Costa Rica

For our 50th wedding anniversary I planned something very different - much to the consternation of my wife. We are getting older by the minute and that process usually lends to keeping things the same. Surprises are not always welcome, but I like the challenge of it all.

So I arranged a trip to a new country as a followup of our 25th anniversary to St Martins. Time flies.

The flight had its usual delays and idiotic scanning of everything as we surely must be terrorists in disguise. If only the government could think. Arriving in this country had a rental car driver pick us up and take us to our lodging in a town called Grecia off the beaten track in the Central Highlands. I thought this would place us closer to the locals then some fancy hotel with pool and amenities we have at home already. Well, the place may be super for the locals but not quite up to the standards of the other half. We are right on the busy highway when we are used to absolute silence at home on our acreage. Besides, the roosters start crowing rather early in the morning. I will vacate these premises for our actual anniversary date and throw some deserved luxury into the pot.

On 4/21/10 we had a first full day here and used it to test driving somewhere using the GPS I had purchased and loaded with a local map. We went to a botanical garden of course. In this case the place was on the other side of the capital near the town of Paraiso. It was a long drive and we were concerned about gas as we only had a half tank from the agency and the drive from the airport revealed only one gas station. It is a mystery to us where all these millions of cars get their gas but gas stations certainly are rare here. We pulled into the one that we had seen and were told that the equipment had failed due to the rainstorm we had during the night. They sent us to another station which we could not find.

So off we went to Lankester Botanical Gardens assuming we could find a station closer to San Jose which was the case. The price for a fill-up was 25,000 thingees of the local currency or $50. How can these people afford to drive around here. The drive itself in the morning was horrifying. Busses and motorcycles jockying for a yard or so at breakneck speeds. It seemed that I was part of a race to get somewhere. I like to drive fast but this is ridiculous here. The driving really defies description. One needs to have experienced it.

The park was found with our trusty little guide posted on the windshield. The GPS is a real godsent as I have no idea how anybody ever found anything around here when no street has a street sign. On our way back we stopped at a Supermarket without customers. These things seem to be new to the people as there are thousands of little shops lining every street for miles and miles. Anyway, we needed to shop visually as asking for things doesn't work very well.

Here at the appartment I'm having computer problems first with the keyboard which seems to have no question mark anywhere and second the delete key is missing or hidden somewhere. Then the promised wireless doesn't work as no one seems to know the security code to use a wireless laptop. Somebody is supposed to visit here to figure this out but in the meantime I'm using this Spanish computer to do my chores. Then the cell phone I had rented to make reservations and for emergency is dead as a doornail. At least the Suzuki runs OK even though it has 98,000 plus miles on it.  The roads here must be hell on cars as they go through a permanent shaking process.

A general observation is the abject poverty here. Yet, people are very friendly and helpful. A couple times someone waved at me and I didn't respond as the wave must have been meant for someone behind me known to the waver. Then I figured out that this was normal to say hello to strangers. I like it. The poverty is reflected in the prices for everything. It seems that anything not made here is more expensive then in the US. A small box of Kellogs serial is over $5. A few odds and ends at the supermarket were $35 which is over 30,000 rojas. That's a wad of money. Speaking of money. I needed some local currency and stopped at a bank in San Jose. Outside are armed guards which machine guns. They direct you into a glass enclosed closet with sliding doors at each end. I presume there are metal detectors or x-ray machines at work. Once they've mustered you the other end opens up and another guard confronts you as to your purpose. They give you a number and you sit along with 30 or so other people with numbers. Cameras are everywhere and voice and sign boards announces numbers to go to certain window numbers. It's like 1984 with numbers running your life. In my lane the girl spoke fluent English and asked for my passport. Well gee, I don't normally carry that around with me. Out I go to see if Marlies had to foresight to take these along. She did and I started the process all over again. The teller examined my $100 bills with a fine tooth comb and fingernail scratches and recorded my passboard etc to give me some local doe. It goes fast around here and credit cards are not really in style except at the gas station. I guess the amounts there are too high to use cash.

I have pictures in my phanfare site to accompany these descriptions.