcGMKqLJazaqzbHBpPELMTBvzdeHk2D_lOkdHIiEUAmdfxGL-PnIdSZdb6ZNfFp1fc/s1600/DSCN2160.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhferFueZiLQSy6T_1FFKV46Y87T47QJWfkwpb0VNu5wYQseu3HJKLkfoSVXx7BVYYqnUVSwuC2GpcGMKqLJazaqzbHBpPELMTBvzdeHk2D_lOkdHIiEUAmdfxGL-PnIdSZdb6ZNfFp1fc/s400/DSCN2160.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550197548135664898" border="0" /></a><br />Once we are settled in our simple but comfortable cabin, we head to another building where lunch is waiting for us. As it turns out, my mother and I are two of the only four guests currently at the resort (it pays to travel during the low season!). As the other guests are out for the day, we are served by ourselves in the family style dining room. A bean salad and fresh juice followed by a taco AND a very large burritto. All fresh ingredients, all made from scratch, all insanely delicious. Osa may be the place for "endless opportunities for rugged exploration" for some, but I had an inkling that for us, it may be the place for "endless meals of outrageously good food." Just the thing for our youthful hearts and intrepid spirits!<br /><br />Our stay at Drake Bay Resort is as a part of a package. Three nights, all meals, and two tours. That evening after dinner (fresh shrimp in an amazing sauce, vegetables, dessert...) we are asked to sign up for our tour the next day. Not sure we were quite up for the "required" trek through Corcovado Park yet, we choose Caño Island as our destination for the next day. A 362-hectare island outside of Bahia Drake that is the tip of numerous underwater rock formations, the island is a popular destination for diving and snorkeling and a "must do" tour for those visiting the area.<br /><br />That night it pours rain all night long. Knowing how the weather can change easily, however, my mom and I wake up early and head out in the rain to breakfast (coffee served in heated cups, fresh baked cinnamon roles, fruit, eggs, gallo pinto...). The rain indeed begins to peter out and we are sent to "the dive shop" to get our snorkel gear and told to be at the dock in 15 minutes. By the time we get our gear and towels and lunch are loaded into the boat for us, the rain has completely stopped and we are on our way with our guide for the day, Roy, our boat captain, and a couple from another hotel.<br /><br />We head out through choppy waters to the island, encountering two species of dolphins along the way, which we stop and watch for a while. Again, I am thankful for the, how shall I put it, <span style="font-style: italic;">casual</span>, nature of Costa Rican tourism where instead of being told to keep my lifejacket on and my hands in the boat, Roy hollers at me, "stand up on your seat so you can see! Go climb on the bow of the boat! Look at those DOLPHINS!"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVUnuFXc2ONphaYAuTi35IIxenBoGU737LBHueZ3I2rqHP8pV_bx2oIKH3W7sj89ICJyub3eO6syf3IP4_lebReV6pdcPSQ3W4dpytOcVLcHrHoY2OmyKb-Sr1yVQDcWWGQIS3B0nzBI/s1600/DSCN2100.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVUnuFXc2ONphaYAuTi35IIxenBoGU737LBHueZ3I2rqHP8pV_bx2oIKH3W7sj89ICJyub3eO6syf3IP4_lebReV6pdcPSQ3W4dpytOcVLcHrHoY2OmyKb-Sr1yVQDcWWGQIS3B0nzBI/s320/DSCN2100.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550200040645713506" border="0" /></a><br />Once near the island we get a quick review of how to snorkel (stick together, try not to breath in any water, and make sure you keep track of your lifejacket you can sling under your armpits for buoyancy). Okay, put your mask and flippers on, grab your lifejacket, climb onto the edge of the boat, and JUMP! "Right" says mom, and, with a little assistance from the captain, she does just that.<br /><br />Now I should qualify what I am about to say by first letting you all know that despite my love for the ocean I have done very little snorkeling in my life. But, this was the most amazing snorkeling ever! I saw lots of beautiful and colorful small reef fish, and I also had the phenomenal experience of snorkeling among schools of large fish - jacks and grunts and snappers - sometimes hundreds at once. Here's a smattering of other things I can remember, with help from my handy dandy "Costa Rica Field Guide - Pacific Coast Reef Fish": devil ray, stingray, sergeant major, rainbow wrasse, moorish idol, puffer, cardinalfish. I'm sure I'm forgetting many other species, but you get the idea. I was happy.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_-T2fls1F-VtoJIGrUJ9ehoGnOo23sqIIJpVstjikGNUnT0AuWkEZiE8RdoR5AeI3GS-qPmajH_8afJEPvkQ7-1cOeO50XX3kos9k3-DJXGY78D5eRVq8yJE6R6xpcIM5oABowpxH8o/s1600/DSCN2101.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_-T2fls1F-VtoJIGrUJ9ehoGnOo23sqIIJpVstjikGNUnT0AuWkEZiE8RdoR5AeI3GS-qPmajH_8afJEPvkQ7-1cOeO50XX3kos9k3-DJXGY78D5eRVq8yJE6R6xpcIM5oABowpxH8o/s320/DSCN2101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550192363913284338" border="0" /></a>Lunch on the island (rice and beans, fish, side salad, home made cookies...), more snorkeling, then home for dinner (whole cooked fish, beet and lime juice, salad, green beans and cauliflower, cake, etc...).<br /><br />That night it poured and poured again, but again, began to clear up over breakfast (fresh fruit, more cinnamon roles, etc...). Today was our Corcovado trip and we were determined to be able to do it. After all, what trip to Osa is complete without a hike in Corcovado?<br /><br />Another boat ride, another beach landing to the San Pedrillo Ranger Station. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MxPX2oHYJKr5KV-mMoMbpMtINnAe82ens8P9pVohIPpw6yTtYZ-JHgWxUWR_vCcRayG4zkucLsWDFm1j4nEHUTpGX8XArE2DOeNJgaFay9Pd0UJd4v37ucMHSlXgYRKLE3bwZMer0pQ/s1600/DSCN2140.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_MxPX2oHYJKr5KV-mMoMbpMtINnAe82ens8P9pVohIPpw6yTtYZ-JHgWxUWR_vCcRayG4zkucLsWDFm1j4nEHUTpGX8XArE2DOeNJgaFay9Pd0UJd4v37ucMHSlXgYRKLE3bwZMer0pQ/s200/DSCN2140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550201941348655218" border="0" /></a>Manual, our guide, provides us a geography lesson with a stick on the sand, grabs his high powered telescope and tripod and we are off. The trail is wet and muddy but it isn't raining so we are able to see and hear quite a bit. Though Corovado is huge and many people trek for days within its wilderness, this is a more well-traveled "Corcovado Light" version. The path is well defined and we meet up with two or three other tours along the route. Still, the rainforest is definitely stunning in the way only rainforests can be.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCrr36P4B7dPDl-4LOv5w-p5VpruJHj6zskD1vH3DC8GTojs3_pRjKwSX0r8l8UBqxGTs2YSENXZwtRgNTLEShH52sg3soYUM1S06WUDTLgf31cFtSnngOhmNdImRP4huIlGwQL8tpps/s1600/DSCN2136.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCCrr36P4B7dPDl-4LOv5w-p5VpruJHj6zskD1vH3DC8GTojs3_pRjKwSX0r8l8UBqxGTs2YSENXZwtRgNTLEShH52sg3soYUM1S06WUDTLgf31cFtSnngOhmNdImRP4huIlGwQL8tpps/s400/DSCN2136.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550195846769704066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqzMDpuYcOIrWwEJ86okEQZCchOjnKurmrV-r8Bs6qMbogGLFYftWPm6XgAY4rfgRKpNGkS69kWFoDcO6wh4uolCk9cSqcmLHkN25vIWGJddBaFVhA6ykK-EKAK00YKi-9M93xIxUTxc/s1600/DSCN2125.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqzMDpuYcOIrWwEJ86okEQZCchOjnKurmrV-r8Bs6qMbogGLFYftWPm6XgAY4rfgRKpNGkS69kWFoDcO6wh4uolCk9cSqcmLHkN25vIWGJddBaFVhA6ykK-EKAK00YKi-9M93xIxUTxc/s400/DSCN2125.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550192677702757186" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJB5RdHMXP4Y01FqolN007-BtkgRKjmSGOoUQUUP0ZomBD9dMqliwWXLZohqFWXqtnQfTzELQDVE7x-5FcWRc964VJtmh7MytCdlHTnsTYJzpvF14aN7OBNjh29LA-UEyR6weku6PCLUM/s1600/DSCN2139.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJB5RdHMXP4Y01FqolN007-BtkgRKjmSGOoUQUUP0ZomBD9dMqliwWXLZohqFWXqtnQfTzELQDVE7x-5FcWRc964VJtmh7MytCdlHTnsTYJzpvF14aN7OBNjh29LA-UEyR6weku6PCLUM/s400/DSCN2139.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550193328783317346" border="0" /></a>And we do manage to see a sloth, a couple of different kinds of monkeys, bats, a few birds, several agoutis (in the rodent family), pizotes, and lots of insects. Manual is great at spotting wildlife and quickly sets up his telescope for us to get a good look. These pictures were taken from my camera through the lens of the telescope.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAFbeVNFYEJTZxfdYG843q2FFyWodajAKPva0me4yTcoiBqDrGTxNvV_ShRxVgYENsYslvV-_4-p5cNSjJ36xd60Os4znbqRXgBMp_5jkNcg3mOr46zR2kKRSiwl-_n4_zaBhIz2lys0E/s1600/DSCN2134.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAFbeVNFYEJTZxfdYG843q2FFyWodajAKPva0me4yTcoiBqDrGTxNvV_ShRxVgYENsYslvV-_4-p5cNSjJ36xd60Os4znbqRXgBMp_5jkNcg3mOr46zR2kKRSiwl-_n4_zaBhIz2lys0E/s400/DSCN2134.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550194794901875490" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDrjSHxlchLPugwgSvnaaW9LYJE2b06bzURaXsGcY350m9ZqIfS8H0d6V1X0jocLOfNu_-f9mXkIJGfbfLLSPE5_VcSafDnkA9VFn_AvaYtQ_wKq-tT4oKqAbMv4QaByEMC0WB9YJvzU/s1600/DSCN2122.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGDrjSHxlchLPugwgSvnaaW9LYJE2b06bzURaXsGcY350m9ZqIfS8H0d6V1X0jocLOfNu_-f9mXkIJGfbfLLSPE5_VcSafDnkA9VFn_AvaYtQ_wKq-tT4oKqAbMv4QaByEMC0WB9YJvzU/s400/DSCN2122.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550193623452642002" border="0" /></a><br />After lunch back at the ranger station (delicious food, yummy dessert...), it begins to drizzle. Despite the rain, Manual suggests we go ahead with our planned afternoon hike to the waterfall. Difficult terrain, he says, but only 20 minutes of walking. Now my mother had already been in Costa Rica long enough to know that all short things take "5 minutes" and all long things take "20 minutes" and that therefore "20 minutes" could be anywhere from 25 minutes to two hours, but she is game. After all, when would we ever get this chance again?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vrzxLLkyx3ErkzG4KXa2GYQhiuy9u1-I9zcB4LedYoYIhVOFbhCqzSfMXnVDrLzZWh11rg7pWxFQ3folhIwBiMv4eDos9WWIpTxYhBjOYiT7Pva1F2XcOvXvagi5ZIHqBAPP2rFSA6Y/s1600/DSCN2141.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vrzxLLkyx3ErkzG4KXa2GYQhiuy9u1-I9zcB4LedYoYIhVOFbhCqzSfMXnVDrLzZWh11rg7pWxFQ3folhIwBiMv4eDos9WWIpTxYhBjOYiT7Pva1F2XcOvXvagi5ZIHqBAPP2rFSA6Y/s400/DSCN2141.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550195487221058082" border="0" /></a><br />We grab our parkas and head off. As we begin to hike through the rainforest, the rain begins to steadily increase. We slog through mud and up and down over roots and rocks. It begins to rain harder. We grab walking sticks. We hike through rivers and along narrow ledges. We avoid trees with spikes and try not to slide down hills. We hike some more. It rains harder. We hike some more.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">We finally make it!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7fqbTamJ8i-l6QX2kb4Qjj-3dyQGQUOmkiCRdknXzBOPjn9VtXmrvGot-4oodhIoN-SEPzsbSvDBox5gCY4SbLcsplc-yZpt98CP6ol3YeeghF6dlRgd8_PT7DolwpVWwdbeQ-oFISI/s1600/DSCN2142.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7fqbTamJ8i-l6QX2kb4Qjj-3dyQGQUOmkiCRdknXzBOPjn9VtXmrvGot-4oodhIoN-SEPzsbSvDBox5gCY4SbLcsplc-yZpt98CP6ol3YeeghF6dlRgd8_PT7DolwpVWwdbeQ-oFISI/s400/DSCN2142.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550195055427095314" border="0" /></a><br /></div>After oohing and ahhing at the roaring giant waterfall, we head back down the pathway to a smaller waterfall feeding a deep pool of water. In the pouring rain, we strip off our ponchos and dive in.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Yes, it was definitely worth it.<br /></div><br />Manual finally says something about "flash floods" and so we grab our stuff and head on back at a slightly faster rate. We climb back into the boat, sopping wet, and speed home in the pouring rain, bodies still, heads down, conversation impossible.<br /><br />After our warm showers, mom and I head to the bar for a well deserved drink. We are exhausted and exhilarated, wet and proud, and our youthful hearts and intrepid spirits are definitely ready for dinner.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Cheers!<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKR1M5iGEyScMVxslMYukUrHwWPwVTVPi1nQ-ROUOvCvcXF8WPYv2CdCoyCvHgUmDdHvky-AHMn10ANtcWasPo45uMcXz8FvbSuDP0aSOSFaKCOpvD0gCwKGCG8CIzbusNTY-7rtRJmQ/s1600/DSCN2153.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKR1M5iGEyScMVxslMYukUrHwWPwVTVPi1nQ-ROUOvCvcXF8WPYv2CdCoyCvHgUmDdHvky-AHMn10ANtcWasPo45uMcXz8FvbSuDP0aSOSFaKCOpvD0gCwKGCG8CIzbusNTY-7rtRJmQ/s400/DSCN2153.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550196385173938002" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-55204892487576796342010-11-22T12:30:00.000-08:002010-11-23T12:59:52.521-08:00High Season at Casa Sweeney-Britton<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGexcfPjjT83afZSVFfXl6rcyiwTaz5JPZ-e0xdR-LB3wDLILImgx9Z4vnKLmZTy74Re07LZo9DgRh7ZS5ivVsI8FrVSnE1UH8l7MfxypI5ELTe0y73ceigRZ6pWSV-sIBJaK_rSPDoO8/s1600/IMG_1970.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGexcfPjjT83afZSVFfXl6rcyiwTaz5JPZ-e0xdR-LB3wDLILImgx9Z4vnKLmZTy74Re07LZo9DgRh7ZS5ivVsI8FrVSnE1UH8l7MfxypI5ELTe0y73ceigRZ6pWSV-sIBJaK_rSPDoO8/s320/IMG_1970.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542842130084750434" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">The guest season has officially begun!<br /></div><br />We are so excited to share our lives here with friends and family and have been looking forward to visitors coming. The prize for First Place goes to Jason and Amy, who were our first guests and spent 4 nights in the casita. Lucky for the rest of you they figured out how the shower works, discovered the leaky toilet, and rid the place of the World's Largest Spider. It was wonderful to have them here, and not just because they brought us an ICE CREAM MAKER (and a box load of other goodies).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKM8Xh44dEKlrwQfDcT-zobWgekRzA_Y8V1LtUV_8HONs7qU1vC022yt7MovsasQRS3h2yLq0KMLqNltE0yYNYLHF7dPufxKgjv8j5kkGILuqZFHxDD9Z5JMqbYVpvowPcnwe5kk4uWiI/s1600/IMG_1974.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKM8Xh44dEKlrwQfDcT-zobWgekRzA_Y8V1LtUV_8HONs7qU1vC022yt7MovsasQRS3h2yLq0KMLqNltE0yYNYLHF7dPufxKgjv8j5kkGILuqZFHxDD9Z5JMqbYVpvowPcnwe5kk4uWiI/s320/IMG_1974.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542846499643898482" border="0" /></a><br />We had a great time showing them around. They were lucky enough to be here for the hatching of the baby turtles so we all got up before dawn to drive (and successfully ford several large rivers) back to Ostional to see the results of the mama turtles' hard work a few months ago.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKVmfV00ihSaMFaSdiexITGDXTlgztUtElIzGOAz7N2EpF8_OVusmBCpyKiqv7x8GMP3R-LT5cl5HYZSG6d0kQ7c3lmYlKz9TDfBxs6z8Mg-oXBVcrU0MIJAadKtw7TmcISmu-nsbdAsI/s1600/DSCN0696.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKVmfV00ihSaMFaSdiexITGDXTlgztUtElIzGOAz7N2EpF8_OVusmBCpyKiqv7x8GMP3R-LT5cl5HYZSG6d0kQ7c3lmYlKz9TDfBxs6z8Mg-oXBVcrU0MIJAadKtw7TmcISmu-nsbdAsI/s200/DSCN0696.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542832940770227378" border="0" /></a> As the sun rose, baby turtles wriggled their way out of the sand by the dozens and we followed them as they made their long journey down the beach to the water. Volunteers stood watch, ready to chase vultures away, mark new nests with sticks, and gently assist babies that were stuck in holes or behind logs. Only about 1% of the hatchlings survive to adulthood, but we imagined these babies we saw enter the sea safely returning to this same beach decades later to lay their own eggs.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhoXPyFZGJHNWo_0qXwlrdo1l3Valyah7xGWMMYwodSAx2XzSwE_h7qr8TzQjJUtvp8XEzprEsHn8M0T-WL6vLs4gJsJFmwoGRQOx3qfrqOBNQHCZgmLWqQul2DguRxz3Y2CLoxevbPc/s1600/DSCN0712.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHhoXPyFZGJHNWo_0qXwlrdo1l3Valyah7xGWMMYwodSAx2XzSwE_h7qr8TzQjJUtvp8XEzprEsHn8M0T-WL6vLs4gJsJFmwoGRQOx3qfrqOBNQHCZgmLWqQul2DguRxz3Y2CLoxevbPc/s400/DSCN0712.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542834333397498290" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8FnzzoScE3tkfWWrlaNJAULKVyttkseJU2mVgYxo2mt9PkSPUjQs5M8BH_8ZL8rNLcBvovgnFS-kwEfbiKL8HQnX0BRj3fAnrd829FsKKRoWwEynKrsardVQ875mZ_24QHmMVFjAXV4/s1600/IMG_2007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8FnzzoScE3tkfWWrlaNJAULKVyttkseJU2mVgYxo2mt9PkSPUjQs5M8BH_8ZL8rNLcBvovgnFS-kwEfbiKL8HQnX0BRj3fAnrd829FsKKRoWwEynKrsardVQ875mZ_24QHmMVFjAXV4/s400/IMG_2007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542844358599308434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUUWj6ZFjmea0zmd0U62fwhRR14sBSH0DhnZeCjfKXasbTkI2_cbcZfMJJJ0pgVXMfM76beYs2poC4a-L2VfvcWMIV_slJvAA3QMYzKh0N1A_AlDl7gvUp9zBPhvQqr6sLb7cH5slA220/s1600/IMG_1937.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 112px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUUWj6ZFjmea0zmd0U62fwhRR14sBSH0DhnZeCjfKXasbTkI2_cbcZfMJJJ0pgVXMfM76beYs2poC4a-L2VfvcWMIV_slJvAA3QMYzKh0N1A_AlDl7gvUp9zBPhvQqr6sLb7cH5slA220/s200/IMG_1937.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542838924737926434" border="0" /></a>In addition to seeing the baby turtles, we took a surf lesson, went on the "longest in the world" zip line, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6gY9U1-526-08bDQSnSWH6aGcv1aTcYsWg3H4CnA6e4Cp8HWyHUsBJRruqrYSGlMYYhiyUEYdHppLyJ7cnubGaHpDGX71X3AOo7YHwhJ8atol_Z8u2tTAwI_jECfSBXu9zU4K897wOk/s1600/DSCN0728.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 186px; height: 139px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6gY9U1-526-08bDQSnSWH6aGcv1aTcYsWg3H4CnA6e4Cp8HWyHUsBJRruqrYSGlMYYhiyUEYdHppLyJ7cnubGaHpDGX71X3AOo7YHwhJ8atol_Z8u2tTAwI_jECfSBXu9zU4K897wOk/s200/DSCN0728.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542836641510556402" border="0" /></a>swam in the pool (Sadie finally met her match in Amy who spent an hour in the rain in the pool with her), cooked (and ate) lots of good food, and did some work around the house (Jason got to use his mad manly skills to hack down and haul away a tree that fell over on our driveway).<br /></div><br />Jason and Amy left on Sunday morning to explore more of Costa Rica and Ian's mom, Karen, arrived Sunday evening. It is wonderful having her here, and not just because she brought BINOCULARS and other goodies.<br /><br />We are doing our best to wear Karen out with our hectic schedule. Her first day here Ian took her at dawn to Ostional to see the hatchlings, and then she went with Sadie to school and had a tour, after which she rushed back out with me to go to boxing class, I then dropped her off back home and took off for a meeting of the school's Environmental Committee, and then brought the car back so Karen and Ian could rush off to the library in time for him to teach his class, and then they went for a walk on the beach, and then they picked up Sadie from school, and then...we let her rest for a few minutes while Sadie went to Ballet class and I went to Zumba. In between all this we all periodically rushed out to the balcony to try out the new binoculars. A ship! Monkeys! Birds! The Iguana! Surfers!<br /><br />Phew! I think we were all asleep by 8:30.<br /><br />We're trying have a more mellow day today - maybe some time actually spent just reading in a hammock. However, so far after taking Sadie to school we went for a 2 hour walk on the beach and now she and Ian are at Yoga class, and then there's surf club, and then....<br /><br />My mom comes next but before she gets to Nosara I'm meeting her for a mini adventure to the Osa Peninsula. I'm leaving the computer at home so no blog posting next week.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">We love having guests!<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_QCMAydrMmON0RL710dDtCuijbsgwlvQz4OxW2hl_SFqJBSQcwFJ_nNxdf9VZdIOkS0mmXn-5uzNdJYtgQyVcLqHrJOC9EIbhqOSYVblZi6fTrI6mi3SVx4x25BXi2UCKRYSNNafY5Y/s1600/Sadiestands.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 336px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu_QCMAydrMmON0RL710dDtCuijbsgwlvQz4OxW2hl_SFqJBSQcwFJ_nNxdf9VZdIOkS0mmXn-5uzNdJYtgQyVcLqHrJOC9EIbhqOSYVblZi6fTrI6mi3SVx4x25BXi2UCKRYSNNafY5Y/s400/Sadiestands.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542851169181640370" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-13395598733821093862010-11-15T12:20:00.000-08:002010-11-16T17:10:43.831-08:00Notes on Nicaragua<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9yks_zr8WKUZHyP7fBCrfAy6TJzqJhLHE1wY3rTU2KqX9GKvhd81d9_rSV5uMd3JwRugUI5I0_SjmrPpwOUkMNVU83kfaMobIT1KiUmxFasYLz6x712BosPywAjGnzNmkoqhbILI51-Q/s1600/DSCN0637.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9yks_zr8WKUZHyP7fBCrfAy6TJzqJhLHE1wY3rTU2KqX9GKvhd81d9_rSV5uMd3JwRugUI5I0_SjmrPpwOUkMNVU83kfaMobIT1KiUmxFasYLz6x712BosPywAjGnzNmkoqhbILI51-Q/s400/DSCN0637.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540254252360877506" border="0" /></a><br />We have successfully renewed our Costa Rican visas with a border run/visa vacation to Nicaragua. All three of us have the coveted "90 days" stamp in our passports once again. Along the way we learned a lot, stood in many lines, took many forms of transportation, saw many sights, ate lots of food, and became part of a Nicaraguan family.<br /><br />First, the border crossing. We chose to rent a car and drive it to the border where we turned it in to the rental agency on the Costa Rican side and then met our guide, Carlos, who walked with us across the border. Carlos helped us find the border in the chaos of trucks, cars, and people, and then bought the right people coca colas, helped us find and then fill out all the forms, and showed us which officials to show our passports to (some at gates, some at tables under a makeshift shade structure, some behind glass panes in unmarked buildings). My one piece of advice for those who wish to cross the border? Bring a pen. There are many forms to fill out but not a pen to be found.<br /><br />After we negotiated the dusty expanse that is the border between Costa Rica and Nicaragua, Carlos led us to his car and drove us an hour or so to Granada. Granada is a fascinating city. It is busy and loud and colorful and restored and falling apart and rich and poor. Despite its attraction as a beautiful colonial city for tourists, and the accompanying mass of hotels, horse drawn carriage tours, souvenir shops and restaurants, Granada is still very much a real city inhabited by all kinds of people. The streets are full of dirty sad-eyed children asking for money, of young men riding bikes with their girlfriends perched sidesaddle between their arms, of people raising children and working and playing. At night, folks open their front doors and drag chairs outside to the porch, sidewalk or dirt in front of their house and sit and talk for hours.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2AJEonFTxEmkfc5mEPnlZLMiaD9azqSA0lZfNMYonHBtsjgKWJx60GXSIRu3xFNhQFmgQucVDzEd3iWr7zZed2wfE_noriuryR9Pbj0LzVzLD7pgu7Bo7WPZxE_U5uEYg5p2XlqBl2I/s1600/DSCN0601.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw2AJEonFTxEmkfc5mEPnlZLMiaD9azqSA0lZfNMYonHBtsjgKWJx60GXSIRu3xFNhQFmgQucVDzEd3iWr7zZed2wfE_noriuryR9Pbj0LzVzLD7pgu7Bo7WPZxE_U5uEYg5p2XlqBl2I/s400/DSCN0601.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540244349552153490" border="0" /></a><br />The architecture is amazing, just like the guide books say. Some old houses are lovingly restored with an amazing attention to detail, others are barely standing, and many are somewhere in between (a church that looks abandoned on the outside yet is immaculate inside, colonial residences on the plaza with beautiful paint jobs and garish modern flood lights bolted awkwardly along the roof lines, bland exteriors that open up into magical lush inner courtyards). It is a walking city, but as we were traveling with a 7 year old, we didn't walk too much, choosing instead to take advantage of a slow but more relaxing method of touring the city.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmFxYxFOxlXGyNffTXyBf1UdXTBskyh1KkrkoU9jbttHJom829GnOtyuOi_v5m6GfH8Duk6HesvI5sBpVOPFQkLKA19FgBL047IJwgQgBrfK6xktOgBcnWPo4-0QGKuX_v1Ggo2a23Bw/s1600/DSCN0590.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjmFxYxFOxlXGyNffTXyBf1UdXTBskyh1KkrkoU9jbttHJom829GnOtyuOi_v5m6GfH8Duk6HesvI5sBpVOPFQkLKA19FgBL047IJwgQgBrfK6xktOgBcnWPo4-0QGKuX_v1Ggo2a23Bw/s400/DSCN0590.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540247042113743186" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh761YO4sQ5xZf8Vd-3afwo-XS73SQ0h-mwLpdb4KbZFG9W1MF8W-gfdhbSryNGEPNo352-pZyEaFBLhyphenhyphenoV3ew2vHg7pWLspIX8xJrSaSqWnJEHr_LBkbNmBK4tNPsRiqlmaLuHKIpMZs/s1600/DSCN0596.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh761YO4sQ5xZf8Vd-3afwo-XS73SQ0h-mwLpdb4KbZFG9W1MF8W-gfdhbSryNGEPNo352-pZyEaFBLhyphenhyphenoV3ew2vHg7pWLspIX8xJrSaSqWnJEHr_LBkbNmBK4tNPsRiqlmaLuHKIpMZs/s400/DSCN0596.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540246387704735778" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7X2uOpi8Xk3AjADKnx5c_FS2R6VjZQMOx9cYAmYWawj7YaYZ938U5RgMzVnw1AV3q-BWA8Ip1dY5tlSFc35S7hzkJGDgVmxrx3wm0VwYaZbYoaGjc6IAusMXOIAhEHLmik_P3Vj3wzEs/s1600/DSCN0606.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7X2uOpi8Xk3AjADKnx5c_FS2R6VjZQMOx9cYAmYWawj7YaYZ938U5RgMzVnw1AV3q-BWA8Ip1dY5tlSFc35S7hzkJGDgVmxrx3wm0VwYaZbYoaGjc6IAusMXOIAhEHLmik_P3Vj3wzEs/s400/DSCN0606.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540247559059713250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtHSY2_-GoMhANoBXfs8YPqte6fxFrQxxAt1T1Zrdd7oIQDcjvqQ7xMGjz0ehhk13aP1sFooOx4n-Qu3mQqog4DOqGt96vrkRhDnvTm9l1SQTugo_rZs_yQKU0ot3YyX3lmZfKQJ2S2g/s1600/DSCN0602.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgtHSY2_-GoMhANoBXfs8YPqte6fxFrQxxAt1T1Zrdd7oIQDcjvqQ7xMGjz0ehhk13aP1sFooOx4n-Qu3mQqog4DOqGt96vrkRhDnvTm9l1SQTugo_rZs_yQKU0ot3YyX3lmZfKQJ2S2g/s400/DSCN0602.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540244873904269810" border="0" /></a><br />We took a lovely boat tour of Las Isletas, a chain of 350 or so little islands in Lake Nicaragua, formed 10,000 years ago with the eruption of a nearby volcano. Though the islands were historically the home of the poorest of Granada's residences, they now are mostly home to the rich (the rum barons, the expats, etc.).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLqIgzPc2GESx4IXpQtnVA7fRBEQYF-NzEXTe6cJqAtKuFpVg1VCW-pxe9VWe5UCRpe1fVLyYzQquNvTWWEEpP-AvfXEjNhXBiP3yP1pvNZ4EHzZm5e-PqJUJaFzOUtNTIhZ_gp1cxEE0/s1600/DSCN0612.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLqIgzPc2GESx4IXpQtnVA7fRBEQYF-NzEXTe6cJqAtKuFpVg1VCW-pxe9VWe5UCRpe1fVLyYzQquNvTWWEEpP-AvfXEjNhXBiP3yP1pvNZ4EHzZm5e-PqJUJaFzOUtNTIhZ_gp1cxEE0/s400/DSCN0612.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540248393848136306" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">We ate lots of good food.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNPTRbiOTHtOPkBZ80CT69m6Bdy-B72KDoZHN-A9g7C42OdfwTP3oMUmuDQjdjPjfQSbyJVL7_fTv3-O_dHinCySIj_T_p9QKZRJA7LKdTdNdaMbK4EaycXQF7pY9eyVXueqk9k30QQo/s1600/DSCN0624.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKNPTRbiOTHtOPkBZ80CT69m6Bdy-B72KDoZHN-A9g7C42OdfwTP3oMUmuDQjdjPjfQSbyJVL7_fTv3-O_dHinCySIj_T_p9QKZRJA7LKdTdNdaMbK4EaycXQF7pY9eyVXueqk9k30QQo/s320/DSCN0624.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540257039964492434" border="0" /></a>Lots of fish.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TfH_QBGnhxunSi_BD-o7aF-YDbB9TRbqDGuRzv_ONCg6wLDSHotZfqoksn74RWIQ2IPeCJJdfYOmIwMC9e-TagKXXlJKChcBmcTEDuv_rWP0hnx_myeW6kaTMWeoCcu4EfAb8OXpPxA/s1600/DSCN0621.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3TfH_QBGnhxunSi_BD-o7aF-YDbB9TRbqDGuRzv_ONCg6wLDSHotZfqoksn74RWIQ2IPeCJJdfYOmIwMC9e-TagKXXlJKChcBmcTEDuv_rWP0hnx_myeW6kaTMWeoCcu4EfAb8OXpPxA/s320/DSCN0621.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540259161226893122" border="0" /></a><br />On Saturday we hired a taxi to drive us an hour or so to the small town of Pio XII ("Pio Doce"). When Ian was 19 years old, he was part of a group of americans who came to Pio XII to live with host families and help build a school for a month. He hasn't been back since and wanted to see the school and the town since we were so close. We looked around at the school (still standing and very much in use, though it already looks 100 years old), and wandered around the town for a bit. Ian didn't remember the names of anyone in his host family, with the exception of one of the kids, Oscar. On a whim, Ian asked some kids in the street if there was an Oscar who lived around here.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDEuqfME7MGeu988coVJNL-wNiWrRcfKXBKfanWdRXZlQqXEgGHP09oYyXKPMumGjBLLsK7_Es6pMMmMLm64LLRqTok1dVwjeOYCl9xOOIo_sFusleV_WGFbtWuKlw4Byj_NeDA7UueA/s1600/DSCN0649.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjDEuqfME7MGeu988coVJNL-wNiWrRcfKXBKfanWdRXZlQqXEgGHP09oYyXKPMumGjBLLsK7_Es6pMMmMLm64LLRqTok1dVwjeOYCl9xOOIo_sFusleV_WGFbtWuKlw4Byj_NeDA7UueA/s400/DSCN0649.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540251565820457506" border="0" /></a><br />The rest of the story is really Ian's to tell so I'll let him give you the full version some day over a beer or an ice cream cone. The short version is that we found the family. The kids had grown up, but they were all there (with the exception of the father who had passed away 2 months ago). Not only were they still there, but they remembered Ian and that time clearly. Even those who were only babies at the time had grown up knowing the story of when the gringos came to live in Pio XII to build the school at the tail end of the Nicaraguan revolution.<br /><br />There were lots of tears, lots of kisses. Ian apologized time and time again for not having contacted them in 20 years. I apologized time and time again for bringing to them only one child (and let me tell you, I also wished my one child had washed her hair). Most of the conversations were lost on me as they were entirely in spanish, but I would periodically hear "veinte anos!" and "un solo hijo!" Lo siento, I'm sorry.<br /><br />The matriarch of the family, Mama, was surrounded by her children and grandchildren, who all stayed in Pio XII and simply built more homes adjacent to one another. They live together, play together, eat together and raise children together. They all welcomed us into their homes and hearts, fed us piles and piles of food, gave us presents, hugged us over and over. We became Juancito, Catarina and La Nina and our family instantly grew by another dozen or so people - mi familia es su familia. Juancito and his new hermano (brother), Oscar, have talked on the phone several times since we've been back and plans are being made for future visits.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_a9MJPS_hQ1WQsNB2STZfdzjkXh-oAcwKeQlUA1qA8JsC7vsmHBuqBOJPZndf6-KqsMj7bA8-K1CWED1n3zTP0uk3hUAVaRKh2C6wjiitDtdKaQSoHIYeqBXCaoKSRJhX0foQwld3X4/s1600/DSCN0667.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ_a9MJPS_hQ1WQsNB2STZfdzjkXh-oAcwKeQlUA1qA8JsC7vsmHBuqBOJPZndf6-KqsMj7bA8-K1CWED1n3zTP0uk3hUAVaRKh2C6wjiitDtdKaQSoHIYeqBXCaoKSRJhX0foQwld3X4/s400/DSCN0667.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540252644014272562" border="0" /></a><br />It was an amazing experience - fun, exhausting, humbling, and intense - which we were wholly unprepared for. Much like Nicaragua itself, a country so very different from Costa Rica, despite the fact that where we live was part of Nicaragua until 1825. On the way back to Nosara we reflected on how different our family sabbatical would have been had we chosen Nicaragua instead of Costa Rica - what we are missing culturally by living in an expat-dominated beach community. By the end of the trip, however, we were glad to make our way back to the steamy jungle, to the monkeys and our quiet treehouse with the incredible ocean view. For now, this is the right place to be.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">See you in February, Nicaragua.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8cYz6ad7lPKQ8h3FpeMG6mkIchn6Sop5z4pNu6mZ5PwlKaQLDLQJB2NGpHojiwL5dZFgn3t5jiLoCGnNmZrKERzHxZuFNNTKSgc-7lMc5xZqbMoowtb64I1Cqe9ySZYT6Tzc2iQzFCI/s1600/DSCN0662.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU8cYz6ad7lPKQ8h3FpeMG6mkIchn6Sop5z4pNu6mZ5PwlKaQLDLQJB2NGpHojiwL5dZFgn3t5jiLoCGnNmZrKERzHxZuFNNTKSgc-7lMc5xZqbMoowtb64I1Cqe9ySZYT6Tzc2iQzFCI/s400/DSCN0662.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540255097489880850" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-43763091681262379962010-11-09T04:03:00.000-08:002010-11-10T03:52:16.090-08:00IncomunicadosI was supposed to write this week's entry from the balcony of a restored colonial hotel in Granada, Nicaragua. Instead, I am sitting at a little blue table in the back of the library in Nosara. It is sunny and hot outside and the library is full of kids – reading, using the computers, studying. Ian is sitting on a nearby couch helping a local woman study for the English portion of an upcoming exam. He has just spent an hour with a group of 2nd graders, leading them in a discussion about books they were required to read (he has found that teaching 7 year olds requires an entirely different Spanish vocabulary than he has currently been using).<br /><br />Life in Nosara seems to have returned to normal, or close to it, after Tropical Storm Tomas decided to pay us a visit last week.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3cEz-keUJCLk64A1wUJf2kOfNj5H-20YTzj4B21GAD4QdTaRHAIzQOliWhSfHHte58yRa83fwIr8v9gE__AMwZ-LrLoyVoAOPzV7xEGtc-Yok1gSzP449501dq_y6R17v4FRFsSlKdXM/s1600/149745_163388240358486_100000619323607_383568_5824880_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3cEz-keUJCLk64A1wUJf2kOfNj5H-20YTzj4B21GAD4QdTaRHAIzQOliWhSfHHte58yRa83fwIr8v9gE__AMwZ-LrLoyVoAOPzV7xEGtc-Yok1gSzP449501dq_y6R17v4FRFsSlKdXM/s400/149745_163388240358486_100000619323607_383568_5824880_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537530082400772098" border="0" /></a><br />Just days ago we were deluged with nonstop torrential rain. The rivers rose, roads flooded, mud slid. Close to San Jose, a massive mudslide killed 23 people. Here in Nosara, fallen trees cut off all land line, cell phone and internet connections, rains washed away roads and bridges, storms made takeoffs and landings by plane impossible. For a moment in time we were completely cut off. No way to get in or out of the town and no way to communicate with each other, let alone the rest of the country or world. People made trips to the grocery store to stock up on rice and beans and lined up their cars as close as they could get to the flooded gas station, walking the rest of the way through thigh-deep water to fill up 5 gallon jugs of gas. Dozens of people were evacuated from flooded homes to temporary shelters.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDNFK6LFu8zQdXGMOYhTbr2bwpt-XxDAI4rnOc1Xyv5heAnh1dvgAVT0oVX91NptrtTiUfKILivwWJXtjbM8aC_Y1ZjTROoyFoFyOdz-C5Gv4zxI_Uw4Ohcv8DqPmDt0s_NJx8uO8LqE/s1600/149644_163388877025089_100000619323607_383570_3515425_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipDNFK6LFu8zQdXGMOYhTbr2bwpt-XxDAI4rnOc1Xyv5heAnh1dvgAVT0oVX91NptrtTiUfKILivwWJXtjbM8aC_Y1ZjTROoyFoFyOdz-C5Gv4zxI_Uw4Ohcv8DqPmDt0s_NJx8uO8LqE/s400/149644_163388877025089_100000619323607_383570_3515425_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537530593218727202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7tJ3pi6RzAJeIndSEjAvzN0JLjHXQOuuTHGiBJSNN39t9SCoqG74iojuDLrvvMxneqQbNNLVKOIsFxPZLOXxTqxPQ41NCBZull4qnbrHbhLDZinf6NraOSU0Le9n99ysFc4MAWtFlmFM/s1600/73874_163332530364057_100000619323607_383179_3243731_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7tJ3pi6RzAJeIndSEjAvzN0JLjHXQOuuTHGiBJSNN39t9SCoqG74iojuDLrvvMxneqQbNNLVKOIsFxPZLOXxTqxPQ41NCBZull4qnbrHbhLDZinf6NraOSU0Le9n99ysFc4MAWtFlmFM/s400/73874_163332530364057_100000619323607_383179_3243731_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537530374452430978" border="0" /></a><br />Initially I was selfishly focused on the frustration of not being able to leave the country for our planned weekend trip to Nicaragua. Surely we weren’t really physically unable to leave Nosara, right? Once we fully grasped the situation and abandoned the idea of a Nicaraguan weekend, I focused more on the strange and novel experience of being isolated. Something I’ve never felt before. I’ve experienced natural disasters, most notably the earthquake of 1989, but even then we weren’t trapped. Supplies could get to us, help could come.<br /><br />Yes, I know we live in a rural jungle area. Yes, I know that Costa Rica is not the United States and I know that in Costa Rica, Nosara is not San Jose. And yes, I know the state of the roads that lead from here to there. But, still. Was it really truly impossible for deliveries of food to make it to town? When the grocery stores ran out of rice, when the gas station ran out of gas, would there really be no more? Did that woman in labor stuck in the mud at the top of the mountain pass really have to have her baby there? Yes, she did. And a half dozen men gallantly hoisted her and her newborn on a stretcher on their shoulders and walked through knee deep mud as far as they had to go to meet an ambulance who could take them the rest of the way to the hospital.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvphmzkukHUzPe3UoGMZcPwuT9Po17kCncQJtQGmII9iHWoSbTYqK_qWQHYOnhNE2ZzTlJJ2I97bksfEGRlrKrKz5G0kb_5R_iB8Nw1bmyjoAmXOqc1blD4KWZtfafZGRD-vEKEjzBo6o/s1600/GetFile.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvphmzkukHUzPe3UoGMZcPwuT9Po17kCncQJtQGmII9iHWoSbTYqK_qWQHYOnhNE2ZzTlJJ2I97bksfEGRlrKrKz5G0kb_5R_iB8Nw1bmyjoAmXOqc1blD4KWZtfafZGRD-vEKEjzBo6o/s400/GetFile.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537530897270815698" border="0" /></a><br />It wasn’t that I was scared or worried per say (unless I focused hard on the possibility of Sadie suffering some major health issue). Mostly I was struck by the foreignness of the isolation for me. I’ve lived my whole life in big cities. I’ve never felt what so many others have felt when nature stands takes over. Catastrophes of that scale had never seemed quite real to me. For the first time, I had the slightest inkling of how unbelievably strange and frightening it must have felt for the residents of New Orleans and other places so dramatically affected by Katrina. The disbelief that it wasn’t possible to simply just evacuate people. It probably didn’t help that one of the books I recently read here was Dave Eggers' Zeitoun (the true story of the unthinkable behavior of our government towards its own people - the massive failure of the U.S. to successfully manage a crisis). The fragility of both infrastructure and governments was on my mind.<br /><br />But back to Nosara. Life in a small town. Information was passed through the town person by person, quite effectively, until we got internet and phone service back. At that point, information was distributed most effectively through facebook postings. Our local online newspaper, Voz de Nosara, diligently posted updates on what roads were open and closed and when we could expect short term and long term fixes. Though the country promised a replacement bridge in 22 days, within one day, the river had receded enough for people to hand carry crates of food from a truck on one side to a waiting truck on the other. Within two days, enough material was placed in the river to allow 4 x 4 vehicle access across. Soon trucks will be able to make it as well.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMp7ZYkcePnbDU9PouV8oZT6FhSOx0Mh8owYM2DcMM5boaeWeesyjgdhKD5g4sj6fCkrn0tZg1PxTvqbrysbykmY9glF-UstcQWozL_gX6gcrEZZ7P5U4Vq-OAiOXWgoUFu4DpGmBnKA/s1600/regionals_rio_frio.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisMp7ZYkcePnbDU9PouV8oZT6FhSOx0Mh8owYM2DcMM5boaeWeesyjgdhKD5g4sj6fCkrn0tZg1PxTvqbrysbykmY9glF-UstcQWozL_gX6gcrEZZ7P5U4Vq-OAiOXWgoUFu4DpGmBnKA/s400/regionals_rio_frio.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537531132340317138" border="0" /></a><br />Nearby small towns are still isolated by muddy roads and destroyed bridges. Residents can’t get to their jobs in bigger towns and now have no money to buy the groceries that may come to the stores on the shoulders of men. The damage for many from Tomas will be long lived (here and in other countries). But for us in Nosara, it already seems like the distant past. The sky is sunny, the roads are dry and dusty, tourists are arriving by the dozens, and the library is full. We leave for Nicaragua on Thursday.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-6560639180231913252010-10-31T12:57:00.000-07:002010-11-01T07:05:22.063-07:00Happy Halloween!We made it to two months! We had to buy roundtrip flights when we moved here and thus have 3 tickets from Costa Rica to San Francisco for next week. I'm happy to report, however, that we will not be using them. We're gonna stick it out.<br /><br />Monday marks the official beginning of the dry season. The "high" season. Stores and restaurants we've never seen will begin opening their doors next week, the rains will taper down, and the tourists will start to arrive. It will be an interesting transition to watch and live.<br /><br />But this weekend, it's Halloween! Yes, you are absolutely correct, Costa Rica as a country does not celebrate Halloween. Nosara, however, does. Sort of. If you don't have kids or can get a babysitter you can head over to the Gilded Iguana for food and drinks and live music, then gather up your sequins and tiaras and caravan to La Banana for the afterparty (disco ball and DJ from 10 pm on). For kids, not so much. Trick or treating around the neighborhoods? Nope. None of that. But if you have kids at Del Mar Academy, you costume them up and head to Paseo del Sol.<br /><br />Paseo del Sol is a small gated residential community near the school. The residents and volunteers from the school and the community generously and kindly put together a yearly Halloween event for the kids at the school. Naturally Sadie was super excited. Like most kids, she loves Halloween and if she couldn't have Gilbert Street this year, she'd have Paseo del Sol!<br /><br />Truth be told however, Halloween in general tends to cause me more than a little bit of anxiety. It's the pressure. Yes, I do have over fifteen years of experience costuming Halloween party goers at a vintage clothing store in Berkeley (yes, of course I can make you into a slutty flapper/manly pirate). But now, as a mom, I have a major fear of Halloween failure. What if my child requests to be something that will require me to dig deep for some creativity and DIYness!?! What if I have to <span style="font-style: italic;">make </span>something!?! Around August, I start pestering Sadie for what she wants to be for Halloween, in order to give myself plenty of time to worry, stress, and, most importantly, spend time on various Martha Stewartish websites studying directions for how to make ears or tails or robot parts or a tiger face (thank goodness I became a mother in the age of the internet). I try to push her towards costumes that require virtually nothing on my part (How about a flamenco dancer with that dress you already have? How about you just wear your ballet clothes and go as a famous ballerina?). Sometimes this tack works but, more often than not, she has no idea what she wants to be until a few days before when she announces she'd like to be a "snow scarf queen" or some such terror-inducing (for me) impossible-to-get-right costume. The one year she went as Angelina Ballerina and I made her ears and the tail I was so full of pride that I wanted her to wear that costume every day for the rest of her life.<br /><br />You get the point. I'm not effortlessly crafty like so many of you out there. So, here we are in Costa Rica. Not knowing if there was going to be any Halloween activities here and trying to keep our luggage to the minimum, we didn't bring anything with us (except for ballet clothes - you can guess how far that suggestion went). Of course there is no Target here, no Super Longs, no place to buy pipe cleaners or glitter or material or face paint. I start to sweat.<br /><br />Sadie's first choice was a vampire. Okay, I can work with that. Black clothes, red lipstick for blood, um.... I spend a day or two looking up pictures of vampires on the internet, wondering how far away from the classic look I can convince Sadie to go. A few days before Halloween she changes her mind and wants to be a bat. A vampire bat. Okay, okay, I can do this. We can do this.<br /><br />And we did!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeU11Qzdrqc4979z11Yy0B3a3ReqPAFCJkxEYXBY8hvtJPVMeESxj-Ln2DolYRgbnbHjcyrQC7kSlANhrTFzA13xf9Lid0_SMQjBXM3ipvH3tLWs3WWogzA2FuhyBQYOk-mt-djtiIN60/s1600/bat.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeU11Qzdrqc4979z11Yy0B3a3ReqPAFCJkxEYXBY8hvtJPVMeESxj-Ln2DolYRgbnbHjcyrQC7kSlANhrTFzA13xf9Lid0_SMQjBXM3ipvH3tLWs3WWogzA2FuhyBQYOk-mt-djtiIN60/s400/bat.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534400564145867090" border="0" /></a><br />Sadie and I make a complete bat costume from a black umbrella, an old black t-shirt we cut up, a black hat, safety pins, tape, and a cardboard box. Yes, we are very proud. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXePbheWXNVpqIUqjpAydXmzICa2ZCnIMSbsnxdguY9Q23tc8tT6gmOmoYi8084kZUvZz9fIO3qRfhw6okom_Krc-vQP6TKf5RQkBPI2pn4TzNzBpcdBpk9EodMPC6_geoYyL951TWPU0/s1600/MakeTrees.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXePbheWXNVpqIUqjpAydXmzICa2ZCnIMSbsnxdguY9Q23tc8tT6gmOmoYi8084kZUvZz9fIO3qRfhw6okom_Krc-vQP6TKf5RQkBPI2pn4TzNzBpcdBpk9EodMPC6_geoYyL951TWPU0/s200/MakeTrees.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534399943639633330" border="0" /></a>Sadie wants Ian and I to carry her around upside down from a stick so I get the fabulous idea for us to dress up like trees. I send Ian to an adjacent tree with the machete, stick branches in our hats, make leaf bracelets, dig up some brown clothes, and we are good to go!<br /><br />Except Sadie gets sick. She is sent home from school Thursday with a runny nose and by Saturday the cold is deep in her lungs, we have broken out the albuterol inhaler, and she is running a low grade fever. But this is Halloween! She'll be so disappointed to miss out on the one thing that <span style="font-style: italic;">everyone</span> at school is doing! We make her rest all day, fill her up with tea and vitamin C and water, and hope for the best. At 4:30 we dose her with some Robitussin I find in the fridge, apparently left by the previous renters (the good stuff, the stuff for kids they no longer sell in the States for reasons I choose not to recall). Hoping the mystery bottle in the fridge really is Robitussin, ignoring the fever, praying the cough will subside enough for her to say "trick or treat" without hacking, and admonishing her to not touch anybody, we get our costumes on and head out the door. Responsible parenting at its best. But did I mention that we made her black candy bag out of a t-shirt and that it even had <span style="font-style: italic;">handles</span>? And we were <span style="font-style: italic;">mango</span> trees! We had to go!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFroPiTJKWZ14jS7ZR2LEWTmCq7iA2E0deCEK-ULCAbzvr4l_KHnd0zXGKElNhC2sImNbN0A_yzRX3Lmk6tI-rJrzdkFXmFYjhtWYxpfrG7crMbgOu566b5nfTLGnqnrvpgkIDFbc1f0/s1600/tree.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikFroPiTJKWZ14jS7ZR2LEWTmCq7iA2E0deCEK-ULCAbzvr4l_KHnd0zXGKElNhC2sImNbN0A_yzRX3Lmk6tI-rJrzdkFXmFYjhtWYxpfrG7crMbgOu566b5nfTLGnqnrvpgkIDFbc1f0/s320/tree.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534400960660979170" border="0" /></a><br />They put on a lovely event at Paseo del sol. The costumes on the kids and the adults were wonderful and creative and there were 7 or so homes to trick or treat at. Sadie made it to one walkway hanging upside down from our arms but quickly realized: 1) it's hard to figure out how to hold a bag right side up when you are upside down, and; 2) going upside down when you have a bad cold and a fever really doesn't feel very good. She hit the other houses right side up, but rest assured didn't miss a one. At the end of the street, music was blasting and beer and pizza were being sold to benefit the school's scholarship committee. Not hungry for pizza of course, Sadie had a lollipop and a cookie for dinner (again, responsible parenting) and stood rather dazed in the street while the other kids played tag around her until we convinced her it was time to go home. The candy went in the fridge and the bat was asleep by 7:30.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvtcQCZOIQF6XK6BcbwO0hhz1oZCM5ndkn1H9nzD4XQVe1rKGwvbPqmQa3lnq_p_5xU69AcyWATvtl7wDuxmJiulkFP2DzzvZfmIVZerXsK8SIHajIZ8vkHeMI69KrYRouZSC65M4ouk/s1600/treeandbat.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvtcQCZOIQF6XK6BcbwO0hhz1oZCM5ndkn1H9nzD4XQVe1rKGwvbPqmQa3lnq_p_5xU69AcyWATvtl7wDuxmJiulkFP2DzzvZfmIVZerXsK8SIHajIZ8vkHeMI69KrYRouZSC65M4ouk/s400/treeandbat.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534401503386443730" border="0" /></a><br />I'm hoping that since the costume only got 1 hour of display time, maybe I can convince her to wear it again next year.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Happy Halloween everyone!<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCf0ZKbFHguWu2fv6fzMFgHT5PLYfDuyiHMlJJYyTPwKzquA3Y0HQzlQ4uKG0qz7qWJtPJQs6LuiMwXm-5C7MO9y1kOoMvg9j6rdgpux1E8_InIa9bG_z2v6dEdEy4haGp0dgdo6uHGKE/s1600/bateatsberrybear.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCf0ZKbFHguWu2fv6fzMFgHT5PLYfDuyiHMlJJYyTPwKzquA3Y0HQzlQ4uKG0qz7qWJtPJQs6LuiMwXm-5C7MO9y1kOoMvg9j6rdgpux1E8_InIa9bG_z2v6dEdEy4haGp0dgdo6uHGKE/s400/bateatsberrybear.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534402086132686466" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-18356051308184941472010-10-25T15:45:00.000-07:002010-10-27T08:33:45.781-07:00Don't BlinkI've had a draft of this post in the works for weeks. I think about it periodically, maybe jot down a sentence or two, but can never seem to complete it, choosing instead to bump it down the road in favor of other topics. So I sat down today to figure why I can't finish it, and in the process, do exactly that. Who says my life here isn't challenging?<br /><br />There is a particular quality about this place that I can't quite put my finger on, try as I might. The quality is one of motion, of change, of fluidity, of predictable unpredictability - a phenomenon that challenges my powers of articulate description.<br /><br />It seems ironic that in this place where my life is so very low key, where I am grounded (albeit sometimes unwillingly) by simplicity, it is amidst a perpetually moving backdrop. But there you go.<br /><br />Nosara seems to be defined by a constant state of flux. There are the environmental factors, for one. The ocean, though predictably there every day, never looks the same. Waves change shape, offshore breaks come and go, the color changes from blue to gray to brown to green. One day water rushes out of the jungle carving a deep wide river that meets the sea, and then is gone without a trace the next day. The sand shifts, covering and uncovering rocks, building and removing hills and valleys. The jungle itself is a breathing living thing. Thousands of insects are born and die every day, trees grow at an astounding rate, vultures make quick work of the larger dead, and decomposition changes the ground beneath my feet at a pace I am consistently amazed at. Even the howler monkeys change routes periodically, apparently in response to a toxin the trees create.<br /><br />Then there is the town and its inhabitants. The roads, for example, exist in a state of continual degradation,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkG46YUD-QrmZMspottpW9sY25j1vsR6OVpz8GJFafsIUyh623JKkRc5J0DKoa-i3O66Lx2VcnYyhe-wm0rXpRsosZbsNmLXEu40afhoQHdkbE45pefR_H76JM0SOKn0_M1Ox-mGG5oI/s1600/badstate.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkG46YUD-QrmZMspottpW9sY25j1vsR6OVpz8GJFafsIUyh623JKkRc5J0DKoa-i3O66Lx2VcnYyhe-wm0rXpRsosZbsNmLXEu40afhoQHdkbE45pefR_H76JM0SOKn0_M1Ox-mGG5oI/s200/badstate.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532093686358775570" border="0" /></a> followed by unexplained bursts of isolated fixes, followed again by a steady disrepair. The predictable nature of this cycle is such that the signs are permanent (literally, "the road is in a bad state" - indeed). Bridges get washed out, are rebuilt and are washed out once more.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU70ebIqD0C2vx1go7D0fMec_YQHM_keHfTVE5gomsxOwj3ikaO6hIZdMUKcbYhlvfMnjh57gXWJ6TM4-q2e13bNlS2VqNs2ergMi7vdT6MctJ64iLzyu5g_T4-YQa9PoH7AlNRESVxzc/s1600/badroad.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU70ebIqD0C2vx1go7D0fMec_YQHM_keHfTVE5gomsxOwj3ikaO6hIZdMUKcbYhlvfMnjh57gXWJ6TM4-q2e13bNlS2VqNs2ergMi7vdT6MctJ64iLzyu5g_T4-YQa9PoH7AlNRESVxzc/s320/badroad.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532092894028730594" border="0" /></a>All over town there are buildings are half built and abandoned, or perhaps they are fully completed and now half disintegrated - the jungle is a formidable foe of development. For sale ("se vende") signs are everywhere - on empty plots of land, on peeling billboards showing fancy condos that may or may not ever have been built, at construction sites, on fully operational hotels. Everything is for sale here and whether or not it ever sells seems to not be of critical importance. Our house is for sale and has been for several years. A mere million and it's yours.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgER62G3wBbV7iRWfz8hDt9tO5_IlX9ED3jOUOO4dq7D8y31JApoyjvZGej5XipH2S4kq827gTC62ZAjj59Kg22w6lV5DpL8-_F1_Gt61lQStPNkBG8DW77LMs0_Ua9j_BMTb5416cWHa8/s1600/se+vende2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgER62G3wBbV7iRWfz8hDt9tO5_IlX9ED3jOUOO4dq7D8y31JApoyjvZGej5XipH2S4kq827gTC62ZAjj59Kg22w6lV5DpL8-_F1_Gt61lQStPNkBG8DW77LMs0_Ua9j_BMTb5416cWHa8/s320/se+vende2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532094502405869282" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDJkTOJNtVogvRBm9d0CLvy4Pi99LV77yI4n6tNQGJToegB73u4egFVHefBpitvCOjGnoS7Kn0TrVXzZMEPEIXWZtYfIy_SF5R5OZRI4E8zxEA97r6sHeCqLhy5YiBUjj-1UeaWw4WcyQ/s1600/se+vende+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDJkTOJNtVogvRBm9d0CLvy4Pi99LV77yI4n6tNQGJToegB73u4egFVHefBpitvCOjGnoS7Kn0TrVXzZMEPEIXWZtYfIy_SF5R5OZRI4E8zxEA97r6sHeCqLhy5YiBUjj-1UeaWw4WcyQ/s400/se+vende+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532095621050567874" border="0" /></a><br />Opportunity is here for the taking. Want to start a business? Build a hotel? Sell boats? Import cars? Of course, failure is rampant as well. Restaurants and businesses come and go by the season. Most people I meet here come from somewhere else. And most have plans to go somewhere and do something else eventually. This is the land of reinvention. From a lawyer to a real estate agent to an ice cream maker. No one seems to be defined by their profession because, after all, who knows what it will be tomorrow?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixxx6FdvMJDflu84Tyd_9YXaiZmt7VyaW3ma5Eccm9uESd5hvv8ziE6SDQs34nRxASFhYseDhTBlnW2zh0GfpYjDFQNQSk-wJEEQo13LOieUSVp2-I2MDE4iTA157r5frCPJ6u_yBv0c/s1600/no+building.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixxx6FdvMJDflu84Tyd_9YXaiZmt7VyaW3ma5Eccm9uESd5hvv8ziE6SDQs34nRxASFhYseDhTBlnW2zh0GfpYjDFQNQSk-wJEEQo13LOieUSVp2-I2MDE4iTA157r5frCPJ6u_yBv0c/s400/no+building.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532096220148201426" border="0" /></a><br />In some ways living amidst all this change is unnerving. How can I get my bearings in this place when it is always in flux? How can I carve my niche where niches come and go with the weather? Will everything and everyone please just stay still for a minute? What sort of place is this where the resident iquana is the only thing I can count on day after day? We've named him Izzy (short for Israel) and he is a beacon of steadfast and dogged tenacity. He never moves from his branch and for that I am often grateful.<br /><br />At other times, I find this constant state of change rather reassuring, in the way that less than desirable behavior from children is reassuring. That is, you can always blame your child's backtalking snottiness on a "phase" and look forward with certainty to the end of the distasteful but surely temporary state. The old adage about weather applies to the entire ecosystem here - if you don't like Nosara just wait five minutes.<br /><br />In addition, I am struck by the amazing way in which humans and nature are intertwined here. Sometimes they fight, sometimes change in one is a direct response to change in the other, sometimes there is mutual assistance, and sometimes they seem to simply pass and wave to each other hurriedly on the way to somewhere else. It is ecosystem-based living in a way that I am enjoying participating in.<br /><br />And finally, of course (predictably), there is the intriguing nature of change itself. Change is inspiring in its possibilities for innovation and transformation, for renovation and refinement, for evolution or revolution. I think even Izzy can appreciate that.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3IMIrRG-Fd76LFHokpjRuv3vMrrlAqpEZf2ABx9OqHg6pkLC02te5k3eSb-_ejWjZ_KjxgZ9B6q4RSgiix84HqZFVxlz304me6r3A2s5fjzGKrMdahtJJWZenkXQDEV4P_5J5EYQ4uA/s1600/izzy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3IMIrRG-Fd76LFHokpjRuv3vMrrlAqpEZf2ABx9OqHg6pkLC02te5k3eSb-_ejWjZ_KjxgZ9B6q4RSgiix84HqZFVxlz304me6r3A2s5fjzGKrMdahtJJWZenkXQDEV4P_5J5EYQ4uA/s400/izzy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532097326067018322" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3838606768567052896.post-21745658419491930302010-10-17T16:11:00.000-07:002010-10-18T13:54:41.568-07:00La Jungla de BoxeoI'd read about her before I got here. She was highlighted in a short piece in "Living Abroad in Costa Rica," a book I read cover to cover years ago. So, when another parent from school told me her daughter was going to go take gymnastics/boxing that afternoon from "Tiger Brenda" aka "La Tigress," I thought to myself, oh yea, Sadie is sooo there.<br /><br />That afternoon I sat at a large wooden table in a ramshackle outdoor kitchen, catching glimpses through the trees of Sadie in a boxing ring in the forest, laughing her head off with an abandonment I hadn't yet heard here in Costa Rica. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEXPg1n79-vv9wgquHrppVeIQv1RNwCnAcd5atxmgLxms8tvTGOqT6W6nsL2RMipnkcTonqYEGhkNkh4oIcV50VWuGilybcBShXmY9mRkECcFyCINqk63zTI0hGqKmNpSxdRHb2_bhPQ/s1600/rancho.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMEXPg1n79-vv9wgquHrppVeIQv1RNwCnAcd5atxmgLxms8tvTGOqT6W6nsL2RMipnkcTonqYEGhkNkh4oIcV50VWuGilybcBShXmY9mRkECcFyCINqk63zTI0hGqKmNpSxdRHb2_bhPQ/s320/rancho.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529484923486567250" border="0" /></a>Behind me was a large open air gym with beautiful wooden floors, punching bags hanging from the steel ceiling crossbeams, boxing gloves hanging by pairs on a clothesline. As it started to rain, a small woman with tiger stripes tattooed down her arms and legs, emerged from the boxing ring and called out to me, "can you please take my laundry down from the line?" I immediately stood up and as I removed towels from lines hanging from trees, I looked around. To my right I could make out a couple of tiny cabins on stilts in and among the jungle. Here and there were a few other wooden buildings of unknown purpose. A bathroom? A sauna? A storage shed? To my left ran a small creek and I could see a few bridges along it, some of wood, some concrete. Painted signs hung on trees and pebble pathways traversed the property. Ramshackle but beautiful, hodgepodge but purposeful, and all clearly the result of someone's strong vision and years of hard work. I glanced at a white board hanging from a nail in a tree and read that there are classes for women held every day at 7:30 and 9:00 am. Oh yea, I am sooo there.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcz1YJVq5hdB8UyeovsO6CkiJrM8zRvTk8c6Y0x-swWzV6-qfJ3GyYtu90ugzyR4LUlYMpdoUYi2EwnVhq9OaGLNTrHT_OKnVmUnjiWYtdkZ7dGjPGMaY6hmiad9b_k24em-XBTI72_k/s1600/gym+sign.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcz1YJVq5hdB8UyeovsO6CkiJrM8zRvTk8c6Y0x-swWzV6-qfJ3GyYtu90ugzyR4LUlYMpdoUYi2EwnVhq9OaGLNTrHT_OKnVmUnjiWYtdkZ7dGjPGMaY6hmiad9b_k24em-XBTI72_k/s320/gym+sign.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529484415631287794" border="0" /></a><br />Brenda Burnside was a professional boxer based primarily in Las Vegas. Standing 5' 3" and weighing in at 118 at her heaviest, the bantomweight turned pro in 1997 at the unheard of age of 34 and by 2000 she was competing for the world championship. Her official stats at the end of her career were 7 wins, 11 losses and 2 draws, with 4 knockout wins. For each match she felt she won (even if the official decision was otherwise) she had a tiger stripe tattooed on her body.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwZ06-1bH0IDCr8laNuK8wTdedRLGlBzF-wJx2_OvKyCf0rqjQ8QTTjr_s3sASzo9RZaUV55lapio-muxXkdwnN22NPawWcICj7OWZtcBPXDau14iRAEGHx2vYZbTqpSMPnFSKjgp8CY/s1600/111hotburn1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwZ06-1bH0IDCr8laNuK8wTdedRLGlBzF-wJx2_OvKyCf0rqjQ8QTTjr_s3sASzo9RZaUV55lapio-muxXkdwnN22NPawWcICj7OWZtcBPXDau14iRAEGHx2vYZbTqpSMPnFSKjgp8CY/s320/111hotburn1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529480719030048930" border="0" /></a>In 1999 Brenda visited Nosara and happened to catch an enormous arribada (the mass turtle nesting, remember?). She went to sleep that night with visions of the turtles still in her head and dreamed of a turtle diving into a hole. She followed the turtle in the hole and encountered a sea of eyes of all different types of Costa Rican animals, all looking at her and beckoning. She woke up and knew she had to figure out a way to live here. During the remaining days of her vacation she bought a piece of property near the beach. As Brenda said, when the turtles tell you to stay, you stay.<br /><br />Though retired from professional boxing, La Tigress knew she didn't want to give it up entirely. She began doing exhibition matches with local men during halftime at bullfights and, impressed, someone suggested she give lessons to the kids in Nosara at the local community center. The classes were a huge success and she then started building a gym on her land, followed by her regulation-size boxing ring, complete with set of small bleachers at one end.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFeVjva-LsuV-glyJ6ZRCkiIUvrksrssOhYhsXQMXb9VWopsWK19l0hYkGbjpekXf4dXFwbbLcl9pV6tRFmJcDxfC5PgCDJH2JP_yzHEoI71S1HfeFirxCjEkf6g1iYNf8O2HkThum9bQ/s1600/thegym.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFeVjva-LsuV-glyJ6ZRCkiIUvrksrssOhYhsXQMXb9VWopsWK19l0hYkGbjpekXf4dXFwbbLcl9pV6tRFmJcDxfC5PgCDJH2JP_yzHEoI71S1HfeFirxCjEkf6g1iYNf8O2HkThum9bQ/s400/thegym.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529481217624683362" border="0" /></a><br />Fast forward ten years and Brenda and her compound, the Enchanted Forest, is as much a part of Nosara as surfing and the beach. She teaches kids and adults and dreams of sending a Costa Rican to the Olympics now that women's boxing will finally be included in 2012. She is full of energy and focus and has managed, from a dream, to create a magical yet very tangible reality. The kind of place you wish you could come to every day. The kind of place that is both mysterious and welcoming, sort of like La Tigress herself.<br /><br />In short, I'm hooked. Hooked, jabbed, and undercut. Yes, she works us hard. Yes, I literally almost threw up in the ring during my second class (yes, it was very embarassing, thank you), and yes, it is really really fun.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGK_fJnk5yWXftd0h60D2Yb9FoqH8LoYSO4lbqcPzaToP4d13DcJJfcaWYkywbNdocSwupDhyRs79fcQ3J1yefHYDHBXCaScUisxC1zBJo0USiuFDq6dU7Z4usqHaCwZjFmKf0y6pwPM/s1600/boxing.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGK_fJnk5yWXftd0h60D2Yb9FoqH8LoYSO4lbqcPzaToP4d13DcJJfcaWYkywbNdocSwupDhyRs79fcQ3J1yefHYDHBXCaScUisxC1zBJo0USiuFDq6dU7Z4usqHaCwZjFmKf0y6pwPM/s200/boxing.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529485558308495762" border="0" /></a> I was her only 9 am student for the first two classes and though I loved having her to myself I quickly realized that if I could get more people to join me I would get a bit of relief and might not pass out. These days our class size ranges from 3 to 4 women, which is perfect. We lift weights, we use stretchy bands, we do sit ups and leg lifts and squats, we stretch, and then...we get to box. I've never in my life thought about boxing, never had the urge to check it out and see if I might like it. But here, in the jungle, in the Enchanted Forest, with Brenda and her beautiful wooden floor and her energy and her strength and her support, boxing is awesome. And it's not just because I get to wear pink boxing gloves (though I admit that is a perk).<br /><br />Sadie and I are both hooked. In fact, I'm thinking I may go professional. 41 isn't too old, is it? Hmmm....maybe we should pin our hopes on Sadie instead. The 2024 Olympics, perhaps?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTRE8l-oP8l8oNK0bgbXhcXpVEomulaFo7RfYx-vZtR32xxg-zTNyL0cHzPJuMudwdzRTtjAD325mIwAxYSJ82fVCeM-goB_1Uv4wCTppJy3hv37rlkTCKnjeQ9xBg9XK6kkkgDuqtBM/s1600/sadiegym.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTRE8l-oP8l8oNK0bgbXhcXpVEomulaFo7RfYx-vZtR32xxg-zTNyL0cHzPJuMudwdzRTtjAD325mIwAxYSJ82fVCeM-goB_1Uv4wCTppJy3hv37rlkTCKnjeQ9xBg9XK6kkkgDuqtBM/s400/sadiegym.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529486263528037106" border="0" /></a>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14730313938835881961noreply@blogger.com2