A Three Hour Tour

On Saturday July 17th, we had the pleasure of going boating with one of Jim’s co-workers. They picked us up boat in tow and we sped to Puntarenas on the reopened Caldera highway, where we met their other friends. As the 14 of us left the dock with two boats and two jet skis, they commented that safe boating on the Pacific means going with other people. We assumed that this comment meant “the more the merrier”.

We boated past the long Puntarenas causeway, across a relatively calm Gulf of Nicoya to Isla San Lucas, which used to be a prison Island “like Alcatraz”. Now, I’ve never been to Alcatraz, but I’m pretty sure if I had to spend life in prison on an island, I’d choose Costa Rica over “the rock”. We headed to a spot to wake board, and with the two jet skis tied to one boat, we snacked while the kids went wakeboarding for about an hour. As the tide ebbed, we saw a lot of debris (garbage) rolling by in the water, prompting comments of “muy sucio” (very dirty). We avoided getting in, especially after our host climbed out with some kind of a jelly fish sting on her hip. Moments later, the ski boat came limping back with a plastic bag caught in the impeller, which took four guys an hour to remove. Once we were moving again, we crossed over a wide expanse of ocean to Tortuga Island. It was quite a ride through rolling waves higher than the boat exacerbated by chop and frequent floating tree trunks, but the islands and shore line were spectacular.

They showed us the touristy part of Tortuga Island – complete with a restaurant and toilets - before taking us around a point to the “other beach”— no restaurant, no toilets, but no people. We plunged into the neck-deep water and swam to shore, lunch in hand. As we ate our sandwiches and chips, a local vendor showed up in a boat that looked like it would not have made it across our pond in Plymouth, let alone the bay, and served some of the more adventuresome of us raw oysters. We were not among the indulgers.

After lunch we boated back across the choppy ocean waters to Isla San Lucas, where we water skied and wake boarded for two hours. With the sun setting on a beautiful day, we stopped to pick up the last wake boarder and tie down the equipment. “And that” commented our host “was a full day of water sports!” Then he tried to start the engine… to no avail.

It’s not like we climbed on some rotten scow with a 7 hp outboard. This was a brand new 20’ Sea Doo Challenger with an inboard 430 hp intercooled super charged engine…that wouldn’t start. The sun didn’t look so high in the sky all of a sudden. Are those rain clouds? Can howler monkeys swim? I think we still have some pretzels left. “You jinxed us you know” Nancy chided. “Huh? What’d I do? I was just sitting here”. “You sang the opening line to Gilligan’s Island when we left”. Oh. Just shoot me. What a poor choice of music.

After spending a half hour calling the boat mechanic, opening every trap door flipping every switch and jiggling every wire, the boat still wouldn’t start. So 9 of us piled into the smaller boat, and 3 squished on one jet ski, we putted across the open bay as the other jet ski slowly towed the boat back to the dock. What took about 20 minutes to cross in the morning now took well over an hour. Fortunately, the weather held and the sea was calm. We arrived at the dock ahead of the disabled boat so we could take our showers and get changed, only to realize that we had left our shorts and sandals on the boat.

We made it home by 10 and woke up the next morning realizing that it’s not too bad being marooned…in Costa Rica.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

We'll update soon.

Time is flying by.

We feel like we are being pulled around.

Part III: Where the Streets Have No Name

You know that U2 song "...where the streets have no name...". I think Bono must have been thinking of Costa Rica. Even though it is only 2.6 miles as the crow flies to our church (which we can see from our balcony), the driving distance is about 10 miles and takes anywhere from 15 to 35 minutes to get there, depending on traffic and rain.

Here are the directions to get there: take the road that the Marriott is on and when you get to the intersection at the Ribera shopping center turn left, making sure you watch all four (yes, 4 not 3) directions, since no one has a stop sign and almost (but not quite) everyone has a yield sign. Bear to the right at the top of the hill, and head to Panasonic. Turn left at Panasonic onto what everyone (everyone but the map makers) refers to as Lindora. Resist the urge to buy a battery charger for your cell phone from the guy prowling the intersection. Watch for motorcycles passing between cars waiting for the light to change. Follow Lindora past the pejibaye stands and over the Villa-something-or-other-ria bridge to the Forum office complex, and turn right just after the bridge over the creek then left up the hill, curve to the right, head west on the marginal road next to the highway, turn left to cross the bridge over the highway, left again and now you are ready to enter the highway. Note that the entrance ramp also triples as a lane and an exit ramp, so make sure you watch for a) the guy going 80 and continuing on, b) the guy going 80 and exiting, c) the guy entering in front of you going 8, and d) all of the above. Enter onto the highway and stay in the left lane, since the buses use the right lane as a bus stop (unless you need to pass that guy going 8 in the left lane). Get off at the Guachapelin exit. (Extra points if you pronounced “watch-a-pill-een” correctly). You’re almost there, but now it gets complicated. Follow the exit ramp and turn left at the bottom. Pass under the bridge. Resist the temptation to turn right onto the exit ramp from the highway, but turn right immediately after the ramp at the tall clump of weeds. Don’t expect to see the road you are turning onto until you’ve made the turn, since you are climbing a nearly vertical hill. For goodness sakes go slowly, because there are ALWAYS people standing in the road (the darker it is or the harder it’s raining, the more people). Don’t worry about their cars parked in the road, or in the ditch, or over the ditch (we can’t figure out how they got them there either). Focus on not hitting the people. Don’t gawk at the houses, wondering how anyone could live in such a dump, or what kind of business might be going on between the people in the street. Once the pavement ends, try to avoid the potholes (you won’t be successful) and continue on for another 100 meters. Turn left to go up what looks to be the north face of Everest, and turn left again into the church driveway when you see the open gate. Enter into the church and thank God that you have made it safely and ask that if it’s raining when you head back home (it will be) and they are working on the highway bridge again, that this time they might mark the lane closure correctly (unlike last time when they put the “right lane closed ahead” sign for a left lane closure – both ways).

Try reading the aforementioned directions all at once. If you are out of breath and confused when you finish, you have a good sense of driving in Costa Rica.

Driving Part II: Labor Action – Tico Style

During that week in March, my boss was planning to pick me up around 7:30 the second morning I was there. When he finally showed up just before 9, he commented that there was a traffic jam and so what normally would have taken 20 minutes took closer to 2 hours.

As we headed toward the plant, he explained that the problem was closer to the airport. Sure enough there were several pairs of “rogue taxis” driving side by side at about 2 miles per hour, blocking both eastbound lanes of traffic in order to impede as many tourists as possible (keep in mind it was Spring break) and thereby generate as much publicity as possible. There were plenty of police in the area – watching. This labor action was about as violent as protests get in Costa Rica and as long as the drivers only block traffic, the police pretty much leave them alone. These rogue taxis were striking because they wanted to continue to operate without government interference – that is without being licensed, which required them to pass certain driving tests and demonstrate that their vehicle met safety standards. I’m sure there was a fee to be paid as well. The rogue drivers had supported the party that lost the election, and so they were trying to make their point before the new president took office.

There are about 15,000 of the rogue drivers in Costa Rica, and the new president negotiated with 10,000 of them after she took office. Of course, the other 5000 had their noses out of joint and decided to strike a few weeks ago. The traffic jam at the airport was limited because the police managed to block off the road to the airport before the demonstrators could form their blockades.

On that day I took my usual route to work west past the airport to Coyol, where I exit the highway, loop around to the right and cross over -- on a one lane bridge. Normally at rush hour there is a policeman at either end of the bridge directing traffic, and sometimes I have to wait for a few minutes stopped in the right lane of the highway before the traffic clears. On the day of the second strike, I sat for 10 minutes before I realized that the traffic on the bridge was not moving, and worse yet, all of the riders on a bus on the bridge were disembarking. So I ventured further west to the next exit and came back the other direction, where I exited just shy of another bottleneck in the traffic set up by the unhappy gang of 5000.

Enough to Drive You Nuts – Part Uno

Before I came here on a business trip in March, the company website warned travelers not to rent a car because of the exorbitant insurance charges and the “flat tire scam” run by some rental agencies designed to take more of your money. One of my Maple Grove colleagues also advised against driving and mentioned that “There are no street signs and one day a street is one way one direction and the next day it’s switched”. Ever the obedient corporate citizen, I heeded the warning and as fate or more likely good planning on the part of my boss-to-be would have it, my ground transportation was for the most part with BSC colleagues.

So here I am in March, just off the plane, riding in an SUV in the early afternoon, the sun is out, we’re surrounded by distant mountains and the traffic is relatively light on what looks to be a highway, heading to the Heredia plant, which is on the way to San Jose from the airport. The weather and scenery match the travel brochure, but the driving is not as advertised I gleefully tell myself.

I asked my colleague what road we were on. “I don’t know – it doesn’t really have a name.” Hmmm. Interesting. “We’re traveling east aren’t we?”
“I don’t know – we don’t really use those directions here”.
Huh?

Later, we leave the plant and head toward my hotel. It’s rush hour. My delusion about the driving drops faster than the employment rate under Obama. Cars have come out of the woodwork and the only thing moving faster than the people walking on the road (going whatever direction that suits them – along, against or across) are the motorcycles weaving between cars. The truck driver up ahead doesn’t seem to mind that his truck has died on him in the middle of the road. The bus driver on our left seems to expect to keep moving so he revs his diesel engine, billowing plumes of carcinogenic poly-nuclear aromatic hydrocarbon airborne particulates in our direction (that must balance the Obama comment, right?).

Anyway, my colleague seizes the opportunity to get past a line of cars by driving on what I am sure is the shoulder. I believe it to be the shoulder, because inches (ok centimeters) from the edge of the pavement is a drainage ditch deep enough to put any vehicle on its axle. But it turns out to be the right lane.

As we zoom along, miraculously missing pedestrians and motorcycles alike, I see a large building with a sign that reads “Carrion”. Too big to be a mortuary, I think to myself, but with all of these people walking on the road…my thought is interrupted by the squeal of tires and brakes as my colleague decides to turn left to get to my hotel. Pay no attention to the fact that we were in the right lane of a 4 lane road. There was a traffic signal after all. Not that we had a green light. The on-coming and crossing traffic weren’t moving because another truck had died on the other side. As I staggered out of the vehicle, I think “at least the weather is nice…”

Not Seen in Minnesota

The building codes are obviously different in Costa Rica than in Minnesota. Here are three sights that you definitely would not see in MN. No railing on the stairs (we might fall), the water heater is outside (water would freeze) and the major crack under the front door (where's the weather stripping).

The crack under the front door actually has a purpose, that is besides letting in creeping and crawling creatures. Once a month, the City of Belen (water and trash pick up) and electric bills get slid under the door. When we moved here, we didn't need to change the names on those accounts. As far as we can tell, those companies don't care who is living in the house. They just slide the bill under the door and if it doesn't get paid in 10 days they cut off the service. You have to pay the bills with cash or a CR debit card. You can pay the electric bill at the grocery store. You just hand the cashier the bill and they can access the company's computer from their register. I needed to go to a bank to pay the City bill.

Just an update on the weather. We had a total of 9.9 inches of rain in June and we have a new daily record with 1.9 inches this past Tuesday.

More pictures from the weekend

Here are a few more pictures from the weekend. I guess we forgot to say that we had the opportunity for a picture in a traditional ox-cart.
In case you didn't notice, Jim is in one of the waterfall pictures from yesterday.

Life is a Picnic

This was a great weekend to celebrate Independence Day, complete with high waterfalls, daffy birds, a picnic and fireworks.

On Saturday we headed north for the third time to see the La Paz waterfall park, about an hour’s drive from home. It turns out that the area was heavily damage by an earthquake about a year ago, which explained why half the road was missing (the outside half). We enjoyed seeing the aviary, butterfly garden, hummingbird patio and hiking down the along the waterfalls. We left as three busloads of American college students showed up. Don’t ask how they drove those large cruisers on that lousy road – we were just happy we didn’t have to pass them on their way in.

The 4th of July in Costa Rica is just the 4th of Julio. Independence Day is in September. However, we celebrated at the American Colony Committee 50th annual Independence Day picnic, which began at 8am Sunday morning at the cerveceria (a brewery with a picnic grounds) within walking distance from our house. The food was traditional – hot dogs, cole slaw, popcorn and lots of beer (all before noon on Sunday!), but the bagels were a bit unusual – buttered and served with cubes of various cheeses. We thought we would spend the morning “speaking American” but there were Ticos there in large numbers. One other odd bit – we stopped at the Republican’s abroad booth to fill out applications to receive absentee ballots from MN when the time comes. We’ll see if they make it here – we both put down different versions of what we believe to be our address!

The evening was capped off with an unexpected fireworks display from the Marriott Hotel down the street. The view from our upper deck was spectacular and the reports were thunderous, causing every dog and car alarm in Belen to spend the rest of the night barking and blaring.

The answer is ....

Yes, the mamon is the better fruit. I guess you can't judge a fruit by its cover.



The mamon has a sweet smell when it is opened. It has the texture of a peeled grape. It is quite sweet to eat and you have to eat around a big pit in the middle. There isn't much fruit to eat in just one mamon. From our plant book, the Mamon is originally from Malaysia where it is also used to produce red dye used in batik and folk medicines.



The granadilla is also sweet tasting. You use a spoon to eat it out of the peel because it is gooey and slimy and doesn't have a shape of its own. You also have a crunch since you are eating all of the seeds. You need to get past the texture if you want to enjoy the granadilla.