Costa Rica, Part II

I live my regular life in a tourist destination. While waiting for the bus home after a day of work, after the gym, eating a banana, and mentally listing what I need from the grocery store, inevitably three duck tours will go by and every tourist on them will snap of picture of the church in Copley Square, with me in the foreground rummaging through my bag. I can balance my phone, a latte, and my reading material, in heels, crossing Boylston St. with the same grace as the helmetless hurricane enduring renegade biker in Costa Rica. But on vacation our roles do reverse, and I become the tourist who snaps pictures of...a squirrel.
I embrace my inner tourist.
Our first two full days in Costa Rica were spent on tours to see the famed wildlife. There is a beautiful protected forest in Manuel Antonio, just off the ocean. Our guide impressed us with his abililty to spot bats in trees twenty feet above us, camoflauged Jesus Christ lizards, three toed sloths hanging around and insects-- colorful (grasshoppers) and famous (leaf cutting ants straight from a PBS special. Of which I intrepidly filmed two videos on my camera). The heat, humidity, jungle itself and the wildlife prompted my mom to comment that this was like the best kind of zoo. Indeed!
We hit the beach in the afternoons. The water in the equatorial Pacific bears no resemblance to Northern Atlantic water at all, except being wet. It was so warm I'd hazard to say it wasn't even refreshing! Families on the beach interacted happily-- several generations would play a game of soccer together with the requisite adopted dog jumping in. We read and enjoyed happy hour (two for one margaritas-- never mind that a margarita is more of a Mexican drink).
In a mangrove boat trip, our guide spotted a crocodile snacking on a dog and impressed us with all manner of bird and animal imitations. He also deftly navigated American humor; when asked what kind of animals might prey on the Jesus Christ lizard, he answered, "Oh, hawks mostly. But only the sacreligious kind!" Or when driving across an especially precarious bridge, he asked if we knew what the name of this bridge was? "The Oh-My-God bridge!" The humor was sometimes unintentional-- an alcholic concoction made of the bark of a native tree that became more potent as the weather gets hotter through the day was said to be "illegal in any other country, but here it is an appetizer."
Our tourist destiny was fulfilled by approaching and befriending the "friendly" group of white faced Capuchin monkeys. Half a dozen or more jumped out of the trees and into our boat, on our heads and eagerly snatched bananas* out of our hands. They are clever devils and not to be trusted because in short, they are smarter than us. One of them had no problems peeing on my mother while reaching out for a banana at the same time!
Time in Manuel Antonio was winding to a close-- we would travel to Jaco and Monteverde before the week's end.

*feeding bananas to the white faced monkeys is actually not recommended; it is not a native food, it causes them to become dependent on people and thus become overly trusting. They also need to travel through the trees many, many kilometers a day to stay fit, and if they know people will feed them, they will not do this. In short, we become the McDonald's of the monkey kingdom.

next up: surviving International Night and keeping our heads in the clouds.

Costa Rica, Part 1

My recent foray into foreign travel started with a joke of sorts; my director saw my luggage in my office, came in and told me, "you know Logan is closed...". My look of shock and disbelief caused him to break and he admitted that he was trying to get my goat. He then wished me safe travels and I smiled and prepped my out of office responses. Ten hours later, the joke on me after all, I was in near tears heading home from Logan in a cab which would not accept the USAirways cab voucher I was given for my cancelled flight to D.C.
I headed back to Logan the next morning at 4am, and from there on out, the skies were friendly. I met my mom and sister in Philly, where we flew on to San Jose, Costa Rica.

Some people do not travel to the Carribbean or Central America during the late summer, due to the "rainy season", but those people probably did not grow up taking marathon car trips in a station wagon without AC in the dead of summer through hundreds of miles of Western Kansas plains. They were likely not taken across the border to Nuevo Laredo, Mexico at age 10 and told they would not have any water to drink or be able to use the bathroom until all matter of cheap pinatas, faux Retin A and colorful tin Christmas Tree ornaments were thoroughly examined, haggled, and bought. So a little occurrence called Hurricane Dean did not hamper our spirits (although our shoes got a little wet). The heavy downpour (which lasted the entire 4 hours of our drive from San Jose to Manuel Antonio) did not hamper the locals either-- every few miles we'd pass someone biking, without a helmet, while carrying a long pole or some contraption, possibly a second rider, AND and umbrella, with a dog trotting alongside.

Manuel Antonio is on the southwest coast of Costa Rica and we arrived around 6:30. We were tired, travel weary and hungry (we did not pull over for any snacks) but the front desk attendant at our hotel was enthusiastic and friendly, and recommended several restaurants as well as set up a tour for us to see monkeys, er, all sorts of wildlife, the next day in the park.
We did eat well that night (platefuls of mariscos and steak and beer) and slept even better. The next morning only the dripping trees, bathed in restorative sunlight, reminded us of the previous day's rain.

next, monkeys, monkeys and more monkeys!

Yard Sale

The suburban garage can hold many an untold treasure. My family's homes were always spacious, with enough room to hold anything that might not be immediately needed, but could certainly be useful in the future. Our garage in Wichita held an extra full sized freezer, so that we might always have a steak should we need it. Our Oklahoma City garage had it's own extra room/workspace, which was filled with dried flowers, florist's tape and ribbon-- all in order for my mom to make seasonal wreaths for our front door. My parents' current garage in Seattle is so filled with...stuff...that neither car can fit in. There's a pantry, tools, and my childhood, all boxed up.
I do recall having garage sales in Wichita. We could plan a day with neighbors and friends, and set stuff out on our long, winding driveway. Sale hunters start early, so we would be out at 6:30 or 7:00, usually with a box of Dunkin' Donuts and coffee and hot chocolate. We would sell old toys, appliances, and I remember trying to sell my Debbie Gibson and Paula Abdul tapes.
Since living in Boston, I have moved apartments every few years, so have kept my belongings relatively trimmed. But, after living here for 11 years, certain things have had their day in the sun. So when Steph suggested a yard sale (small yard, no garage), I offered up my lawn and emailed ET#1 and my girlscout co-leader, Amy, to join in. I bought cute colored stickers and tags with pre-printed prices and started going through my closets and basement. I spent a weekend transferring cds to my iBook and iTunes, cleaned off my bookshelf of read books and decided to give the pink satin party pants a chance at a new home with someone younger and thinner.
ET#1 brought by her treasure trove of items including shoes, a vcr (with remote!) and some wooden combs (a note to ET#1-- these did not sell, but at your request, I held on to them and will return to you).
The Saturday of the yard sale my excitement was such that I awoke at 6:45 after a delightful dream in which my whole block was involved in the yard sale and friends I hadn't seen in years came by and everyone was laughing and playing the guitar...and of course raking in millions. I waited and waited for Steph and finally texted her, just to make sure she was up and hadn't overslept. About 5 minutes later she and her charge, 9 year old M, showed up with a mini-van full of kids' books, puzzles, a changing table, handbags, adirondack chairs (which I claimed for myself) and a table full of frames.
It was about 90 degrees in the shade and we haphazardly displayed our wares and waited for people to show up. And soon they did. Some people just glanced around, but many knew what they were looking for ("you got any computer parts?" or "I see cds, but how about dvds?"). One woman took all of the shoes, as well as some handbags. A pair of eldery men berated me for charging $3 for each of my cds ("You're out of touch!") while in the same breath asking if I had any disco (answer? no). Many people knew each other from the yard sale "circuit" ("I'll meet you over Wyman St.") and several people bought stuff they were clearly going to resell later.
By 1:30 we had done pretty well, were hot and tired and ready to donate the rest. We made about $175 in all, but it wasn't about the money. It was about cleaning house, physically and mentally, meeting the neighbors, sharing with the community and enjoying a summer day outside. In fact, I was reminded of the Mastercard commercials when M found one of ET#1's old watches:
price of sale tags and stickers: $11
price of coffee to get us through the morning: $6.50
price of book club bestsellers: $0.50
the look on M's face when told she had earned the watch through her helpful care with counting change to customers: priceless

Tales From the Fruit Cart: Summer 2007 Edition

Intrepid sister/fruit cart pusher, Liz, gives us the latest update.

On the fruit cart today they have Dinosaur Eggs!! They are tennis ballsized fruits that are yellow and red speckled. Apparently they are across between plums (70%) and apricots (30%) – two fruits I reallylike!! They are really called Pluots. Dinosaur Eggs are just a subset– like the yellow rose of Texas is a subset of roses. Other Pluotsinclude The Hand Grenade, Last Chance, Flavorglo and the Dandy Dapple. Just between you and I though, I don't think I'd eat a mysterious fruit called Last Chance or Hand Grenade…
It isn't ripe yet, but will give you an in-depth analysis on its flavor, texture and what I am sure will be its all around superiority to other strange fruits that are occasionally on the fruit cart – like persimmons, which – you may recall, showed up on the fruit cart a few years ago and were slimy, chalky and tart all at once.
I'm a little upset that there were no dinosaur eggs or other fun fruits on the fruit cart last Friday when I pushed the fruit cart. In fact, I didn't even get a name tag to hang on the front of the cart. This wouldn't normally be a problem because I would prefer anonymity given the regular debacles that happen when I push the fruit cart(like being called a bad penny, crashing into computers, getting my belt loop stuck on the kitchen door knob…the list goes on). However,the lack of a name was in and of itself a debacle because the second person who I gave fruit to took it upon himself to give me a name tag.
In thick, black sharpee he deemed me "captain of cool," which, had he known me, he would have known that I am so far from being a captain of cool that I can't even pull it off as a sarcastic, self-mocking joke. I thought about removing the name tag when I turned the corner, but what would I say if someone saw me remove it or if – gasp – I ran into the guy who made it for me later on my rounds and didn't have it. His soul would surely be crushed. So, instead I tried to obscure the nametag behind some spotted apples that I didn't think anyone would want to eat. As it turns out, this didn't really work and people saw the name tag. Thus, I was left to endure the humiliation of thename-tag inspired comments that were not always nice.
Here are the main reasons that the name tag was utterly humiliating:
1. It made me look like a D-lister trying to be an A-lister but noteven landing among the ranks of the C- or B-listers because the C- andB-listers would have known better than to attempt such asocially-awkward stunt.
2. One of the guys in IT took it as an invitation to show me hiscaptain action figures (captain America, captain planet) that resideon his desks next to the Lego pirate ship and a pile of bazooka gumwrappers. This delayed my rounds by at least four minutes. And I was already running late because I forgot I had fruit cart duty.
3. I had to make witty banter in a feeble effort to live up to the name.
4. Just as I was finishing a section of the office without having to endure a comment about the name tag, a former kickball team mate saw it and shouted – what makes you the captain of cool? Thus calling everyone's attention the name tag that I had covertly tried to hide behind the apples instead of displaying it prominently at the front of the fruit cart by the bananas.
5. Whenever people asked me why I had the name tag I had to say someone in the other department made if for me. This inevitably elicited a bunch of "oooooooos" that reminded me of the 3rd grade and made fear that they would start singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G in a tree song.

This is the long way of saying that if I had dinosaur eggs on my fruitcart, people might have thought I was the captain of cool – or at least not have noticed the name so much because the dinosaur eggswould have distracted them.