TICO TALES
The Dog Days of Pura Vida
When you can’t get a damn thing done
Ah, the dog days of summer, when the sun roasts me like a burnt marshmallow, and my productivity takes a vacation to a sandy beach. In this heat, my ambition melts faster than strawberry sherbet on a sizzling sidewalk, leaving me daydreaming of a chilly escape to Antarctica. The unrelenting heat turns what’s left of my brain into green slime, while my to-do lists engorge, lengthen, and explode all over my desk. And alas, any remaining motivation does a cannonball into the nearest kiddie pool.
But here in Costa Rica, it’s our “winter,” where the temperatures are generally cooler, with a freshening breeze and gentle rains every evening. Yes, it’s still hot, sticky, and sweaty, but it’s not just the heat and humidity that have done me in this day.
Morning
I look forward every morning to my 5:00 AM cup of delicious, organic Costa Rican coffee, grown and roasted by my friend Pablo in San Rafael Norte. What could possibly go wrong when a day starts out with exotic birds singing outside your bedroom window, bright cerulean skies, and a cup of this precious nectar?
After a quick perusal of the New York Times, Washington Post, and the Seattle Times (mainly for the funnies and the Horsey editorial cartoons), the NYT sudoku puzzle is my excuse for staying in bed with my cuppa for just a little longer. It’s a delicious hour, all to myself.
Before 6:00 AM, I’m outside watering the seedlings and herbs in my invernadero, and I discover that my beans are sprouting!
So far, so good.
Back inside, make a list of stuff to get done in town, brush teeth, take pills, putter, do dishes, and jump in the shower.
But wait! There’s no WATER! Again!
OK. Fine. Estamos en Costa Rica ahora. No problem. Just go do something else for a while, and soon the water will come back on. Dishes can wait. The shower shouldn’t wait, but has to, for now.
My to-do list includes a visit to town to buy some paint for the guest room, and a stop at Claro to set up internet service to my house. To digress for a moment, I have been trying to get internet service since November, from ICE, Claro, Liberty, and You-Name-It Internet providers. Last week, after eight months of discussions about this problema, the muchacho at Claro confessed that he could now offer me “internet for farmers in rural areas,” via a local cell tower. Meanwhile, my iPhone has nearly melted down from trying to produce a strong enough hot spot signal to download my emails.
Today, when I stopped by the Claro office, muchacho wasn’t there, and the other reps didn’t know about this offer, and I don’t speak enough Spanish to explain it to them. Fine. Mañana.
Next stop, the ferreteria for paint for the guest room. Every room in my house screams “Paint me, NOW!” This week, between work gigs, I have time to tackle this chore. The one thing that went well this morning was being able to compare prices for toilets and vanity cabinets while my perfect lemon yellow color is mixed. Success!
Back home by 10:00 AM, the water is still not on, and now there’s no cell service. None. With no water, I can’t start painting, because I won’t be able to clean up after myself. With no cell service, I can’t communicate with anyone. And this late in the morning, it’s already too hot to work outside in the garden.
It’s time to read a book, which always devolves into taking a nap.
I wake up at 11:30, the water is back on, and I get the kitchen cleaned up while I still can. Still no cell service, though, which means no hot spot, which means I won’t be able to host my Zoom poetry group this afternoon.
Afternoon
Aha! Brilliant idea! I’ll go hang out at one of my favorite restaurants, get lunch, and surf their internet to prepare for and host the meeting. Mirador La Palma, here I come! What’s this? They’re closed? Hey! It’s Tuesday, and nobody closes on Tuesday!
Candombe is just a few kilometers up the road, and I always enjoy seeing Carlos, the gringa-friendly manager. CLOSED.
OK, Reverie, that sweet French-style coffee shop, just a few more kilometers back the opposite direction. CLOSED. Cerrado!
I don’t know WTF is happening with all these closures, so I call my friend Cathy and beg her to let me use the internet in her studio so I can host this poetry reading. “Sure,” she says. “I’ll be busy with my electrician, but the studio is open and all yours.” Awesome.
We then realize that because yesterday (Monday) was a big national holiday, restaurants were probably open, but are taking today (Tuesday) as their normal day off. Just my luck.
Cathy lives six minutes down a lumpy, pot-holed, zig-zag country road from my house. During the rainy season, one must drive very slowly down these unpaved roads because overnight, car-hungry ruts and caverns appear without warning. This is one reason we race to be safely home in our casitas before dark.
I’m driving at negative 5 KPH, eyes glued to the hazards ahead, when a Grizzly-bear-sized German Shepard streaks out of nowhere and attacks the (fortunately closed) window on the driver’s side of my car. Luckily, my seatbelt was tight enough across my chest to keep my heart from flying through the windscreen. Bad BAD doggie!
Pulse still racing, I arrive at Cathy’s, and meet the electrician, David, who is repairing a nasty short in her kitchen that could have burned her house to a crisp. It was a close call. The outlet box was melted and the wiring was charred behind the wooden wall. But, no problem. David is cheerfully repairing the damage and making sure it won’t happen again. New buyers just this past weekend signed a contract to purchase her house. “It would be a shame if it burned down, wouldn’t it?” The little bastard gremlins didn’t win this time, thank the angels.
Meanwhile, I’m happily setting up in the studio, connecting to a strong and stable internet, getting my emails done, and starting to set up my Zoom meeting. It’s now 1:45 PM.
Today, of all days, Zoom decides that my software needs to be updated, and it won’t take NO for an answer. This process takes 17 minutes, including software updates, because I can’t remember my password and have to set up a new one before being allowed in.
Finally, success. I’m in. I’m sweating because already I’m two minutes late for my Zoombie girls, and still recovering from a mad dog attack and other frustrations of the day.
The “Zoombie Girls” are my writer friends from Washington state, where we used to gather weekly to read our ramblings, poetic or otherwise, and give each other loving critiques. When I moved to Costa Rica, we decided to continue the tradition via Zoom, which is another story about technically challenged senior ladies, and “Can you hear/see me now?” Somehow we manage.
But not this day. After finally connecting and launching the meeting, we had our usual gab-fest and catch-up session, but only for about five minutes, when my screen went blank. Damn! What’s wrong? The internet signal is strong and stable—but suddenly intermittent?
For the next 20 minutes of on-again-off-again connectivity, I realize that David, the electrician, is probably flipping circuit-breaker switches to test his work. He’s proudly showing off to Cathy that all is good now. Meanwhile, I’m in the studio struggling to reconnect with my girls, and as soon as we’re all back together, POOF! Gone again.
After a few cycles of this insanity, I’ve snatched my head bald. I gave up, deciding to just quit and go home. A quick email to the group, before David could flip another switch, and I pack up my Mac, defeated. Done.
At the main house, Cathy, having just said farewell to the electrician, sees my face and suggests, wisely, that we should find an open place and go for a cocktail.
Evening
Way on the other side of town, Chirripo Berg, a brewery and restaurant with an incredible view, welcomes us with gin and tonics and mojitos. A couple of these drinks each—plus a shared, guilt-free vegetarian pizza, lots of girl talk, fresh air, and a sympatico waiter—the sun sets, a fresh breeze musses our hair, we laugh, and we relax into our mantra:
Estamos en Costa Rica ahora!
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