So our trip has entered a new phase. Not surprisingly, the fact that we go home in five days has been coloring our experience for the past week or so. But what really came out of the blue to shake things up here were the Bungalow Boys.
Khalida and Asan have two small guest houses for rent on their property. [Shameless plug for them: One is a two BR, one a 1 BR, both built in gorgeous wood, some from their property, with windows all around and amazing views of the ocean. The 2BR rents for something like $700/month, and the 1BR for $275 a month! A perfect place for a retreat, and what a steal!] Last week, two 18-year-old guys from the States moved into the small house. In passing conversation, it came up that they have BABYSITTING experience, in fact have even taken Red Cross child care classes. It has also come to our attention that they are staying way out of town without a car, and that they seem to be a little bored. So...
Now we suddenly have energetic, English-speaking, live-in babysitters who are willing to do it for the CR rate of $2/hr. Shame this only came to our attention during our last week here, but we've already taken advantage of it by going out a few evenings, and we're going to leave our kids with them today so that Max and I can have one afternoon alone on the beach. They're great; the kids adore them, and they're super easy-going and flexible with us.
On the going-out note: Seems I have to write about Montezuma and our evening outings. Last Wednesday, Khalida and I went out to dinner with an old friend of mine from here, Ginette. Since I had kids, the latest I have been out in the evening is probably 11:00, and I usually go to bed by about 9:00 (the kids have taken to getting up at 4:45am, or so, with the tropical sun). So we assumed we'd go out for a leisurely dinner and be home by 10, maybe 10:30. After dinner we decided to head over to the bar in town, which also doubles as a discoteca now and plays loud music into the wee hours, for a drink. Who could have anticipated that the three married old ladies would have such a grand old time out on the town? Khalida is drop-dead beautiful, and the boys lined up to woo her, having no idea that they were stepping into a Stephen Colbert-like courting process in which she entertained us at their expense and they actually seemed to enjoy the wit. She came right out with the fact that we were married with kids, and led the conversation into such savory topics as breastfeeding without missing a beat. All this, while the random bar guys whisked us out onto the dance floor for some rapid-fire salsa and merengue that had them all asking, "But you're not from here, are you?" Before we knew it, the bar was closing, and we were sneaking into bed at 2:00am.
Which leads me to Why I Love Montezuma. Max and I were discussing this last night, as I was trying to pinpoint why I am so melancholy about leaving. Montezuma is technically a tiny, tiny remote village. There can't be more than 1000 permanent residents. So every day, just in doing errands or stopping into the bar, for example, you see the same friendly, familiar faces. But it's an international town, with a few fantastic restaurants, some interesting shopping, a really fun bar with great dancing, and a true international flavor: Italians and Argentinians predominating, but also with Germans, Canadians, and Gingos. The people-watching is phenomenal. Factor in the incredible natural beauty, and the slow pace of life, and it's pretty ideal already. But add to that a few solid friendships and strong local connections (since I lived with families who had been here for decades), and you can probably see why I feel like a piece of my soul will always live here.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Sharon: Rain, Rain, Go Away
Rain pounding down on a faux-tin roof in the middle of the jungle…sounds romantic, I know. I harbored romantic illusions about coming to CR in the middle of the rainy season, especially when we scheduled the trip for August. Of course, little did we know we’d be leaving the rainiest year ever (really) in Texas. Actually, it’s been almost the exact same weather here as what we left: unpredictable rain storms—some with dramatic thunder and lightening—almost every day, interspersed with beautiful mornings of sun and warm breezes. Beautiful, plenty of time for being outside.
But today is different. It’s been raining since yesterday afternoon, and in the past few minutes has gone from rain to RAIN, streaming in doors and windows on the wind, flooding the patios, drowning out conversation even from a few feet away. The floors are all tile, and so are precariously slippery, and the communal areas are all completely open to the elements. It’s fine when it’s just raining, but when it’s RAINing (or, more importantly, WINDing) like this, it all blows in and drives us into our own rooms indoors. If you saw a video of the view from our room right now, you’d swear we were those crazy journalists in the middle of a hurricane.
And still, all of this would be fine if Max and I were cuddled up in bed with a good book and a bottle of wine. But with the kids, it’s a whole different story, and, boy, are we missing Ruta Maya or Radijazz right about now. Max got stir-crazy right before this RAIN hit, and headed out for a drive with the boys.
Today was the Mothers’ Day celebration at Liam’s school. What great timing to be able to celebrate MD twice in one year! They had a crazy, complicated production this afternoon: food (provided by the mothers…grr…), followed by games (figure-out-what-drawing-your-kid-did), and songs and skits. Liam's class did the first skit, and to see him get up with them and sing his heart out in Spanish made me weepy. I'm so proud of him and what he's accomplished here!
P.S. It'd be dishonest of me to not include how badly it all ended over at school. Liam had one of his trademark meltdowns, probably inspired by the heat, the crowd, the noise, and his exhaustion by the end of the school day. By "meltdown," I don't mean tantrum, but more like a tantrum on steroids: an out-of-control, complete disconnect from which there is no recovery in public other than to take him away and let him get over it when he is ready. I was willing to offer him ANYTHING in order to make him more comfortable, but he was completely out of it, not able to tell me what he wanted or needed in order to feel better. It was embarrassing, yes, as it always has been when this happens, but people here are so much more forgiving about kids. As I carried him out (with his back arched, his head thrown back, and screaming at the top of his lungs), I heard people saying, "Pobrecito..." poor baby, he's so tired, or he's so little for this, etc. I sure will miss that completely accepting attitude about kids.
But today is different. It’s been raining since yesterday afternoon, and in the past few minutes has gone from rain to RAIN, streaming in doors and windows on the wind, flooding the patios, drowning out conversation even from a few feet away. The floors are all tile, and so are precariously slippery, and the communal areas are all completely open to the elements. It’s fine when it’s just raining, but when it’s RAINing (or, more importantly, WINDing) like this, it all blows in and drives us into our own rooms indoors. If you saw a video of the view from our room right now, you’d swear we were those crazy journalists in the middle of a hurricane.
And still, all of this would be fine if Max and I were cuddled up in bed with a good book and a bottle of wine. But with the kids, it’s a whole different story, and, boy, are we missing Ruta Maya or Radijazz right about now. Max got stir-crazy right before this RAIN hit, and headed out for a drive with the boys.
Today was the Mothers’ Day celebration at Liam’s school. What great timing to be able to celebrate MD twice in one year! They had a crazy, complicated production this afternoon: food (provided by the mothers…grr…), followed by games (figure-out-what-drawing-your-kid-did), and songs and skits. Liam's class did the first skit, and to see him get up with them and sing his heart out in Spanish made me weepy. I'm so proud of him and what he's accomplished here!
P.S. It'd be dishonest of me to not include how badly it all ended over at school. Liam had one of his trademark meltdowns, probably inspired by the heat, the crowd, the noise, and his exhaustion by the end of the school day. By "meltdown," I don't mean tantrum, but more like a tantrum on steroids: an out-of-control, complete disconnect from which there is no recovery in public other than to take him away and let him get over it when he is ready. I was willing to offer him ANYTHING in order to make him more comfortable, but he was completely out of it, not able to tell me what he wanted or needed in order to feel better. It was embarrassing, yes, as it always has been when this happens, but people here are so much more forgiving about kids. As I carried him out (with his back arched, his head thrown back, and screaming at the top of his lungs), I heard people saying, "Pobrecito..." poor baby, he's so tired, or he's so little for this, etc. I sure will miss that completely accepting attitude about kids.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Max: High Heels and Pregnant Pigs
A note for future therapy sessions. Here are Jules’ and Liam’s favorite things to do in Costa Rica.
JULES: More than any other toy or activity, Jules loves to wear other people’s shoes. Particularly high-heel dress-up shoes (like silver glittery ones that have Barbie insignias on them) but really anything with a sole. He likes to wear large men’s sandals, small girls’ slippers and everything in between. Watching him parade around in nothing but a diaper and a pair of red rain boots three times his foot size is something the behold. He’s like a go-go dancer for Barney. And once he’s found a pair of shoes he wants on, there’s really nothing stopping him from getting them on his feet. He’ll scream like a banshee if you try to take them off or try to convince him to try on something else, or even if you try and put them on the correct feet.
LIAM: He’s obsessed with pretending. Which is probably normal for his age. But he’s mostly just obsessed with being pregnant. One second he’s a pregnant elephant, then a pregnant giraffe, a pregnant pig, a pregnant mouse, you name it. Is this normal? Perhaps, though I’ve never seen another kid pretend to be pregnant ALL THE TIME. I’m not bothered by the concept of his pretending to be pregnant. It’s really just the all-the-time part. Can’t he shake it up a little now and then? Maybe be a leopard with acne or a pigeon with gout? Or even a salamander with a fabulous smile?
I think what I found particularly odd was the scene he created a few days ago, in which not only was he a pregnant pig, he was a pig who was 108 months pregnant. And here’s the kicker. He was pregnant with me. My 3-year-old was pretending to be almost 9 years pregnant with his own father. Are there any psychologists out there? Should we be concerned?
In Utero in Costa Rica
JULES: More than any other toy or activity, Jules loves to wear other people’s shoes. Particularly high-heel dress-up shoes (like silver glittery ones that have Barbie insignias on them) but really anything with a sole. He likes to wear large men’s sandals, small girls’ slippers and everything in between. Watching him parade around in nothing but a diaper and a pair of red rain boots three times his foot size is something the behold. He’s like a go-go dancer for Barney. And once he’s found a pair of shoes he wants on, there’s really nothing stopping him from getting them on his feet. He’ll scream like a banshee if you try to take them off or try to convince him to try on something else, or even if you try and put them on the correct feet.
LIAM: He’s obsessed with pretending. Which is probably normal for his age. But he’s mostly just obsessed with being pregnant. One second he’s a pregnant elephant, then a pregnant giraffe, a pregnant pig, a pregnant mouse, you name it. Is this normal? Perhaps, though I’ve never seen another kid pretend to be pregnant ALL THE TIME. I’m not bothered by the concept of his pretending to be pregnant. It’s really just the all-the-time part. Can’t he shake it up a little now and then? Maybe be a leopard with acne or a pigeon with gout? Or even a salamander with a fabulous smile?
I think what I found particularly odd was the scene he created a few days ago, in which not only was he a pregnant pig, he was a pig who was 108 months pregnant. And here’s the kicker. He was pregnant with me. My 3-year-old was pretending to be almost 9 years pregnant with his own father. Are there any psychologists out there? Should we be concerned?
In Utero in Costa Rica
Max: Crap Bag
Costa Rica, like many other countries, has plumbing which lacks the industrial force we’re blessed with in the United States.
That’s all I have to say. America is great.
Oh wait, that wasn’t what I was going to say. I got carried away by patriotism. So the toilets here can’t handle toilet paper. Instead, you put it in a small garbage can or sack next to the toilet, and throw it away like any other trash. It’s not really so odd once you get used to it.
Only reason I mention it is because of our garbage disposal situation. Because there’s no dump or garbage service around here, we have to leave our garbage in the driveway and remember to take it into town next time we go. Where it is subsequently thrown in a pile and burned (see one of Sharon’s posts below about environmentalism).
Anyway, sometimes this trash—if left out at night—will be ripped apart and eaten by various raccoon-like mongrels. It’s a dumb thing to do (leaving trash out at night) but it continues to happen for some reason. Anyway, how desperate do you have to be ravage a bag which holds nothing but bathroom waste in it? Pretty desperate, I’d think. Anyway, it happened. Maybe those varmints mistook all the balled-up diapers as potatoes. Who knows. But we were left with a disgusting bathroom bag in tatters.
Yum.
That’s all I have to say. America is great.
Oh wait, that wasn’t what I was going to say. I got carried away by patriotism. So the toilets here can’t handle toilet paper. Instead, you put it in a small garbage can or sack next to the toilet, and throw it away like any other trash. It’s not really so odd once you get used to it.
Only reason I mention it is because of our garbage disposal situation. Because there’s no dump or garbage service around here, we have to leave our garbage in the driveway and remember to take it into town next time we go. Where it is subsequently thrown in a pile and burned (see one of Sharon’s posts below about environmentalism).
Anyway, sometimes this trash—if left out at night—will be ripped apart and eaten by various raccoon-like mongrels. It’s a dumb thing to do (leaving trash out at night) but it continues to happen for some reason. Anyway, how desperate do you have to be ravage a bag which holds nothing but bathroom waste in it? Pretty desperate, I’d think. Anyway, it happened. Maybe those varmints mistook all the balled-up diapers as potatoes. Who knows. But we were left with a disgusting bathroom bag in tatters.
Yum.
Sharon: Vaqueros
Today Marcos and Emilia and their boys took us out to the finca. We piled in their car (sans seatbelts, Liam begging to be buckled in), and drove out to the middle of nowhere. Arnaldo and Edgardo saddled up two horses, and Liam cautiously let Arnaldo take him up into the saddle and ride away.
Liam LOVED it (of course, I guess!), and spent a lot of time on the horses with both boys and me. Riding with Liam at a gallop down the deserted country road thrilled me, because, really, what could be cooler than sharing an important “first” like that?! We also took a spin through the farm, riding along the ridges, and down into the folds between the hills, looking for the newborn foals. What IS it about horses? Why is it such a thrill, especially, to be off the trail, to ride a horse out in the field, cutting your own path to arrive at a place that’s almost impossible to get to any other way (particularly with the foot or so of mud in places)?
True to form, Jules wouldn’t take the bait with the horses. He did, however, really seem to dig the quick spin on the ATV—the horse of the new millennium, apparently—with Max.
Liam LOVED it (of course, I guess!), and spent a lot of time on the horses with both boys and me. Riding with Liam at a gallop down the deserted country road thrilled me, because, really, what could be cooler than sharing an important “first” like that?! We also took a spin through the farm, riding along the ridges, and down into the folds between the hills, looking for the newborn foals. What IS it about horses? Why is it such a thrill, especially, to be off the trail, to ride a horse out in the field, cutting your own path to arrive at a place that’s almost impossible to get to any other way (particularly with the foot or so of mud in places)?
True to form, Jules wouldn’t take the bait with the horses. He did, however, really seem to dig the quick spin on the ATV—the horse of the new millennium, apparently—with Max.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Sharon: La Pajarita Se Escapo de la Jaula
That's what my friends here used to say when I'd get a chance to get out of the house and go play in town: the little bird escaped from the cage. So yesterday we escaped again, and how! We went to Amor de Mar in the morning, the hotel where I used to live in 1994, teaching English reading to their little boys. It's an amazing place, absolutely the best place in the world for a vacation, I'm sure. Ori, the German owner, was there, and welcomed us with big smiles and encouragement to come back and spend time on their lawn, hammocks, and tide-pools. Then we spent the afternoon with Emilia, three hours in which Jules ate two bowls of those neon-colored fruit loops things he's fallen so hard for, a few pieces of rum-covered flan, four cookies...hmm...surely there was more, but that's a pretty good summary. Max, for the record, has decided that he's not a fan of chicharones: pork rinds. Couldn't even choke them down to be polite.
Then Khalida and I went to a yoga class with a "special guest teacher" from San Jose. It was so disappointing. His style was Anusara (but such a poor substitute for Christina!), and I was happy for the workout, but he refused to listen to what I was telling him about my back injury. The class flyer had said "all levels," but it was definitely an advanced class, and very athletic, not at all like my usual practice. A few months ago, I would have left that class in agony (and I heard a few people talking about how much they had hurt themselves, which always makes me sad). But I have learned that an effort to follow along with the class in order to be respectful in a class like that ends up in a few days of severe pain for me. Several times during class I had to ask him to please respect my understanding of my injury and not adjust me into poses I wasn't attempting, even though I had approached him before class and described my issue. I couldn't believe his sweeping statements about back alignment, too, some of which were just anatomically wrong. All in all, though, I was glad to practice with a group of people in such an incredible setting, and I learned a few things about some poses I don't practice often. But I miss my teachers from Austin. Ori was there and when she heard that I taught a slower, more internally-focused form of yoga, she seemed disappointed that she hadn't gotten me teaching when I was here. Apparently, most local teachers teach a more athletic style.
FINALLY (still the same day!), Max and I went out for a night on the town. We went first to the one fancy-schmancy restaurant in town. Okay, not exactly fancy, since it's on the beach sand, very dimly lit by candles at a few tables made from driftwood and local hardwoods. But extremely gourmet, even a little outside the reach of our tastes, and pricey even by Austin standards. Didn't much matter, because as we got to the end of the menu we noticed the "NO CC" note, and realized we didn't have enough cash to pay for a full meal. The Italian owner very sweetly told us to go ahead and order a meal, and to come back some other day to pay, but the next day was Sunday and Monday was a bank holiday, and we didn't feel comfortable letting our debt go that long! Still, we had a fantastic evening on the town.
Then Khalida and I went to a yoga class with a "special guest teacher" from San Jose. It was so disappointing. His style was Anusara (but such a poor substitute for Christina!), and I was happy for the workout, but he refused to listen to what I was telling him about my back injury. The class flyer had said "all levels," but it was definitely an advanced class, and very athletic, not at all like my usual practice. A few months ago, I would have left that class in agony (and I heard a few people talking about how much they had hurt themselves, which always makes me sad). But I have learned that an effort to follow along with the class in order to be respectful in a class like that ends up in a few days of severe pain for me. Several times during class I had to ask him to please respect my understanding of my injury and not adjust me into poses I wasn't attempting, even though I had approached him before class and described my issue. I couldn't believe his sweeping statements about back alignment, too, some of which were just anatomically wrong. All in all, though, I was glad to practice with a group of people in such an incredible setting, and I learned a few things about some poses I don't practice often. But I miss my teachers from Austin. Ori was there and when she heard that I taught a slower, more internally-focused form of yoga, she seemed disappointed that she hadn't gotten me teaching when I was here. Apparently, most local teachers teach a more athletic style.
FINALLY (still the same day!), Max and I went out for a night on the town. We went first to the one fancy-schmancy restaurant in town. Okay, not exactly fancy, since it's on the beach sand, very dimly lit by candles at a few tables made from driftwood and local hardwoods. But extremely gourmet, even a little outside the reach of our tastes, and pricey even by Austin standards. Didn't much matter, because as we got to the end of the menu we noticed the "NO CC" note, and realized we didn't have enough cash to pay for a full meal. The Italian owner very sweetly told us to go ahead and order a meal, and to come back some other day to pay, but the next day was Sunday and Monday was a bank holiday, and we didn't feel comfortable letting our debt go that long! Still, we had a fantastic evening on the town.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Sharon: Jules, and Keeping House
So, Mom asked how Jules was doing with the nanny, saying she assumed that since I hadn’t mentioned it, everything must be going okay. Well…actually, I’d just been holding out, not wanting to complain amidst our otherwise great fortune, and still hoping things might turn around.
Background: Jules is one of the easiest kids I’ve ever met in almost every regard. Never minds a stranger, never minds a babysitter. Loves to socialize with random folks at the pool or in the store. Sleeps well for naps and nighttime, loves to play with other kids. In all of our planning for this trip, we never considered that he might not be amenable to our plans. Never.
Well, he’s not amenable to them. He just didn’t like Lady. In her defense, I think the Spanish was distressing for a kid who is so verbal, who loves to narrate his world to a rapt audience and depends on being able to easily communicate his needs. On the other hand, she wasn’t exactly perky or engaging, and exuded a lack of confidence. After 8 days of trying desperately to get them used to each other, we officially gave up.
It’s not so bad. Max and I can at least take turns having a morning out to relax. Plus, we had a few lovely mornings alone together, more than we have in months at home, so I’m very grateful. We’re saving some bucks. And I’ve also realized that I’m kind of into housework, that I need to be rooted in the care of the place where I live. So.
Jules actually doesn’t seem to like much of anything about our plans for him this trip, come to think of it. He wasn’t going to be “potty-trained” in three days like Liam was at the same age, so we gave up on that, too, for now. He doesn’t want to sleep well anymore, preferring instead to wake up many, many times each night and be up for good around 5:00 a.m. He has started climbing out of the pack-and-play (and toddling out, quite proud of himself), so we put him in a bed, and now he asks for the crib!
The thing is that I needed a guru for this trip. Max and I have both felt a little aimless, unused to all this free time, but also a little greedy. Jules has reminded us that as much we want a vacation from the kiddos, parenting little children is our life right now, even in a tropical paradise. He’s also helped us remember that they know when we’re trying to ditch them, and they don’t like it; as soon as we stopped having Lady come and started making Jules a big part of our day, he got so much happier overall.
But it takes a lot of housework here to keep nature from taking over, and Lady was supposed to be helping with that, too. There’s gecko poop on the living “room” floor in the morning, scorpions to shoe out, dust and leaves everywhere. Our clothes get covered in mud before noon, and there’s salt water on an outfit a day. Today’s my day off and Max has Jules at the beach, but they’ve been gone for two hours and I’ve only just been able to take a break, having swept and mopped the floors, done the dishes, done a load of laundry. I found myself thinking about how in a Buddhist monastery, the most menial chores are given to the most senior monks, and I mopped with care and contentment.
Background: Jules is one of the easiest kids I’ve ever met in almost every regard. Never minds a stranger, never minds a babysitter. Loves to socialize with random folks at the pool or in the store. Sleeps well for naps and nighttime, loves to play with other kids. In all of our planning for this trip, we never considered that he might not be amenable to our plans. Never.
Well, he’s not amenable to them. He just didn’t like Lady. In her defense, I think the Spanish was distressing for a kid who is so verbal, who loves to narrate his world to a rapt audience and depends on being able to easily communicate his needs. On the other hand, she wasn’t exactly perky or engaging, and exuded a lack of confidence. After 8 days of trying desperately to get them used to each other, we officially gave up.
It’s not so bad. Max and I can at least take turns having a morning out to relax. Plus, we had a few lovely mornings alone together, more than we have in months at home, so I’m very grateful. We’re saving some bucks. And I’ve also realized that I’m kind of into housework, that I need to be rooted in the care of the place where I live. So.
Jules actually doesn’t seem to like much of anything about our plans for him this trip, come to think of it. He wasn’t going to be “potty-trained” in three days like Liam was at the same age, so we gave up on that, too, for now. He doesn’t want to sleep well anymore, preferring instead to wake up many, many times each night and be up for good around 5:00 a.m. He has started climbing out of the pack-and-play (and toddling out, quite proud of himself), so we put him in a bed, and now he asks for the crib!
The thing is that I needed a guru for this trip. Max and I have both felt a little aimless, unused to all this free time, but also a little greedy. Jules has reminded us that as much we want a vacation from the kiddos, parenting little children is our life right now, even in a tropical paradise. He’s also helped us remember that they know when we’re trying to ditch them, and they don’t like it; as soon as we stopped having Lady come and started making Jules a big part of our day, he got so much happier overall.
But it takes a lot of housework here to keep nature from taking over, and Lady was supposed to be helping with that, too. There’s gecko poop on the living “room” floor in the morning, scorpions to shoe out, dust and leaves everywhere. Our clothes get covered in mud before noon, and there’s salt water on an outfit a day. Today’s my day off and Max has Jules at the beach, but they’ve been gone for two hours and I’ve only just been able to take a break, having swept and mopped the floors, done the dishes, done a load of laundry. I found myself thinking about how in a Buddhist monastery, the most menial chores are given to the most senior monks, and I mopped with care and contentment.
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