Dominical Dot Biz

Pretty catchy title, right?. We all know that it doesn’t snow in Costa Rica. But remember that movie about the Jamaican bobsled team? Well, this is kinda, well not really at all, but it could be, the same sort of thing.

I am sitting in my house in San Isidro. I came up here on Tuesday, it is presently Friday. I had intended to go back home to the coast on Wednesday. I have been unable to return home. The reason? Well, now therein lies the crux of this article. The impediments to me getting back home have been every bit as diverse and non-negotiable as though I were snowed in, just like the good ole days, back in my pre-Costa Rican life in Colorado.

My trip to San Isidro was motivated by my need to get my car’s technical revision (Riteve) made current, as well as some documents that I needed to sign at the lawyers for a new corporation for my Internet company. No problem. I figured I’d take care of those items and then get out to my house, which is just on the Dominical side of San Isidro. There is a screaming broadband Internet connection there that isn’t satellite based, so it seems to work all the time, well… almost.

Rod, my associate in our Uvita real estate office, joined me and we were going to take the opportunity to get some productive time in: getting real estate listings posted to the site and working on the website. Rod and I are also in charge of marketing for the up and coming San Buenas Golf Resort south of Uvita in a little town called San Buenaventura.

Rashid, my partner in Gallery Webs had arranged to meet at the lawyers to sign the docs. So we did, and lo, I had forgotten my passport, which I needed to sign with. So I called my gal on the coast who was coming up the next day, and asked that she bring my passport up, which she did. The second visit to the lawyers was at 1:00 PM the following day, which we discovered wasn’t such a good time to go to a lawyer since they are all closed for lunch at that time. This is a very Latin American scenario.. Not having everything I need on visit #1, and then the office being closed on visit #2. I can’t fault anyone but myself on either of these setbacks. I know that lawyers close for lunch here.

I didn’t want to wait until 2:00, when the lawyer would be back. So I taxi’d out to my house to get to work on Internet stuff and told Rashid that I’d call him when I was able to get back to sign. All of this was further complicated by the fact that my car was at the mechanics and they had discovered an oil leak that made my car un-passable for the technical revision.

So it became clear that we were going to have to spend some time in San Isidro.

Then, it began to rain.

It didn’t stop until Friday morning.

The power, Internet and water, all went out.

This was evidently a tropical storm (at the time of this writing, I didn’t know that they had named to storm, nor that it was an official “tropical storm” - Alma), the likes of which I haven’t seen in my nearly 10 years of living here.

From the window river overlook in my San Isidro house, we watched as the river jumped it’s banks and full rainforest sized trees washed by. Water everywhere.

My car was finally done at about 5:00 on Thursday, and my mechanic offered to drive my car out to me so that we could get going to home on the coast. His shop is on the other side of San Isidro.. He was unable to get through San Isidro. At about 6:30 he called and said he couldn’t make it. So, another night here. Lots of napping, reading, stumbling around by candle light, tuna sandwiches, and conversations.

Friday AM, we have electricity, but no water, and no phone/Internet. We are down to our last few grains of coffee, and fortunately I had a bottle of water set aside for the plants with which to make one final pot of coffee. We have one more can of tuna.

It is a glorious morning outside. The river has receded and is now just a muddy, slightly swollen version of its normal self. I can use my cell phone if I go out to the deck and stand in the North/West corner on tip-toe. We sit tapping away on our respective laptops, taking advantage of the time, waiting till we can call a cab to get to the mechanics to get my car, and get on home.

We still may not be able to make it home though. There is a part of the passage over to the coast that normally gets blocked by landslides during heavy rains. We are hoping that we can drive on through, but it’s hard to know without trying. For that matter, we aren’t even sure that we can get from here to the mechanics. There were a number of power poles lying across roads in San Isidro last night. A couple of houses evidently got washed away.

It really is, in nearly every way, except for the fact that there isn’t any snow, very similar to being snowed-in in Colorado.

Uvita Costa Rica, where my office is located, is exploding. In the last year we have seen changes in this little coastal town that now has a smooth, pot hole-less highway running through it. Huge changes - nay, massive… what would the word be – revolutionary? One year ago we had no banks in Uvita: we now have two with a third on the way. One year ago we had two small neighborhood groceries; we now have three major ones, fluorescent lights, grocery carts and all. I went to a PDGD (pretty darn good dentist) here in Uvita the other day. I guess I should say PPDGD since she is pretty to boot. I needed a front tooth fixed cosmetically and she did a PDGJ. I used to think that I would have to travel to San Jose for such service, and in fact I/we have made numerous trips to San Jose when my kids had braces.

There is a golf course going in down the way, there are new hotels, cabinas, restaurants, tour companies, storage facilities, car washes and businesses of all types going in all around. In real estate companies we’ve got six in Uvita that I can think of off hand.

Uvita is in the heart of the booming growth that is hitting Costa Rica’s southern zone. Dominical used to be the center of it all, and is still the term most searched for on the web for finding information about these parts. Dominical is towards the northern-most part of the “Zone” that is experiencing this tremendous growth. Uvita is positioned almost perfectly centered between Dominical and Ojochal. This is the zone that has been bought and sold almost in it’s entirety over the last 5 years.

Uvita is a boom town, and I live and work there, in the thick of it, and I find it all a bit distracting.

San Isidro is where I used to live, just inland from Dominical about 35 minutes. I suspect that I can now change this estimate to 30 minutes due to the new 4 inch asphalt surface that is being put on that road making travel that much quicker and easier. When my family and I first moved there in 1999, there was not another gringo family to be seen. When we would go to town to take care of life’s needs such as groceries, bill paying, veterinary concerns and so on attired in our gringo garb and manner, we would feel the street go quiet. My kids would ask me: “why do they stare”?

Now it is not so. Now we do not stand out. Our garb has not changed, but “theirs” has. Our oh-so influential culture has changed the way these people, the Ticos (Costa Ricans) dress, and their manner has changed as well.

The zone is a place that foreigners are pouring into, and the changes this is causing to this once purely agrarian society, are monumental.

Our family lifestyle used to be to go to the beach in Dominical about once a week. We had a box of beach stuff that we would throw into the back of our Isuzu Trooper, ready to go. Two hammocks with these nifty adjustable straps that would conveniently wrap around those thoughtfully placed palm trees on the beach. A cooler of sandwiches and drinks, towels, broad rimmed hat to reduce sun damage, and we would of course, make sure that we had our current book so that the time could be used to the full. Walking on the beach and collecting seeds is what we did. The kids got good at surfing and making crab villages in the sand.

A trip to Uvita was a project. At that time there was no highway connecting Dominical to Uvita. It was a dirt road and the drive would take, frankly I don’t remember how long it took, but it was prohibitive. Bumpy and splashy, it was just easier to stay in Dominical. The beach in Dominical is plenty nice anyway.

I was talking to a long time expat that lives in Uvita the other day. He said that he remembers back in the day, when they would sit in a little Soda (typical Costa Rican café) and observe 2 or so cars pass by during his lunch, or sometime, during an entire day. This is ancient history here now, all of 7 or 8 years ago. There is now a constant buzz of semis, cars, motorcycles, and all-terrain vehicles of various design.

There is a sort of melancholy to having seen the changes. I go to visit our old neighbors in San Isidro. We call them “Los Abuelo”. It means “The Grandparents” but they wear the much deserved handle about them like a mantle and are known as such by most that know them. I’m not even sure that I can remember their real names. Enrique and… nope, don’t remember. Anyway, they are in their mid-70’s. Abuela’s knees are going. I think that she has no more cartilage in them. She is in pain. I can’t imagine the amount of mileage those old knees have seen. They have never had a car, purely a pedestrian life. They prefer cold showers since that’s all they’ve ever known. There are those “suicide heads” here that actually make for a pretty decent shower. It is a little disconcerting to see the big electrical cables running to the shower head though. The Abuelos aren’t concerned about the possibility of being electrocuted, its just that they prefer the cold water.

In a material sense, I guess you could say that the Abuelos are rich. They own nearly 40 acres of land in San Isidro, although they don’t view it that way. They’d never sell. Land is for passing on to the kids. I’d say that they are rich. They have lived simple and full lives, without ever having traveled.

I’d like to interview Abuelo, maybe video tape it. Get him talking about the time before when the big trees were cut down, and about the horse treks over the pass to Dominicalito with their season’s harvest of tobacco. They would sometimes have to wait a month there for the boat to come, so they’d bring plenty of contrabando (moonshine a la Tico).

Abuelo has just had a couple different surgeries. I used to hear him going up the hill just at sunrise, about 5:30 AM to return around 11:00, sweaty and content. He’d bring back something for Abuela to fix over her wood fired stove. No more, his body won’t let him. He’s full of stories though. His father used to own a good portion of the land that San Isidro sits on. His farm encompassed my land and so much more.

I’m not that old, really. It just feels that way sometimes, although I do have a couple of grandkids. But it’s not so much because of any physical limitations or any new aches. It has to do with the changes that I’ve seen. I think that you could take the changes that have taken place in the States over the last 100 years or so, and compress them into about a 10 year time span here in Costa Rica. It’s the living here for those 10 years that makes me feel like an old guy.

If you are just finding these articles, this is Part III of III. You might want to start the series by clicking the following links: Part I || Part II
After sitting there for awhile in that post-terror state, I decided to walk around. Opening the door I stepped down into the water and found that it came up to just above my knee. My cell phone has a flash light in it, so I put that on and began to walk upstream. The night was gorgeous. Now that I was away from the lights of the car, the blackness seemed to lift slightly and there was a glow from the sliver moon, and the countless stars. Then I had my second scariest moment, but this one was entirely from the contents of my mind.

As I waded along through the river, looking for the outlet of the road on this side of the river, the thought occurred to me: “Ben, you’re in Samara Costa Rica, in the middle of nowhere. It’s a rather wild place. Mightn’t there be some crocodiles about these parts?” Suddenly, all of the floating river debris, of which there was quite a bit, suddenly became crocodiles stalking this lost gringo. It didn’t last long, but there for a moment I felt the presence of one of these behemoths in the water and sent an additional dose of adrenaline through the system, just sort of as aperitif to the main course. After that I just simply decided that there weren’t any crocodiles, since I really had no choice with respect to being in the water there, and I calmed down a bit.

Finally I found the out-ramp, about 25 meters upstream from where my car sat burbling. In my natural chemical induced state of giddiness I started to think about my predicament. The car was stuck, and not just a little bit. You know how when your car gets stuck and you put it in gear to try and coax it forward, or you put it in reverse to ease it out of its stuckedness? You can kinda feel the car lurch forward and backward. Well, my car felt like it was in neutral even though all four wheels were in motion. There was no motion whatsoever. So I was what I would call, stuckisimo. This means that I would need to get some help. The problem with this conclusion was that I was 6 kilometers from the nearest resort, and I had no cell reception. And even when I found someone, what were they going to be able to do to help? No one else would be able to get out there to my car. So I felt just a little consternated by the situation. So I did what any red blooded, lost gringo male would do in this situation. I walked aimlessly around. This seemingly aimless activity yielded some pretty good fruitage. I found a signal area for my cell phone. I was able to call my family and let them know of my predicament. They in turn were able to notify the resort people of my situation, who in turn, responded as I had: they ran around, without really knowing what to do. So I signed off hoping that the situation would change and that somehow magically, my car would get out of the river.

The area that I was in was affected by the tide of the ocean. The tide was, as luck would have it, high at the moment of my crossing attempt. Now the tide was starting to recede and I noticed that the muffler sound was no longer a blub-blub-blub-blub, but a normal, muffler-in-the-air sound. This, I felt, had to be good. So, lacking a clear purpose, I waded back down to my car and decided to sit there.

After some time, jungle up above the out-ramp showed some illumination as a car passed along, illuminating the trees with dancing shadows. The fellow arrived at the river and wisely stopped. He noticed my car’s headlights shining askew down in the part of the river where a car ought not be and did what any red-blooded Tico male would do, he honked. So I waded back up to him. He had a coupe that had no hope of crossing this high-ish tide waterway. So he asked me if I was stuck, to which I replied, in my still chemically induced silly-state: “oh no, everything is fine. I thought it would be a nice time of night to cruise the river and see whats up.” He did not grasp that I was joking and so ignored my comment. So I attempted to sober up and admitted that I was indeed stuck.

Well, so at this point, I am deciding to make a long story short. He took my cell number, drove back up into the jungle to another crossing that he knew about that was shallow and crossable (Why hadn’t he just gone there to begin with? I don’t know, nor do I care, and actually, I’m glad he didn’t.) He got to the nearest establishment where lo and behold, there was a back hoe that was able and willing to come to the river and pull me out for a fee of 10,000 colones ($20.00 US). I have here attached a photo that didn’t turn out so well but they do give an idea of what it all looked like.

The process of getting pulled out of the river was enhanced by the usual Tico (Costa Rican) friendliness and the conversation was vibrant as the recently arrived resort staff member joined in the festivities of me getting pulled out and all was fine. I paid the 10,000 plus a 5,000 colon tip and the staff member led the way to the resort where the festivities were under way in what is an extraordinarily beautiful beachside resort. The area was lit up with just the right sort of torch lights, illuminating the dance floor and the outdoor tables and buffet that they were putting away when I arrived. I was late, but it wasn’t over, so I guess you could say that I made it. (The staff was extremely attentive and had made a plate for me which they insisted I sit and eat, and fussed extensively about making sure that I was OK)

I hadn’t seen my entire family together in nearly a year. My two daughters, my son, my two grandkids (I know, I’m not old enough to be a granddad, but my daughters each have a child of four years, so apparently I am), my wife whom I hadn’t seen in months as well, and some dear old friends from Colorado that I had not seen for some 9 years. The oddly silly effect of the trauma had diminished some but had not disappeared entirely, and so now gave way to the wonderful human emotion of extreme appreciation for the simple fact of being alive, and having so much. My heart welled with emotion as I got numerous hugs and concern was expressed. I told and retold my tale, while hearing of the hub-bub of running about that my situation had caused to the goings on there, with everyone trying to locate someone that could help me out and, was I alright, and so on.

The lesson that I have learned from this is “Dumbest Thing That I Have Ever Done” is: the next time that I encounter a river at night, the bottom of which I cannot see, and that I have never driven across, I’ll not drive into it. Oh, and next time I’ll use a map.

If you’re starting here, you might want to read Part I first . Click here for Part I :: Click here for Part III The next pause in my trip was to drive through Jaco.I wanted just to see it.We used to vacation in Jaco as a family, years ago, when it was a sleepy surf town.There was a bit of a buzz there that certainly was not felt in San Isidro de Perez Zeledon, where we lived, so it was a nice change of pace for us.I had heard that I wouldn’t recognize it.And this proved to be true.There are high rise hotels going in on the beach, and there are various malls and shops of every type.If what we experienced in the good ole days of Jaco was a buzz of activity, then what we’ve got there now is a full blown brass band on crack.The main drag was awash in tourists meandering about, shopping, and enjoying the hot weather that Jaco is famous for.And here is where we start about the dumb thing. (The photo there to the right is taken driving along the main drag in Jaco)

I stopped into a few shops looking for a Costa Rica map.Just a few shops, and evidently the wrong ones, cuz I couldn’t find one.So, failing in my half-hearted search, I called my son, who was already up in Samara and asked him how to get there.He said: “It’s easy.Just head north, following the signs to Liberia, until you see the sign to the Taiwan Bridge or El Puente La Amistad”.”Ok” thought I, “no problem.I can do this”.

So off I went.

Not that I have displayed any interest in editing this story to such an extent that what was a longish, carry-on sort of tale at the outset should be reduced to a gripping, fast moving adventure that leaves the reader rivetted by the anticipation of coming developments, but we here at this juncture will jump ahead to where I drive into Liberia.

I followed the directions.I know I did.The groups of signs north of Jaco all had one for Liberia.Easy.So, I assiduously examined them all for that one that would direct me to the bridge.

As I drove into Liberia, I thought that maybe I had gone too far.Fact is, I was enjoying the drive very much.My life as a realtor in the Dominical / Uvita / San Isidro area is one of lots of activity.I love it.I spend most of my life in what have to be some of the Earth’s most beautiful terrain.I see waterfall, toucans, monkeys, spiders, misty ocean views throughout the majority of my days spent in the mundane pursuit of supporting myself and family.There is also my office life which is one of refreshing harmony.Francine my friend and secretary.Rod, my associate, listing agent, and friend. Scott who is our resident tech guy and affiliate marketing expert, and friend.Then there is the steady flow of property sellers, and clients that stop in throughout the course of a normal day in the office.Going to work is for me, a genuine pleasure.

However, when I get a bit of time to myself, you know, the kind where you know that there is not going to be any sort of a deviating influence to the present path that my thoughts are moving along, no interruption to the contented browsing of the contents of my own skull and heart; I enjoy this time. Solitude would be the name for it.Oh, and then there are those amazing podcasts.If you, dear reader, don’t yet know about podcasts, and have an iPod, find out about these things, especially if you are planning to make a long drive longer by getting lost any time soon.

I called my son.“I’m in Liberia” said I. “What???!!!” said he.I had evidently overshot the turn. I had an hour and a half drive yet ahead of me, and the graduation proceedings were to begin in an hour and a half.Off I went, deciding to break the number one rule of driving safely in Costa Rica, I drove fast.It was fine actually since the road was very straight and rivaled the quality and width of that wonderful highway down south in our neck of the woods.

About 5 minutes of making great time, driving at a speed that would have no doubt gotten me to the graduation with 7 or 8 minutes to spare, I came to a screeching halt.There was some construction going on.I waited for an hour and a half with what ended up being somewhere around a hundred other people, sitting parked, in their cars, on that road.

I drove into Samara some time after the graduation ceremony, so I had missed it. But the banquet was to go on into the night. I felt more determined than ever to get there.Once in Samara I called Neil (my son) again and got directions on how to get to the resort.Samara is way out there.Well, once you get to Samara, you drive further out to an island, or point, or something like that, that is yet more remote.I was to drive to a sign that someone had spray painted a red arrow on, and follow that arrow.I did.Then when I got to the river, I was to cross and continue on another 6 kilometers. And here is where it gets really dumb.

The night was black, aided only by a fingernail moon and the Milky Way’s myriad stars.I arrived at the river’s edge and noted that this was indeed a “river” as opposed to what that word can sometimes designate here in Costa Rica, a “stream”.My headlights died about halfway across and the far bank was nothing more than a faint silhouette in the distance. The water was murky so there was no bottom to be seen. Hmmmm.Looks dangerous. In my determined state, I decided to call my son to have him describe to me the route to take to cross the river.Hoping to hear something like, “you enter the river and veer to the left curving gradually to the right where you’ll find the road again coming out of the far bank”.No signal on the cell phone. Hmmmm… the whole graduation procession must have crossed this river so it must be crossable… Blinded by my resolved determination to get to my daughter’s graduation, I drove into the river.

Well, as you might expect, I drove, not on a level plain, through the river.I instead drove down into the water, which promptly came up over the hood, diffusing the headlights as though they were those of a submarine.All four wheels continued to turn and some water reached as far as the windshield.Forward progress was slow going and I heard myself saying “oh please oh please oh please oh please”.There was a moment of a weightless floating sensation where I knew that I had lost the battle and would end up; best case scenario, floating down to the ocean but continue on alive, just needing a new car.Or, worst case scenario, dead, in which case the loss of my present car and the need to buy a new one wouldn’t bother me near as much as it would in the best case scenario, but I was still hoping to have those concerns.

My tires found purchase on the gravel river bottom and I continued ahead, trying with all my will to not gun the motor, (which for some inexplicable continued to run), thereby effectively nullifying any slight traction that I might currently be enjoying: the forward motion continued, until I bumped into the far bank, no exit in site, but my motor still running, my headlights pointing up to the bank askew and my muffler under the water making blub blub blub sounds.I sat there for a little while and realized that I was on the other side of what I now regard as “the scariest moment of my life”. I suspected that I might be in some sort of shock or something.The emotion of fear had been intense.I could feel the residue of whatever chemicals we release in such a situation still present in my veins.So I sat for a little while and began to enjoy the fact that I was still alive, and that my car was still running.

For the gripping conclusion Click here for Part III

Part I of III
Part II || Part III

Actually, I’d just as soon not talk about it. It’s a bit embarrassing. There may be a catharsis in the telling, and perhaps a description of the journey that preceded the “Dumb Thing” will be useful to those interested in Costa Rica as a vacation spot, or as a place to live. So, I’ll tell the tale, but you, dear reader, are going to have to get to the end to discover the really dumb thing.

My daughter recently graduated from the highly acclaimed school of massage up in Samara, Guanacaste Province, Costa Rica. 4 months of super-intensive schooling in anatomy and the various techniques for massaging that anatomy, all of which culminated in a graduation ceremony in a very remote, seaside resort just south of Samara called Punta Islita. I set off from Uvita, which is south of Dominical by about 12 minutes, and south of Manuel Antonio by about an hour and forty five minutes, and south of Samara by about 6 hours, just so you can get your orientation.

Uvita is situated on the Pacific side of Costa Rica, and Samara is also, but it’s out on the Nicoya Peninsula, which involves either driving around the inlet that forms the peninsula, or you can take a ferry across the bay, or you can drive a little further up and drive across the bridge that is known as “El Puente de la Amistad” which is also known as “The Taiwan Bridge”, since it was donated by Taiwan to Costa Rica. So, I took off at 5:00 AM. I had to take a quick jaunt up to San Isidro since I had left some gifts up there that I really bad wanted to be able to give to my family. We hadn’t all been together as a family for about a year, so it was to be quite the special occasion. My little detour up to San Isidro would add about an hour and a half to my trip, but such is family life. Besides, the early morning drive to San Isidro was breathtakingly beautiful.

When I returned from San Isidro, I headed northward towards Quepos / Manuel Antonio on what is known as “The Bumpy Road” or simply “The Road From Hell”. It is a roughly twenty five mile stretch of road that has eluded paving since Costa Rica’s inception, despite the fact that the highway north of it is smooth and wide, and the highway south is what us residents of this particular stretch like to call, (and quite modestly so I might add), the nicest highway in the country. Anymore with all the road improvements going on in the country thanks in large part to the current Arias administration, its probably not, but I think that we’ll just go ahead and keep bragging about our stretch of coastal highway.

Anyway, in order to sort of give a report on this stretch of road, which I get asked about quite a lot, and in order to delay the detailing of The Dumbest Thing I’ve Ever Done, I think I’ll go ahead and describe the drive. The Bumpy Road between Dominical and Quepos is in the best condition I’ve ever seen it. It took me about fifty minutes to travel its span, and it was, relatively speaking, smooth going. Please note that it pains my honesty-loving heart to use the word “smooth” in connection in any way with that road. But, I emphasize the qualifier “relatively” in deciding to use it. If you’ve ever driven that stretch of road, and have survived the drinking binge that resulted from it, you’ll know of the condition to which I refer. It is still amazingly bumpy, but relative to how it has been for the years that I have been in this country, it is a lot, well… less bumpy. It seems that they are actually improving the road and are getting it ready for paving. There are still a number of single lane bridges that are made up of railroad tracks running cross ways to form the driving surface. These bridges form a bottle neck that punctuate the drive with a number of slow downs and stops along the way but also provide an opportunity to purchase various road vendor snack foods as you wait. I subsisted on salted and dried plantain bananas washed them down with the wonderfully refreshing and healthy “pipa” or coconuts with a straw for drinking the juice. Some call that coconut milk but it’s really not. The juice that is found housed inside of the hard exterior and nutty meat of the coconut is coconut juice, whereas coconut milk is something different. I think that is made from pulverizing the meat of the coconut, but really I’m not sure. Do I seem like I’m stalling?

Ok, let’s move north, up into Quepos. I always like to stop at the Café Milagro, which is found just before the one lane bridge as you’re leaving Quepos towards the north. It’s on the right hand side and is well worth the stop for the traumatized traveler who has just passed over the now “smooth” road from Dominical. Their coffee is great and the owner has great taste in décor. You definitely feel like you are in Costa Rica, but there is a wonderful “café” feel there that invites you to sit and relax, and perhaps chat with whomever you might be sitting with. I got a double espresso and then moved on my way. Oh, I should mention for the tobacco aficionado that there is a small shop just next door to Milagro café that sells Cuban cigars. I stopped in there just to smell the tobacco, which I love, but didn’t by any cigars, which I don’t care a lick for, but I’m sure they’re good, if you’re into that sort of thing. Ok, getting on with it.
Click here for Part II

2/21/07
As I fly out of the San Jose airport, headed for the States again for another visit to Mom, I find myself in those rare and exciting moments sitting in my row on my flight as the passengers are getting on board. Its a full flight, or nearly so, and I’m sitting in a row, window seat, with no one sitting next to me. I’ve got the whole row to myself! People are still loading, and so I’m just not sure if maybe, just maybe, I am going to get the whole row to myself. But then… they come along and there goes that.

I think sometimes about the dread travel experience that is so characterized in movies and how it is when the guy (or gal) that gets assigned the seat next to you turns out to be a horrible bore, or they just want to talk talk the whole way and all you wanted to do was get some uncommitted quiet time on the plane. I think that I have narrowly missed a couple such encounters but was saved by a movie or iPod or some other thing that I could use as a distraction. Sometimes I get to thinking though that maybe I’m one of those people. It can happen on occasion that do I get to talking a bit. I know, for those of you that know me that is hard to believe. But, it’s true, it can happen.

Usually the conversations that I have in this particular setting have to do with making “the move”. “What did you have in mind when you moved to Costa Rica?” Was there something about the States that you didn’t like?”

“Nope” is my standard answer. I loved our life in the States. Our life there was good. We lived up in the Aspen valley of Colorado and had a beautiful circle of friends, nice home, great job. I can say though that one of the things that concerned us, as parents, when we were up there was the effect of living in affluent America on our young ones. What we observed was a lack of appreciation and an attitude towards feeling like life simply “provided”. A credit card was expected and all things were get-able. This temperament didn’t seem healthy. The human psyche seems to do better under other not so abundant conditions. But, to go there is to really reach inside and try and remember where we were at when we did the big move. It wasn’t so much about leaving something, but about moving on to something different, something new. It didn’t even need to be better per se. New culture, new language, life enrichment.

“Been there, done that” is where we were at about that life, now we were for something different. Costa Rica didn’t disappoint.

We belong to what is, if not “the” dominant society/culture on the planet, it is surely one of the most influential on the planet. The effect of the U.S. is everywhere. The clothing, the free market, the music, the food. The influence is palpable and is having near-revolutionary affects on the culture here in Costa Rica.

We used to stand out. As a family, we would walk through town and the bustling main streets of San Isidro de el General would seem to go quiet as people got a good look at the North Americans. This doesn’t happen anymore. All in eight short years. Being gringo here is not so unusual. Aside from the fact that there are more of us here so everyone here has had a good chance to give us a looking over, we simply don’t look so different, we aren’t so notably different in our manner of dress and body language.

“Why wouldn’t anyone be interested in the Central American Free Trade Agreement?” This is another one of those questions. Its a lot like, “do you want to see the road between Dominical and Quepos paved?” Hmmmm both questions would seem to have an obvious answer: “of course I would love to see commerce stimulated between the countries.” or “of course I would love to not ruin my car driving to Quepos and have it take thirty minutes instead of an hour and a half.” But the reality isn’t so obvious.

When we first moved here, the society was largely pedestrian. The neighborhoods where we lived were, for the most part, inhabited by people that didn’t have cars. They walked and used the bus system. Consequently, most things could be acquired right there on the street where one lived. Nearly every street had its “pulperia”. Pulperias are like little general stores that have everything in them. Groceries, medications, newspapers. It was also the seat of local gossip and a great way to find out what was going on in the area. It served as your address, people could send stuff to your barrio, or neighborhood, and it would get to the pulperia where you would be notified of it next time you went there, which would no doubt be quite soon. If you had a medical emergency you would likely run over to the pulperia and let them know about it so that help would show up. And on it goes.

Pulperias are disappearing. I can’t imagine what all those people that still don’t have cars do. Granted, there are a lot more cars here now. So maybe its a non-issue and everyone can get to where they want to get what they need. But the repercussions of the North American lifestye are clear. Its like watching history on crack, its happening at warp speed. Bring in the large International corporations and I suspect that what is left of the old pedestrian culture will be mopped up and we’ll simply be into another outlet for the big names that we see in many places around the earth.

Its funny how us dominant ones can find a place that we like so much, and then work towards making it like the place where we came from. We found it refreshingly different, but certainly inconvenient. I guess its this emphasis on “convenience” that drives the change. We like a good consistent electrical supply to our homes. We like a fast internet connection. We like to be able to drive, but not just drive, drive smoothly to our homes and to our markets.

And no, I don’t really want to see the road between Dominical and Quepos paved.

Its funny how when you live in the country, or jungle as the case may be in Costa Rica, when it comes time for a vacation or a change of scene, one often looks to the city. The thought of going to New York or Chicago sounds wonderful. So here I am in San Jose Costa Rica. What a city!

I drove my client Ruthie to her hotel so that she would be near the airport for her early morning flight. Now, don’t go getting any ideas people. I am not normally available for the 4 1/2 hour drive to San Jose to transport real estate clients around. In this case, well… 71 year young Ruthie was a little bit unique (in a very nice way), and the timing worked out, so I went.

I decided this time to go right into the heart of the city and find myself a simple place where I could cruise the city and get to know the place a little bit better. We have always kind of avoided the “centro” of San Jose, and so even after 8 years of living here, I can’t say that I know the city very well. I can drive through the thing, which is a major accomplishment in itself. In fact, I think that a person could probably make a business leading people through the city so that they can get from one side to the other.

When you are coming to Dominical, you land at the Juan Santamaria Airport on the North West side of San Jose. To get to Dominical, you generally need to drive through the city before getting to the main highway going down to San Isidro de Perez Zeledon, then over to Dominical. Of course, a person could opt to go directly over to the coast through Atenas and pass by Jaco, Quepos / Manuel Antonio and then down the bumpy road, but my choice is usually to go through San Jose. It seems that you get to pick your poison. You can drive the bumpy road between Quepos and Dominical, or you can brave the maze of San Jose and go the other way, which is a bit faster.

Anyway, the point being, I’m not totally inept in the ways of San Jose Costa Rica, but I thought that it’d be nice to get to know the place a little bit better.

I found a small hotel that charges $20.00 a night, has a Soda attached that serves a complementary typical breakfast, and is OLD… really cool. Cool both figuratively in that I like the place A LOT, and cool in that the water didn’t seem to ever get warm. I don’t mind cold water showers in Dominical at all, in fact I prefer them, but in San Jose? No gracias. The water is warm sometimes though, and I’ll return to this particular hotel again, cold water and all.

I had a project to take care of while here in the city. I wanted to buy some exercise equipment. So, I left my car in the locked yard of the hotel, and caught a cab. I told the cab driver what I was looking for and off we went into the belly of the beast.

The streets of San Jose are tight. Many are one way. There don’t seem to be any sort of parking regulations at all, and so some times what was a 2 lane road, becomes just under 1 since a truck or 2 decided to park next to each other on the opposite sides of the street. Somehow it all works. What’s also interesting is that no one seems to get too upset about stuff.

I remember one time in San Isidro early on when we had just gotten here, I had hopped in a cab and told the guy that I was in a hurry. So off we went, cutting people off and honking. I turned my head and looked at one of the guys who had honked back and he was smiling and waving. It turns out that honking here is friendly. I commented on this to my taxista, mentioning how cutting people off and honking in the States generally has the effect of getting one shot. He said, “its no problem here. They just figure I’m in a hurry for some reason and they’re not. ” When I am first back in the States on a visit, one of the things that I have to keep in mind, in addition to not sitting at a gas pump waiting for the attendant to come out and fill the tank, wash the windshield, and check the oil and tire pressure, is that its NOT good to honk there. It is not considered friendly, and might get one shot.

The taxista took me into the craziness and dropped me off at the Centro Mercado, or something like that. If you want a real Costa Rica city experience, do that. Hop in a cab and tell him to take you to the Centro Mercado, or Mercado Central, I don’t remember exactly what, but he’ll get the picture. It is good for a couple hours of walking around looking at a broad diversity of people, and raw materials for sale, in all stages of metamorphosis from leather to shoes, coconut fiber to planting baskets, wood to typical coffee makers. But, no excersize equipment. So I asked someone where to go and they sent me down the street a couple blocks.

“Blocks” here are “cien metros” or 100 meters. So, “ciento veintecinco metros” is a block and a quarter down the way. So I went there, and saw nothing. I asked again, they sent me on another 25 meters, but as I’m heading out from my most recent direction-giving-guy, I hear this crash of an unusual, ear-catching timbre. I turn to look into an open front pharmacy and there is a guy there on the floor doing a full blown, gran mal epileptic seizure. And the people are starting to panic.

I have had a number of encounters with these events and figured what was about to happen, and that I ought to see if I couldn’t maybe interrupt it. Observers of a gran mal epileptic seizure always want to do something. Sometimes they try and put something in the guy’s mouth, having heard that is the thing to do, so that he won’t bite his tongue off. But I don’t think so. I think you just make sure that he can’t hit anything with his flailings, and wait. So into the pharmacy I went and stood in the middle of the brewing panic and announced in a loud voice (in Spanish): “Don’t worry about it. He’s an epileptic having a seizure and he’s fine” The instantaneous relief was almost palpable as the concept of not “doing something” set in and seemed agreeable to everyone. The guy had dropped his bag of stuff and some money, and the people there seemed genuinely concerned about the fellow, so it seemed apparent after awhile that he was in good hands. So off I went with some expressions of appreciation in my wake, making me feel as though I had done my good deed for the day.

The next 25 meters I hit pay dirt. The place had a lot of what I was looking for. So, I told the salesman that I would likely be back for it, but that I wanted to look around some, and did he have any recommendations of where else I could look for the specialized exercise equipment. He gave me the directions to the Committee of Sports for San Jose, so off I went in another cab and upon arriving there, found that every person who could possibly help me with this endeavor was inexplicably unavailable. Such is Latin America. But one person did give me the name and phone number of the guy who was supposed to be there that is in charge of equipment. So I called his number and left a message.

About an hour later, I get a call from this fellow and he gives my cab driver the directions to his house, which is also where he hand-makes equipment like what I’m looking for. This is some good stuff. He actually exports his things overseas and it can’t normally be bought in Costa Rica, unless you go to the trouble of finding the guy.

So I spent a good bit of dough with Elvin, but I think that anywhere else it would have been many times the amount since it is all leather, hand sewn goods. Such is life in Latin America, and such is a typical day in San Jose Costa Rica.

California Contrast Articles - 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 ||

Today marks the 1 week point of my visit to Davis California. I know this since the Farmer’s Market is happening again.

I was taking photos of the event when this fellow comes up to me and says, “is that an S2IS”? or something like that. I said “I don’t know”, but upon further investigation, which involved looking at the front of the camera, I determined that it was, in fact, an S2IS. “I use that camera too” he said.
Uh huh, thought I, but then I noticed that I was standing alongside a photo booth: “Teacher Bill’s Photos”. I said, “are you Teacher Bill? Yep,” he said. “And you use this camera to take photos that you sell here? - Yep”. Cool.

We got to talking. I told him that I had been raised in Davis. Him too, as it turns out. I told him that I live in Costa Rica and have this website, Dominical.biz. He said: “of course, everyone here knows about Dominical.biz!”… all right, just kidding. That is a bit of an exaggeration. He had actually never heard of the site. But, he was interested in what I was doing with my photos. I told him that, even though I had been raised here in Davis that after leaving it 30 some years ago, and also living in a foreign land for the last 8 years, there is a large cultural contrast. We call this “cultural contrast”, those of us in this particular profession. It is this “cultural contrast” that I document via photos and writings, mental meanderings if you will.

Anyway, in talking with Teacher Bill, as is so often the case, I found myself formulating ideas that had been kind of rattling around, undefined in my head over the last few days. The contrast between Dominical / San Isidro, and Davis California, is black and white, night and day, ocean and dessert, you know, contrasty. Here in Davis, everything is all so, well, correct. Yes, that is a good word for it, “correct”.

I mentioned this to Teacher Bill the photographer, this point about “correctness” and he concurred. Davis is PC (politically correct) whereas the Dominical Costa Rica area is absolutely not. As an example of this, among my Tico friends in San Isidro and Dominical, you will hear the Spanish equivalent for the word “fat” used openly and freely. “Hey man, you look fat today”. I’ve been told that I look fat. In fact, I think that this was meant as a compliment. “Healthy” would be synonymous with “fat”.

In the Davis culture I think that, whereas F words, and S words, have lost some of their potency over the years, the Fat word, has taken on new strength, to the point where we will lie. A fat person acknowledges “I’m fat”. All those in earshot lie and say “oh no your not fat. You’re just big boned”. Fat is a bad word here in Davis California, and as I understand it, elsewhere in the States.

This is not so much to discuss “fat” as to discuss culture. It’s different. Everywhere you look there are cautionary signs about what could happen here. I guess the concern is litigation. “Careful, this tree will likely fall down and land on top of you if you choose to walk under it. Most people are known to die when a tree falls on them. Walk under this tree at your own risk.”

The grocery store here that I have mentioned in some of my other articles has a cancer warning sign as you enter it. The bike path that I used as a boy to get to junior high school has a warning alongside it for cancer.

By contrast, in San Isidro, you can be walking along on many street corners and see a jagged piece of steel sticking out of the concrete where a sign used to be. Watch out man! You could really get hurt by this thing, this jagged piece of steel sticking out of the sidewalk, if you don’t watch where you are going.

I imagine such a situation in the States, and what I imagine is a line of people, waiting their turn to get a running start at the jagged thing sticking out of the sidewalk so that they can injure themselves in some way, then sue the city, and never have to work again.

In San Isidro, or elsewhere in Costa Rica, if you were to injure yourself on such a thing, you’d likely want to hide the fact, because, “hey man, watch where you’re going”. Plus you’d miss time off work, and you’d have to pay your own medical bills.

Anyway, I am hoping that we see some postings here to Dominical.biz from Teacher Bill. I told him about the site, so we’ll see. He does some lovely photography and, he’s got a really fat camera.

California Contrast Articles - 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 ||

7/22/06
The value of living outside of the country of one’s birth is clearly seen when one returns to that country. It is interesting how something so familiar can be so… well… unfamiliar.

I have a custom, when travelling to the States, the country of my birth and where I spent the majority of my life until moving to Costa Rica in 1999, of going to one of the newsrooms in the first international airport that I arrive at in the States. This is usually in Houston. I like to go there to see what’s up in the US of A.

Standing back and looking at “The Wall” is what I like to do. “The Wall” is covered with magazines that have covers designed for the express purpose of getting us to pick that magazine out of the myriad of choices. You might say that this visual experience is telling the tale of what the majority of magazine buyers want to read about in the States. To appeal to the lowest common denominator? I think that for anyone visiting this country, this is the way to know what is going on, right now. I think that also it explains, to some degree, why people are pouring out of the US and into places like Costa Rica.

“The Wall” tells me what I am going to be hearing about and coming to think about during my visit to the States. I was thrown a curve ball this time though. The flipping newsroom had categorized its magazines: “Men”, “Women”, “Technology” etc…

So I adapted.

I decided to do a psychological test and see what gender was on the covers of these categorized magazines. The men’s section had mostly women. The women’s section had all women with the exception of one. Interesting. This study actually confirms what I’ve been saying all along: women are beautiful. I’ll bet your glad you’ve taken the time to read this article, eh? This is some late breaking, cutting edge stuff.

OK, well. A slight detour there. The first few times that I did this er, research, the hands down winner of the “What is Going On In The States” award went to – boobs. It seemed that no matter what the topic, boobs were featured, or strongly suggested, on the cover of the magazine. It is interesting to note that I think this is changing some. Now, there is likely someone that we recognize, some kind of celebrity thing going on.

On this trip, it would seem that the country is concerned about Jennifer Aniston and the actor that she is currently seeing, as to whether or not they are going to get married and, it is reported, she isn’t interested in getting a pre-nup. Imagine! Jen is going to risk everything… Well, we’ll see. Also there is some concern about Tom Cruise’s child, not sure what, but something’s going on there - and it could be that Jennifer and Angelina are going to get together and do what Brad fears most, whatever that may be… or so they say.

Peace in the Middle-East is big this trip, and global warming. The Peace in the Middle-East isn’t new, in fact it was hot 20 years ago, but its particularly hot right now. It’s incredibly sad how many people are dieing over there.

Global Warming is enjoying global acceptance after emerging out of the morass of debate over its actual existence. Now, it seems, everyone is in agreement that it is happening. Although looking around at the cars that people are driving around in California, mostly large, the news doesn’t seem to really matter.

California Contrast Articles - 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 ||

Saturday, July 22, 2006
This article is one of a series that is explained by clicking here.

This is my second day here in Gringolandia and my amazement at the wonders of the place continues on longer than I have experienced in other trips. Maybe its because of the timing of my arrival. Getting here at 2:00 AM and then getting a couple hours of sleep perhaps has extended my “just got here” state of mind, even into day 2. Whatever it is, it’s been delightful.

I went back out to The Nugget for coffee this morning on my way to dropping Mom’s car off at the Honda place. Her brakes were going bad last night in our jaunt out to Sacramento. I got to thinking that, really, the ability to make a car stop, is more important than the ability to make it go. It, the car, goes fine, but what it doesn’t do well is stop. So I took that thing out to University Honda. If one were to compare going to a mechanic’s shop in California with a mechanic’s shop in Costa Rica, well… they may as well compare with Mars. You drive into a well arranged and delineated entrance. The far left has a fellow standing at a counter helping people that need quick assistance. Stuff like oil changes and minor service. I felt that maybe our brake problem could be considered “minor” like maybe just an adjustment or some fluid or something, so I pulled in there. The guy was totally helpful and directed me to Stacy inside the office. Stacy was a bubbly professional gal that liked the fact that I had brought my roller blades to return home with. She had just gotten a new set of roller blades but her husband wouldn’t let her use them until she had the full set of pads: knee, elbow, and wrist. She said that she is a speed demon.

I had just seen the Honda car called an “Element” driving down the road, and they had one out on the lot. I think that it is one of the coolest looking cars I have ever seen. I have never seen one in Costa Rica. I asked her about the car and we got to talking. I said that I have been out of the country for the past 8 or so months and that during that time, there seems to have been a huge change in car styles going on. The Element I had seen before, but there are some extremely strange concept vehicles that have now, evidently, been put into production. Of course, California has always been this way. One big showroom floor for cars. Gazillions of ‘em.

Global warming is very much in the news, but I can’t imagine any way that they can change the system enough to make any appreciable difference when you see a highway, near a mall, in Sacramento California, at about 5:00 PM. Every stinking one of those cars, of which there are an innumerable amount, is belching out carbon dioxide faster than the Earth can assimilate it. And there is no way that you could talk these people out of it, no matter what the consequences, like total and global annihilation. Doesn’t matter.

I found it interesting that the Honda dealership provides a shuttle to town for folks that drop cars off. There are no buses, no taxis. Everyone has got their own ride. I see young men and women driving around in Cadillac and Lexus SUV’s. These cars cost boatloads of cash to buy, and some serious buckaroos to drive, but these kids drive ‘em anyway. No problem. Beautiful cars though. I saw a 4 door, super tricked, Cadillac pickup truck. I didn’t know that Cadillac made a pickup truck.

So after getting things arranged for Mom’s car, which by the way, is a ‘91 Honda Accord with about 54,000 miles on it, I set out on roller blades to the Farmer’s Market.

There was something very cool about cruising through the silky smooth streets and overpasses getting back to town. I had on my iPod and was able to really get into being alive and having the health and ability to engage in such an activity. Wendy Range, an old family friend, and now a dear personal friend - its interesting how things like this change in life. Here is one of Dad’s old buds, you know, one of the “olds” when I was growing up, and now we’re hanging together. Anyway, he had heard of what I was doing and was concerned about me taking on such an arduous task of rollerblading during a heat wave. Its supposed to get up to 109 today. I am not finding the heat a problem so far. I guess that Costa Rica has conditioned me to the heat. So he drove out to Honda to see if he could give me a ride home. We crossed paths shortly after I started my sojourn. I thanked him but told him that I was fine and that I had water in my backpack.

I think that if such a thing had happened in Costa Rica we’d go on about how friendly the Ticos are and how much they take care of each other. What do we talk about when it comes to our own kind doing such acts?

When I got to the Farmer’s Market, I cruised by the whole thing cuz I was a little bit nervous about getting there in my strange getup. I had a helmet on, wrist protectors, a backpack, and no shirt. I glid (past tense for “glide”) by on the other side of the street to observe if there were any men in the market without a shirt on, but there was not one, despite the heat. The place is shaded by a roof overhead, but nonetheless, in Latin America there would have been a number of men with no shirts on.

So I set up in an isolated area and got myself presentable. I had a shirt and my flip flops in the backpack. Keeping the iPod on, I cruised the market. I found it most agreeable that among Gringos, one can sort of create their own little world, almost like not even being there, allowing one to engage in the voyeuristic pleasure of serious people watching.

In Latin America, the people all look at each other, right into the eyes. In Gringolandia, they don’t. Just an observation, but I think that it is this that makes walking around in a crowd with an iPod on all the more interesting. All the interaction with the people in your area in Latin America would make this sort of cocooning awkward.

After tasting a salmon cake at a booth, I asked the guy if they shipped internationally and he said yes, and off we went, talking. The website is www.cedarcreeksalmon.com, but their site appears to be offline at the moment. The guy, whose name I didn’t get, has the perfect personality for the job. He’s funny and engaging and you want to buy from him. The Salmon cakes were outstanding and so I bought a couple for Mom and I to have for lunch, which we did, and they were great.

Anyway, the guy says, “man it must be weird to come back to this country after leaving it for so long” … then he went on to say something about going into a grocery store. “How did you know?’ I said, and told him about my experience yesterday of going into The Nugget, a grocery store, and getting a cup of coffee. I got a medium and it came in a paper cup, which burned my hand. I figured that I’d have to wait for it to cool down so that I could drink it, when I noticed a stack of those wonderful “Java Jackets” right there next to where I had set my cup down. Perfect. So now I can drink my coffee. I went off to get a shopping cart and began navigating, one handedly and with difficulty as I held my cup in the other hand when lo! I noticed that someone had so oh-so-thoughtfully designed a hole in the cart just perfect for my cup, effectively freeing up both hands with which to push the cart around, and still get to enjoy my coffee.

Well the salmon guy and his wife seemed to enjoy the objective perspective of his land as I concluded my account by saying: “man, you gotta love this country!”