Christmas Eve in Palmares

I was fortunate enough to be invited to a Christmas Eve fiesta at the home of Lorene and Alonso to join in a celebration with their family and friends. And a great celebration it was. My neighbours and I decided to take a taxi($8.00) for the twenty-five minute drive to Palmares. Palmares, usually a sleepy place, comes alive for a week in mid-January when it hosts one of the largest Fiestas in Costa Rica. It is estimated that close to one million people (about 1/4 of the population of the country) visit the city for the celebrations of Costa Rica's cowboy heritage: rodeos, disco tents, fairgrounds, everything a celebration should have.
But, on Christmas Eve, it was quiet and peaceful. We arrived about 7:00 and ate, drank (moderately, of course) and danced (I did tap my foot, almost in rhythm, several times). A great time for all!
Elizabeth arrives on January 1 (finally) so I imagine future posts will be appropriate for the Home and Gardens Network.

Finca por Chicharrones

A most interesting sojourn yesterday. I was invited by the family of Vicente, a neighbour to visit his wife's parents' farm in Guanacaste. Along with them, their daughter Jennifer and Santos, a young fellow who is working on the house across the street, we set off at 6:00 am for the two hour drive northwest. We arrived at the farm, located in a small village called Arizona. Warm greetings ensued from gracious hosts, children, chickens, cattle and a tethered pig. Soon after, Alonso and Lenora along with their two boys and Lenora's mother arrived to complete the gathering. After a filling breakfast of gallo pinto, huevos and tortillas, we toured the farm while Santos and Vicente's father-in-law began the preparation of the main meal: the tethered pig.
After a few hours, the pig became pork, all of which was expertly cut into ribs, loins... Water boiled outside, savory pieces deep fried and presto, chicharrones, a Costa Rican specialty. Along with salads, bread, yucca and rice, a mouth watering, somewhat artery hardening, meal.
It was amazing to be a part of a family experience in a setting I would probably never encounter without good neighbours. I feigned complete understanding of deep and meaningful conversations, drank a few beer, demonstrated the innate soccer skills of Canadians and even had the energy to photograph a high wire monkey act on the drive home.

Lecciones de Inglés Para los Vecinos

Being in a location where it is vital to learn a new language is transformational. One must be patient, open and willing to err, over and over again, with strangers and neighbours. It is impossibile for me, in San Ramon, to rely upon glib responses, verbal adroitness and word play to define myself to others. Which tends to beg the question, without language who are we, or, for me, without the complex layers of spoken language how do I reveal who I am?
Actions and human connections become even more critical in this defining process: taking the time to acknowledge, helping the next door neighbour carry ceramic tiles, sweeping the road in front of the house..... Still, the imperative to engage in some sort of higher order dialogue is irresistible; so practice, fall, get up, practice....
Last night, I hosted the second in an ongoing series of English classes for any of the neighbours who could or cared to drop in. Lesson plans become somewhat superfluous as the level of the learners and the class varies from session to session. The common element is a desire to learn or improve language facility in a non-threatening, social environment.
As is always the case, the teacher learns at least as much as the students: for me, a real life refresher course in individual learning rates and styles and the importance of using each class as an opportunity to design more effective plans for next week. How teachers do this day after day floors me. At least for an hour or so a week, I get to chum around with others facing similar learning challenges.

A Work in Progress

Quite the day (again). Ricardo left yesterday for a week in Puerto Viejo on the Caribbean Coast while I remained to oversee the beginning of the construction Elizabeth and I have planned for the second edifice on our lot. On the advice of Rosario, our house keeper, I hired Romaine, who has already completed several jobs for me (new shower heater, aluminum windows, shelving), and his partner Bryan. A great recommendation. We spent the morning at a variety of Ferreterias and supply shops. Bryan has several "ins" so we were able to get some excellent descuentes. Following the buying of materials, the men spent the rest of the day framing a downstairs room for a ceiling. Delivery trucks were arriving regularly bringing wood, plastico, soil for cement, electrical wiring and everything else necessary to complete phase one: a first floor kitchen/barbecue area and an upstairs lounge with sliding glass windows to see the mountain view. New flooring, walls.... Costs here are amazingly inexpensive compared to Vancouver (like most places in the world). The materials ran about $800 while the cost of labor is almost embarrassingly low.
The last delivery was a gallon of paint. Both Romaine and Bryan considered the cost prohibitive, so off went the truck with the paint: we will visit the store tomorrow to negotiate a fairer price. Just shows the importance of working with locals who know the market and insist on fair value. Despite the advice of those who warn about the dangers of being taken advantage of as Norte Americanos, we choose to place our trust in our neighbours and keep a positive perspective on the people who live and work here. So far so good!

Ahorra

Fue un día bastante agradable.

Driving South, Driving Rain

For the past few days, Ricardo and I enjoyed (for the most part) a road trip. What should have been a five hour drive to Frank and Irma's quinta in San Isidro De El General somehow stretched into eight hours, some of which was spent swimming in the warm surf of Playa Hermosa on the Pacific, some spent exploring a glorious secluded National Park nestled in the woods with a magnificent beach, but most spent trying to find a quinta hidden at the end of a rutted road during a torrential rainfall. I had visited San Isidro during my early days last year. I traveled by bus and as a passenger in the car of my friend Keith. We visited Frank and Irma's as guests at their Fiesta and, for some reason, detailed directions did not register in my befuddled brain due, I am sure, to the language differences. The place was very easy to find when I did not have to know or care how to locate it. This time it proved just a little more difficult to locate.
San Isidro is located in a valley, only approached by severe, winding, narrow sloped roads. By choosing the coastal route, we avoided driving through San Jose and chancing on our luck on the Highway of Death. However, we managed to miss the turn off at Dominical by 30 kilometers. As we backtracked, we were pulled over at an intersection by a roadblock and approached officiously by a police officer who looked like he just came out of casting for the movie, "If You Mess with Me, I Can Make Your Life Difficult." He signaled for me to pull over. Mistaking his universal gesture for the more common, "Come on over and have a friendly chat," gesture, I pulled up beside him and broke the ice by asking, "Perdon, Senor. Dondé está San Isidro, por favor?" As seems to happen so often to me, he rolled his eyes and pointed to a directional sign just in front of us. Mmm, an arrow pointing to the left beside a series of letters which spelled San Isidro. Logically assuming that I was too limited to be engaged in any nefarious activity, he fixed his stern gaze upon me and waved dismissively hoping to erase us from his consciousness.
After an hour and a half of driving up mud roads and making several phone calls using a variety of cell phones borrowed from bemused, but helpful locals, we finally made it just as darkness was descending. We were greeted, shown our guest quarters, complete with fridge, full bathroom and shower and treated to a great meal prepared by Sadie, her daughter and son who are employed by Frank and Irma to manage the farm. Being gracious guests, we brought along some libations which helped the conversation flow late into the evening (10:00pm). On Tuesday, we played the part of dude ranchers, milking the cows, feeding a calf by bottle and taking the freshly picked coffee to the road scales for weighing and recompense.
All in all a great diversion: I slept in the comfortable double bed in the guest casita both nights, while Dick tried to sleep in the hammock on the porch the first night and a single bed in the main house the second night. After two days of country life I was refreshed and ready for the five hour drive back to San Ramon; however, for some reason, Ricardo seemed a bit enervated.

The Road Most Travelled

Another eventful few days (it does not take too much for a day to become eventful here in San Ramon). Monday saw the departure of Natalie and Adriano who jetted their way to Montreal to begin the final countdown to their new life in Townsville, Australia. With many adventures ahead of them, I hope they had an opportunity to recharge their batteries. It was a pleasure hosting and getting to know them as they were great company who added humour, mouth watering meals and unforgettabe companionship to Casa Canadiense.
Yesterday marked a watershed (or, more aptly, a water control event). Johnny, Ricardo and Alfredo put on their boots, rolled up their sleeves and constructed our new cement driveway. Work began at 7:00 and was finished by 3:30. During this time, existng concrete was demolished, forms were laid and cement mixed and poured. The result: a brand spanking new, properly graded driveway which eliminates any semblance of an open drainage ditch and guarantees that surface water will wend its way down the curves and run into the culvert rather than the carport and provides just the right angles for a smooth entrance and exit. Another amazing example of neighbourhood cooperation and ingenuity.
In the evening, Ricardo and I walked downtown where we sat ourselves in front of a TV, had a few beers, a huge meal and watched with the locals the inevitable exit of Costa Rica from World Cup qualification at the hands of the Uruguayans. Oh, well, there is always 2014.

Grandes noticias para el Club de Basura

Those of you (Dave, Scott and Steve) who understand the importance surrounding the twice weekly pick up off garbage in our neighborhood will appreciate the significance of this posting. Since our road has been paved, the Basurero arrive on our street at 5 am each Wednesday and Saturday. Garbage cans are not part of the Basura culture so bags of refuse must be left on the street for collection as speed is an integral aspect of the morning rounds. As there are dogs roaming the streets, this early pick up poses some serious logistical problems. Dare one leave the bags overnight, risking strewn coffee grounds, fruit rinds and the like as a consequence of canine foraging, or does one, like most have opted in to do, awaken early to greet the truck with bags in arms aplenty? A genuine neighbourhood conundrum. With the artistic imagination of Ricardo, this seemingly unresolvable dilemma has been solved: By using the Mutlti-Versatile Zap Line and Hook Hung on the Carport Gate Bar Technique®, the garbage is placed on the hook at a mathematically determined height (taking into account the maximum vertical drop due to weight and atmospheric conditions) the evening before without fear of it becoming food for Lobo and Rover.
I awoke early this morning (4:45 am) to ensure that the invention had been calibrated precisely with the correct physics to hold the weight of the bag weight overnight to receive the Basurer Municipilidad seal and nod of approval.
With bated breath, I counted the minutes, then seconds; the truck descended the hill, paused in front of the house; the Basurero jumped like an Olympic gymnast off the back of the truck, lifted the bags off the hook, and, in response to my anxious query, "¿Está Bien", nodded, "Si, Senor". An extra hours sleep each Wednesday and Saturday.
We have World Copyrighted for Free Use this technological advance in the sincere hope that it will improve the sleep patterns of each of our vicenos.

North to South with a Cup of Coffee

It has been a busy few days; Saturday, a three hour drive Southwest to Quepos on the Pacific where I left Adriano and Natalie in a pleasant hotel (Villa Romantica) where they will spend four days enjoying Manuel Antonio National Park and playing on the Pacific beaches. On the return journey, I was pulled over by a member of the Policia Transito who pointed to his radar gun to prove, beyond a doubt, that I was exceeding the speed limit by a fair bit. Using my adept facial muscles and fractured Spanish, I managed to convince him it was a miracle that I was even able to operate a car and should be forgiven any transgression as I was, by no means, capable of any sort of crime with malice aforethought. He kindly proffered, " I will do you right, Senor", and waved me on my way while I obsequiously repeated, " Gracias, muchas gracias, Senor", barely resisting the overpowering impulse to kiss his feet.
Today, Ricardo and I visited a nearby Coffee Plantation where we were guided by a wise young woman and plied with a variety of blends. The Plantation is part of a large cooperative, certified as fair trade and based upon Green Practice. We then walked into San Ramon where we managed to locate, through the help of several locals, the only remaining large sized straw hat for Ricardo to don in order to prevent sun stroke.
At this point, the purchase seems a tad optimistic as we have been beset by tropical rains as a result of Hurricane Ida which has left 140 dead by mudslides in El Salvador.

Hola de San Ramon

Mi nombre es Dick from Mission B.C.
En Costa Rica me llamo Ricardo.
I am visiting Greg here for a few weeks and am very grateful for his hospitality. I am one who needs a touch-stone when dropped into a different world but am quick to adjust and I am feeling much more comfortable sooner than I would have been without his friendly guidance. Greg shows enthusiasm and confidence in his southern home. We share a desire to learn Spanish and are coaxing each other along. Soon, I hope, we can arrange for a tutor or lessons here so that our learning becomes more efficient and idiomatically correct. We each have been studying the language now for about two years and this experience here in San Ramon is already beginning to foster improvement. We wandered around the university yesterday looking for any information regarding lessons. In that I have resolved not to be timid but to jump right into opportunities for conversation; this leads to some humbling moments. However, all advice is to blurt it out and this is the program 'para me'.
There have been some huge rain storms these last few days, attributed to a hurricane somewhere nearby I'm told. This morning, Nov.7th looks clearer and the emerging sun reminds me of the need for a new sombero. That is my purpose for today, to shop for a straw hat and harass the natives. Hasta luego, Ricardo

Tres Amigos

My friends, Ricardo, Nathalie and Adriano have arrived.

Primera Comunión

Quite the series of events yesterday. Seven a.m. signaled the arrival of Romaine and the window men. No, not a local band but tradespeople who replaced our front windows and installed aluminum frames. Wood does not hold up forever in this climate because of the downpours during the rainy season. Four installers, two and a half hours later, brand new, weather proof windows at a cost of $275. I am not sure what the price would be in Vancouver, but I suspect a tad more.
Ten o'clock chimed and the Cathedral in San Ramon centro was the scene of Jennifer's (along with countless others') First Communion. Standing room only as proud family members and friends gathered for what is an extremely important rite de passage here, as in most Latin American countries. The event was more festive than I recall decades ago in Vancouver. Video cameras documenting, cameras clicking, children chatting and those about to receive the Sacrament for the first time sitting as patiently as they could, often gently reminded to pay attention by an adult seated in each of their aisles.
About ninety percent of Costa Ricans are nominally Roman Catholic. Although, San Ramon has a fairly modest population of 45000, three large churches adorn the landscape; the main Cathedral and two auxiliary churches in other cantons. I was told that the ten o'clock service was the second of three on Saturday alone.
Unlike the case in many other Latin American countries, my observations and readings lead me to believe that Costa Rica is relatively secular in nature. Although the physical landscape is replete with Churches, and the Cathedral delineates the centre of a city, the dominance does not extend into the life blood of the country. Costa Rica was never conquered by the Spanish as there was only a very small indigenous population. The Spanish just kind of moved in slowly as seventeen families from Spain divided up the land and began their enterprises. There has been no internal dispute for power between the church and the political arm of the state. Without a large impoverished population, the church has evolved into occupying much more social than political space. By Latin American standards, Costa Rica is a middle class country, an economic reality which shapes the relationship between the average Tico and the Church
Yesterday's festivities had much more the energy of an awards' assembly at an elementary school than that which often characterizes the first receiving of the Sacrament. I really enjoyed it and was grateful for the invitation.
I then went to small, family gathering at the home of Jennifer's family where two more people asked if they could attend our informal English conversation group, went home and watched the evening sky emerge.

Stupid is a Universal Term/An Invitation

Another day filled with the unexpected (unless you know me well and are aware of my insurmountable shortcomings with the world of objects of all variety). The other day, Rosario, our house watcher, convinced me to buy a microwave friendly, handy-dandy rice, vegetable and pasta steamer. With mounting excitement, I made the short journey to the Maxi-Bodega, a subsidiary of Wal-Mart (who else) without the bedecked greeters. Fate was on my side, as I was able to track down the last one. My heart pounding with eagerness, I made it back home, to test its usefulness. Not really a great idea, in retrospect. I scrupulously followed all of the instructions (except one, as it turned out). Measured out the correct amounts of rice (one cup), added water (one and a half cups), snapped the locks, set the microonde por nueve minutos and watched the container revolve, transfixed by the culinary wonder of it all.
When the microwave beeped its readiness, my joy was palpable, but the inevitable doubts crept in: What if it is overcooked? OMG, undercooked? Unable to quell my lack of confidence, I decided to take just a little peek. Oh, the instruction I neglected to absorb was "Under no circumstance, lift the lid before five minutes have elapsed." Gently unlocking and opening the lid, I was greeted, not with the savory aroma of perfect rice, but with an incredible searing pain which burnt through my being as the boiling steam met the exposed flesh of my hand. Charred flesh, not the result I had intended. Apparently, five seconds does not allow for the insides of the infernal contraption to cool. Who would have guessed?
As it turns out, I was quite lucky; the pain subsided, the blisters arrived and there was only minor degree damage to two of my fingers. As Elizabeth (who understands only too well my ineptitude and is puzzled as to what helpful spirits have allowed me to remain alive despite my stupidity and incompetence with all things) offered, "It could have been a lot worse. What if you had put your face nearer to have a closer view and a nice smell?"
Alfredo, my friend and neighbor brought over an aloe vera plant from his medicinal garden, and the digits are healing nicely.
Now, as a glass half full kind of person, I was able to utilize this event during last night's first lesson in English to two of the neighbours, Nadir, a twenty year old young man who is attending college and his sister Jennifer, who is in grade three. While demonstrating the simple present, past and future, I used my crumbling body in examples.
I had a broken toe (wine barrel, losing grip, foot- (not my fault; who can withstand the immutable laws of physics).
I had a severed finger (sharp knife, tomato, losing focus; how does one quell a creative, wandering mind).
I have two, very sore fingers.
I will have another injury (fate is not to be denied).

When I asked them if they wanted some slices of pineapple, they reacted in animated unison, "No gracias, Senor Gregory!" Jennifer then presented me with a lovely invitation to her First Communion this Saturday at the Cathedral. The ceremony will be followed by a lunch at their house. I am pondering whether or not to carve her a nice Maple Leaf out of local wood for a present.

Back in San Ramon

It has been a while, but I arrived back in San Ramon, late Saturday evening. Upon entering our home, I was taken by how familiar everything was. The next day, I began to see the changes in our neighborhood: the paved road, a new sidewalk, advancing construction on the former shack across the street, a garden of corn and beans where there was one an untended field of long grass. No more dust and dirt filling the air and coating the driveway every time a vehicle passed. Our small plants in the back patio now filling once bare spaces with verdant growth after thriving for months.
Despite the changes, the people remain constant: since my arrival, neighbours have delivered meals (mmm, too thin, I think), invited me for walks and reinforced that my Spanish classes have not prepared me for any complex communication; I understand quite a bit more than during my last visit but still struggle to express myself. Poco a poco, patience and persistence.
I have attached a few pictures of the road, the field and Johnny, master builder who is transforming the shack across the road to a new three bedroom, two bathroom home with hot and cold water and a big backyard (yours for only 30 000 US). Trust me, an investment like that will provide more comfort and excitement than a new SUV.