I'm on my way

Apparently it’s still despedida season here in Costa Rica and I'm not exactly happy about that because it means I have to say goodbye to some of my best friends. Tear.

Last night, we headed over to La Cantina, the lobby bar of the Best Western across the street- yes, sometimes we hang out in hotel lobby bars for fun here. We were there to toast Kate who will be leaving the country after a short stint of making mango jellies on a farm in Nicaragua. It was a karaoke night at La Cantina, which gets pretty intense over in that hotel bar. Students, friends, co-workers were all present. People were rolling in and out all night and there was no shortage of good conversation. Even Kate, who normally has at least three awkward social panic attacks per night was at ease in this crowd. Around 9:30 love interest number one, “Lino,” called to report he was going to make an appearance. This was exciting news to me, although the party had a good turnout even without him. Obviously, there was no shortage of people who were ready to say good riddance to Kate. Well, by 11 Lino still hadn’t showed and it was clear he wasn’t going to.

My question is this, why even call in the first place and say you’re coming? How about just don’t come, don’t call? Apparently it’s a very Tico thing to do, but that’s a lame excuse. I had a very good old friend in Chicago who used to do this to me too. Once, she even asked me to wait outside a party for her so she could find the house because she was getting in a cab. Luckily, I told her I wouldn’t wait outside otherwise I’d still be standing on the North Avenue looking up and down for that taxi. Another time she told an entire table of us to wait to order dinner because she was en camino to the restaurant. Luckily again, we were the wiser. Here I am again, wise to this same tired game. Needless to say, Lino has now become Nada.

Mañana

Claire is my roommate. Well, she was my roommate until just a few days ago. Sad. Claire and I were good roommates, teammates actually. Together we could accomplish a lot. Claire was good at some things, I was good at some things. We were a complementary couple. This was important as our apartment wasn’t new. Things broke a lot and it was cramped for storage space. We had to take turns taking care of the house. One of the things Claire was good at was fixing the flushing chain thing on the thing that attaches to the thing on the back of the toilet. Of course, one of the last things that happened before Claire left the house was that the thing that attaches to thing broke again. But this time it really broke, unfixable without a new part broke. That was Wednesday. Today is Monday. I’ll admit I was a waste of space on Thursday after a great going away party for Claire Wednesday night and waking up with her at 5:30 am to get her off to the airport. I went back to bed, slept in, got up, did the dishes and cleaned the house. I did teach for two whole hours in the afternoon too. So, Thursday it was my fault the toilet wasn’t fixed because I didn’t tell my landlord Gonzalo.

Sidenote on my landlord: Gonzalo is probably one of the nicest people in the universe, however not the quickest responding landlord. In fact, our neighbors call him “Mañana” to highlight his response of “Tomorrow,” he throws out to everything.

Well, back to the story. So, I looked for Mañana on Friday to no avail. Then finally on Saturday I saw him in the street, grabbed him and dragged him inside to show him my broken toilet. He seemed to be relieved by the fact that I could flush it even if it meant I had to put my hand in the tank to manually pull up the thing since the other thing was no longer attached to the thing. This time he didn’t throw out the standard, “mañana,” he normally does. No, this time he answered with a swift day after tomorrow. Well, what do you know here I am, the day after mañana still sticking my hand in the tank to flush. My hands are raw from washing them as if I’m scrubbing in for surgery after every flush. I’m now taking bets on when Gonzo will come by and fix the toilet. I think by Thursday.

Now that is pura vida.

La Vida Loca

Here goes nothing. I’ve been thinking about starting a blog for a long time now but there was always something standing in my way. Well, actually, who am I kidding? The biggest problem was forcing myself to get over the idea that blogging is just a self-indulgent way to convince friends that I’m leading a really exotic life in Central America. Oh yeah also, as I once said in a job interview, I'm kind of lazy sometimes.

Well now laziness aside, I guess it's time to start talking up this exotic and exciting life I'm living. It is, after all, the life I gave up on my "real life" for, or at least that's how my good friend Liz Bearce put it. I do feel blessed and fortunate to be living the life I'm living, although it’s hardly the exotic and exciting tropical life most people think of when I say I'm living in Costa Rica.

San José does have its charms, but as far as the daily grind is concerned it's a dirty, crowded, dangerous Central American capital city. I find something oddly enchanting about it however.

Maybe it’s the coverless manholes that I fear one day I will drop into for the rest of eternity or the thrill of crossing the street without being killed, I’m not sure. In fact, I was thinking the other day as I strolled down the side of the highway to get to the gym how I wouldn't take anyone I know on that walk voluntarily.

The walk to the gym involves crossing a four-lane highway at a point where there's a blind curve, entrance and exit ramps, and the previously mentioned coverless manholes camouflaged in the tall grass along the median. Maybe I should stop now before I really give my mother a heart attack.

I do look both ways before I cross the road. And it is a nice ego boost to get the honks, whistles and catcalls from the passing motos, cars (including police cars filled with policemen), and trucks. Ah, I am living the life.